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" T his can't truly be happening, Cressida. Please, there must be something we can do to stop it!"

Lady Victoria Montrose felt on the verge of tears.

She clung to her sister's arm She had already been helped into her wedding gown, and it felt like an oil slick against her skin—she wanted nothing more than to take it off and scrub her whole body vigorously until she didn't have to feel like this anymore.

She wanted to run away, to hide, to have nothing to do with this whole situation.

"I've done all I can, Victoria." Her sister Cressida's voice was tense and miserable.

"You know that I didn't want this for you, any more than you wanted it for yourself.

" Though Cressida was the Marchioness of Feverton by marriage, the wife of the wealthiest man in London, she was powerless in this situation, and Victoria knew it.

The trouble was, with this being her third season, her family despaired of her ever finding a match. It was very predictable that her father would have arranged one for her. And for a time, Victoria had been ready to accept that. But having met the man she was meant to spend her life with…

"I should never have agreed to this marriage."

Cressida didn't answer, for which Victoria was thankful, because she knew her sister agreed with that statement.

She also knew that Cressida would never say so out loud, would never verbally confirm that the whole mess was Victoria's fault.

Cressida would never want her to feel that way.

Taking care of Victoria had been Cressida's whole life, even after she had married herself.

Victoria couldn't understand how she had found herself in this horrible situation. It was too much to bear.

She knew she wasn't an unattractive person.

Nor did she lack for charms—or at least, she hadn't when she was younger.

But her first two seasons had been such utter disasters that when her father had told her the Duke of Stormwell sought a match, she had agreed quickly.

At least he was a duke. That would make her family proud of her.

She would be well taken care of. She would live a good life as a duchess.

And then she could stop attending ball after ball and feeling the judgmental eyes of dozens of mamas on her, wondering what was the matter with her and why she had failed to find herself a husband in a sensible amount of time.

It was something they could never know. Nobody could ever know the truth of what was holding Victoria back. Cressida knew, and so did her husband Matthew. But nobody else could be allowed to find out. The shame would simply be too great to be borne.

The idea of a marriage to the Duke of Stormwell had seemed an ideal way to exit the marriagemart—but then she had met him.

He was awful—one of the worst men she had ever crossed paths with, though perhaps not the very worst. It was a close thing, though.

Every time she had seen him, he had been drunk.

On their very first meeting, he had come close to her and put a hand on her face, tilting her chin up and examining her as if she was a horse he wished to buy.

"She's a pretty one," he had said, and Victoria had realized that he was speaking to her father, not to her.

Lord Sedgwick had been rather taken aback. "Well—yes," he had agreed. "We are very proud of Victoria's beauty."

"I wonder why she hasn't found a husband yet," the duke had pondered, but he hadn't seemed that concerned with the question. "I suppose it's just my good fortune to have the first bite at the apple."

The expression had made Victoria's skin crawl. The moment the duke had left the house, she had begun to plead with her father. "Please don't make me marry him."

His response had been laced with exhaustion. "Victoria. You already agreed to marry him. I can't write to him now and tell him that we've changed our minds."

"Of course you can," Cressida had countered, standing up for Victoria as she always did.

"You're her father. She won't marry anyone without your permission, and you can tell the duke that you've withdrawn it in light of his behavior toward her.

Besides, he's nearly fifty years of age, Father, and Victoria has just seen her twenty-first birthday.

He is not a good match for her. Even if he were the kindest man in the world—and he is far from that—he would not be a suitable match for Victoria. "

"She agreed to the marriage, Cressida," their father had said heavily.

"And you need to realize that the longer a lady remains on the shelf, the less her prospects become.

We would have had to consider older gentlemen for Victoria this season anyway.

All the younger ones will have their eyes on the season's newest debuts—they won't be looking at a young lady who has been available for three seasons now. "

Victoria had known that was true. But even so… "I would rather remain a spinster than to marry him," she had told her father and sister with tears in her eyes.

Cressida had taken her seriously, but her father hadn't.

Perhaps he was incapable of taking her seriously.

And now she found herself on the verge of walking down the aisle and saying marriage vows to the duke, after which there would be no getting away from him as long as she lived.

The idea of it made her feel sick—buts she also knew that she had gotten herself into this situation.

Her father was right. She had agreed, sight unseen, to marry this man. To belong to him.

Cressida stepped forward now and put her arms around Victoria. "Remember," she said quietly, "you and I will always be sisters. You will be married to him, but you will always be welcome at my house. You can withdraw from him for weeks at a time and come to visit me."

"What if he tries to stop me from doing that?"

