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Reaching inside her reticule, she withdrew a folded page.

Hesitating, Marcia glanced down at them—the front page paper from the day she’d been stranded at the altar.

“You see, Marcia,” the baroness explained. “We want that money you thought you were denying us when you married Andrew.” Her dowry. “And we are determined to have it.” The baroness smiled a cold, menacing grin that, despite the warmth of that morn, raised the gooseflesh on Marcia’s arms. “We sought those monies from your former betrothed, and he learned firsthand what happens when we’re thwarted.”

A memory slipped in. Of the night Charles had stopped her as she’d attempted to leave the ball. She’d thought there’d been more he’d wanted to say… and he had. “You bribed Charles?” she whispered.

The baroness preened like she’d been handed a beautiful compliment. “He gave us a rich sum to stay silent about his sister. Alas, he wasn’t quick enough with the funds where you were concerned.” Giggling, Lady Carew made a show of capturing that sound with her fingers. “We had to teach him a lesson on just what happens if he’s tardy with our payments.”

Marcia replayed all of that last meeting with Charles. He’d been a man tortured. Ashamed and hurt. And now… it made sense. Because of these monsters. “I believe the word is bribe,” Marcia said coolly, finding her voice, and by the slight widening of the other woman’s eyes, she’d stunned her with her composure. “YoubribedCharles. Just as you and Lord Atbrooke were attempting to use me to get money from my father.”

“Oh, pooh. One cannot bribe one’s daughter.” The lady flicked an imagined speck of dust from her gauzy, puffed pink sleeve. “Either way, I’m grateful for my role, as I had the chance to renew my relationship with your husband at Cyprian’s Den.”

Despite herself, despite the fact she knew what this woman was doing, jealousy bared its vicious teeth. Marcia forced that ugly emotion aside, and kept her features even. She’d not give her the satisfaction.

“Can I help you?”

Marcia looked up, and a powerful swell of relief crested within her breast.

She’d never been more grateful for an interruption.

Benedict stood above them, frowning as she’d never before seen him frown, beating his riding crop against his side.

Lady Carew’s eyes went to that strip of leather and gave it—and Benedict—a lascivious look. “No,” she purred, rising in a graceful rustle of skirts. “Think of what I said, Marcia,” she said, before giving Benedict a more considering glance. “Perhaps another time you might be of service to me, my lord.” Hers was an invitation, though as she sashayed off, her hips a-swaying, Benedict gave no indication he’d heard it or cared.

Marcia tightened her fingers on the pages containing this latest bribe.

“Marcia,” Benedict said gently as he settled onto the blanket, taking up the spot where her unwanted guest had been. Are you all right?”

How was she?

Enraged. Livid. Teeming with fury.

“You are here,” she said, wanting to talk about anything other than the meeting that had just taken place. “I… You did not stay for the wedding breakfast.”

Something flashed in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I would have stayed. I had… matters to see to.” He glanced in the direction of Lady Carew’s retreating form, and when his gaze flew back to Marcia, his eyes were harder than she’d ever seen them.

“How are you?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she lied, her voice sounding odd to her own ears.

“No, Marcia.” Benedict gave her a long, searching look, and when he spoke next, he did so with a gentler insistence. “Howareyou?”

And for the first time, the rage slipped, and the misery at this family’s hold over her still scraped her raw. Tears threatened.

She blinked furiously, fighting to keep them from falling and to keep him from seeing them.

A slightly pained sound escaped Benedict.

Then Faith and Anwen were there.

“What happened?” Faith demanded, edging Benedict out. “I knew we should not have let you alone with anyone,” she said before she’d even allowed Marcia a chance to answer.

“Me?” Benedict sputtered. “I’ve done nothing.”

“Benedict did not do anything,” Marcia hurried to assure her friends. It was that venomous viper and her serpent brother. How had she ever worried about the fact he’d sired her. She was nothing like him. She could see clearly now how unfounded her upset had been.

“It was that woman.” Faith seethed, slapping her palm against her other. “What do you need us to do?”