Rosamund
The dining hall went still. A servant near the sideboard froze mid-step.
Nevan set his cup down slowly. "Excuse me?"
"My room. Last night." I held where I imagined his gaze was behind the mask. "Were you there?"
"Who told you that?"
"Were you or weren't you?"
A long, unbearable silence filled the room, broken only by the sound of a ticking clock somewhere in the hall.
"Yes. I came to check on you," he said finally. "You had been drinking, and I wanted to make sure you were well."
"Check on me." I nodded slowly. "And did checking on me involve removing my nightgown?"
His hand slammed against the table, rattling the plates. The servants in the room flinched.
"How dare you?" His voice vibrated with anger. "I have never, and would never, lay a hand on you without your consent."
"Then explain why I woke up naked with bruises on my wrists and no memory of how either happened."
His head turned sharply. I saw his gaze drop to my wrists, though I hadn't pulled my sleeves back, and guilt flashed through his eyes.
"I covered you with a sheet," he said quietly. "That is all I did."
"And the bruises?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know." I stared at him. "You were in my room, in the middle of the night, uninvited, and you don't know how I ended up with finger-shaped bruises on both wrists."
"Rosamund, I would never—"
"Never what?" I pushed back from the table. "Never come into a woman's room while she's unconscious? Because you already did that."
"Watch your tongue." His tone dropped. "You are speaking to the Duke of Wellspring."
"And you are speaking to the woman you expect to marry. So which one of us should be more careful?"
He stood, and the room shrank around him.
"I will be your husband, Rosamund." His voice was quieter now. "There's no need for shame between us. I came to your room because I was concerned for your well-being. That is the truth, whether you choose to believe it or not."
"Then wait until you are my husband before you start acting like one." I stood too, refusing to let him tower over me. "Until there's a ring on my finger and vows before God, you have no right to enter my room, no right to see me undressed, and no right to touch me." I leaned forward. "And if I find you in my chamber again without my permission, you should be prepared for whatever I do to you."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a promise."
The air crackled between us. I could feel the heat of his anger radiating off him and the way his fists had tightened at his sides. I'd gotten to him.
"Your Grace." Clyde's voice cut through the silence as he positioned himself at the midpoint of the table. "Perhaps we might revisit this conversation when cooler heads prevail. The morning is still young."
Neither of us moved.
"Your Grace," Clyde said again. "Please."
Nevan exhaled like a man pulling himself back from the edge of something he couldn't undo. He unclenched his fists and sat down. Then, picked up his cup as though the last two minutes hadn't happened.
I sat down too, though every nerve in my body was still on fire. My hands trembled in my lap, and I pressed them flat against my thighs to steady them.
We resumed eating. This time, I had to force down the food, ignoring Nevan who sat motionless at the head of the table.
Several minutes passed. I finished with my meal and was reaching for my cup when Nevan broke the silence.
"I've made arrangements for the wedding. "Given the circumstances, I believe it's best we proceed without delay." He paused. "The wedding will take place in three days."
The cup rattled against the saucer as I set it down. "Three days?"
"I understand it's sooner than expected —"
"Sooner than expected?" I stared at him. "I was told the custom is four weeks. Four weeks to prepare and to learn what's expected of me. And you want to do it in three days?"
"The custom is a guideline, not a rule."
"It's a guideline that exists for a reason." My voice was rising. I could feel the servants' gazes on me, and I didn't care. "I arrived here yesterday. I don't know this house. I don't know these people. I barely know you. And you're telling me that in seventy-two hours I'll be your wife?"
"Rosamund —"
"No." I pushed back from the table again. "You promised me three days at my father's house and broke that promise in less than twelve hours. Now you're cutting four weeks down to three days. What happens next? Will you move it to tomorrow? Tonight?"
The dining hall went still now. The servants began to file out until it was just me. Nevan and Clyde.
Nevan's gaze was on me. Through the mask, I couldn't read his expression, but his hands, resting on the table, had curled into loose fists.
"There are reasons I cannot explain to you yet," he said quietly.
"Then give me one you can."
The silence stretched between us. I could feel the heat of another argument crackling in the air. It was only a matter of time now.
"Because I need you to be safe," he said. "And the sooner you carry my name, the sooner I can protect you."
"Protect me from what?" I asked, my stomach sinking with fear. I moved from my spot to where he was sitting and reached for his hand, hoping my attempt at being a lady would soften his heart. "Nevan, just tell me whatever it is. We can figure it out together, I promise."
"Rosamund," he removed his hand from my hold. "Can't you be obedient to me for once? Do you have problems with doing what you're told?"
"Not if my life is at stake!" I straightened, glaring at him. "If you'd wanted someone who follows rules and obeys without question, you wouldn't have chosen me, because I am not like the women you're used to. I know how to survive, Your Grace. And unless you give me a clear reason for this insane rush, I'm afraid I won't be walking down any aisle with you."
The door to the dining hall opened.
Jennifer walked in. She paused at the threshold, her gaze sweeping the scene. Whatever she saw seemed to satisfy her, because a small smile settled on her lips as she smoothed her skirt, crossed the hall, and took the seat to the Duke's left.
"I see His Grace has told you about the wedding," she said lightly. "Three days isn't much time, but don't worry. I've managed the preparations for every one of the Duke's engagements." Her eyes found mine and held. "I'm quite experienced at it by now."
"Jennifer." The Duke shot her a warning glance, but she wasn't looking at him. She was looking at me, and the satisfaction in her expression told me that every word had been chosen and delivered exactly where she'd intended it to land.
For a strange moment, I wondered if she was the one behind the letter.
I held her gaze without flinching. "How unfortunate for you, Jennifer. Always the planner and never the bride." I tilted my head. "It must hurt terribly, watching the man you love walk down the aisle with another woman. Again and again and again."
The colour drained from Jennifer's face as though I'd reached across the table and slapped her. Her smile collapsed, tears welled in her eyes, and her lips were quivering. She looked like she was about to cry.
"Rosamund." The Duke called out to me. "That is enough."
Something hot and reckless surged through me. I turned to him.
"Enough?" I repeated. "She just stood in your dining hall and reminded me that I'm the latest in a long line of women you've paraded through this house. And you said nothing." I gestured toward Jennifer, who was still sitting rigid, her jaw trembling. "She takes shots at me, and you stay silent. I fire back, and suddenly it's enough?"
Nevan's mouth pressed into a thin line. He had no answer for that, and we both knew it.
"If I must marry you in three days," I continued, my voice dripping with a calmness that didn't reflect the turmoil going on inside me, "then let me make one thing very clear. Your mistress will not plan my wedding."
Jennifer's head snapped toward me.
"She is not my mistress," Nevan said with a grunt. "She's my private secretary, there's a difference."
"Whatever she is, my dear, Nevan," I chuckled dryly, "I don't care. She will not plan my wedding."
"She has planned every —" the Duke started.
"I don't care what she's planned before." I cut him off. "It's enough that you've taken away my choice in everything. If I don't get my will in this, then you'd drag a dead body to the altar, my dear Duke."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Jennifer's hands were shaking in her lap. The Duke's fists were clenched on the table.
"Then who will?" He rose to his feet, his voice tight with frustration. "You've been in this house for one day. You don't know the staff, the customs, the traditions. Who exactly do you propose will plan a wedding in three days?"
I stood, meeting him eye to eye.
"I will."