"Matthew will make sure he doesn't. You don't need to worry about that. Nobody will ever come between the two of us. This is going to be hard, Victoria. I don't mean to say otherwise. But I will always be there for you. Never forget it."

So saying, she adjusted Victoria's veil and led her out into the main part of the church so that she could meet her husband to be at the altar and say the vows that would lock her into a life she did not want to live.

The duke was drunk at the altar, of course, and Victoria rather wished that she was too.

A drink or two might have softened the horror of what she was facing—the fact that he was looking her up and down lustfully the whole time the vows were being spoken.

Her eyes were full of tears, but she refused to allow them to spill.

She wouldn't give anyone the satisfaction of seeing how miserable she was.

For all she knew, the duke would enjoy knowing that his new wife was upset and afraid.

He seemed like the kind of man who would find such a thing exciting.

All too soon, it was over. She looked around desperately for her father and Cressida, feeling as though the sight of them might bolster her, but she couldn't find them anywhere in the crowd.

The duke didn't permit her much time. He whisked her into his carriage so quickly that Victoria rather felt as if he was trying to steal her away.

And then, before she could say a word about it—before she could even process her thoughts—the carriage was moving, and they were leaving her old life behind.

The duke had obtained a bottle from somewhere, and he took a long swig from it now. Victoria thought about asking whether she might have some too, but the idea of putting her lips where his had been made her skin crawl.

He looked at her. "That's a beautiful gown."

Coming from another man, a man who loved her and cared for her, it might have been a kind thing to say. Coming from him, it almost felt like an accusation. Victoria didn't answer.

"What's the matter?" the duke asked her. "Don't you know how to speak? When I address you, you should respond, Yes, Your Grace. "

"Yes, Your Grace," Victoria said softly, surprised that she had managed to speak at all around the lump in her throat.

"Don't you think it's a beautiful gown? You wore that gown just for me, didn't you? Just to make me look at you?"

"Yes, Your Grace." She hadn't. She hadn't even chosen the gown herself. But she knew this was the only answer he would accept.

He smiled at her. It wasn't a kind smile. She felt as if she was a deer staring into the eyes of a wolf. "I have a beautiful young wife all to myself," he mused. "I'm going to teach you all kinds of things tonight…Victoria."

Victoria had never been so repulsed by the sound of her own name.

She considered opening the door of the carriage and hurling herself out of it.

But it would have done her no good. She would have been caught and returned to the duke at once, and then, on top of everything else, he would have been angry.

It was better to cooperate with him, she thought, and to hope that things simply wouldn't be too horrible.

Though it was hard to imagine how they wouldn't.

When they reached Stormwell Manor, they were met by a group of servants, including a maid in her forties. "This is Elizabeth," the duke said. "She's yours. She's going to help you get ready now, and then I'll come to you. Go on, Elizabeth."

He turned away, not even bothering to welcome her to her new home.

If Victoria was honest, she didn't mind the lack of a welcome from him. It meant that she could get away from him for a little while. And though she dreaded what lay ahead, at least this respite would be a good thing.

Elizabeth took her to her chambers. There was a warm bath waiting for her, and the sight of it nearly made her cry.

"I hope everything is to your liking," Elizabeth said gently. "Your nightgown is here on the bed. Would you like me to stay and assist?"

"No—I'd like to be alone for a few moments, if it's all right," Victoria said.

Elizabeth nodded, understanding in her eyes. "Of course," she said. "I wish I could tell you to take your time, Your Grace, but I don't think the duke will be that patient, so I would move quickly if I were you."

She pressed her lips together, looking as if she would have liked to say more, but she must have decided that it wouldn't be a good idea. She turned and left the room swiftly.

Victoria undressed and lowered herself into the bath. The moment the water touched her skin, a dam seemed to break inside her and she found herself in tears.

It was too much. She couldn't face this.

She looked over at the window, wondering if it would be possible to open it and escape, to run away—but then, where would she go?

The only possible answer was to Cressida's house, but she didn't know how to get there from here.

She would be wandering around the countryside at night, and she was wise enough to know that such a thing would likely be even worse than whatever the duke had planned for her here.

How had these become her only choices?

It felt as if she had only been in the bath for a few moments when a knock came at the door.

Victoria panicked. Surely she could have more time than this?

"Your Grace?" It was Elizabeth. Her voice sounded tense. "May I enter?"

Victoria wondered what would happen if she were to say no. "Of—of course you can," she stammered.

The door opened. Elizabeth came in. She looked pale and stricken. "Your Grace—she said. "I'm afraid something has happened."

Victoria looked over at her, startled. "What do you mean?"

"It's the duke," Elizabeth said. "He—he's dead!"