Her Lord's Choice - Book 3

Chapter 3

"Paris must have been so lovely this time of year!"

"Oh! And Madrid! I hear the weather is fantastic there!"

"You're so lucky your husband enjoys treating you in such a way! Ever since we got married, Archie does nothing but read the paper and grunt when I talk to him. The man doesn't have a romantic bone in his body."

Irene plastered a smile to her face and pretended she didn't feel like she was suffocating. There would be hell to pay if she allowed her mask to slip for even one moment. She must portray the perfect image of marital bliss—however false that was.

"And your gown! I haven't seen anything so elegant this season!"

Her smile wobbled a little, and she clenched her fists to remind herself what it would cost her to make a mistake. It was the first time she'd been able to wear this dress. The bruises had only just faded enough to make an off-shoulder neckline possible.

Months ago, she would have felt pretty and elegant, and even the sight of such a dress would have made her happy—wearing it would have made her ecstatic. Now, however, she wanted nothing more than to rip it off and burn it—to watch the hungry flames devour every last shred of the material and what it meant.

The familiar sound of Hamish clearing his throat had her mechanically straightening her back and adjusting her smile. Her gaze darted to him to find him deep in conversation with James Chesterfield, but she knew he was keeping an eye on her. It simply wouldn't do to have her embarrass him at the very start of his political career.

"How do you find marriage?" Emilia Whitt said, a friendly smile putting a rosy hue in her plump cheeks. "I find it suits me quite perfectly."

If Irene's memory didn't fail her, Emilia had married a much older gentleman who was only too happy to grant her every wish and turn her girlish fantasies into reality. Blood stained sheets and torn lace flooded her mind, and she struggled to repress a shudder.

"It's wonderful." She said, her smile stretching taut. "Lord Mallory and I get along wonderfully, and we share the same ambitions, too."

"I would never be able to stomach his sister's company!" Emilia shuddered. "Horrid old witch!"

"She's hardly old, Emilia. Her five years of seniority are nothing to fifteen. Or is it twenty between you and that dried prune you call your husband?" Millie Smithers, Lord Hamish's sister's particular friend, snapped.

"She's been ever so kind." Irene interrupted before the situation could escalate any further. Emilia looked like she was about to clock Millie in the jaw. "I couldn't ask for a better sister." Or jailer. The thought came unbidden to her mind. Even a gilded cage had bars, and the shine of gold didn't make the prison any less restricted.

Emilia snorted but, thankfully, abandoned the subject, launching into a tireless report of her latest presents. Irene nodded, listing half heartedly. If only it was time to leave!

A quick glance around the room revealed no clock to tell what time had passed, but it didn't matter, anyway. She was beyond exhausted, and the tightening of her corset hadn't stopped the gnawing pain of hunger. She shot a longing glance toward the door, and her heart dropped instantly to the pit of her stomach.

A shaky breath passed over her lips, and her smile wobbled weakly before disappearing entirely. It was him. Dominic was here. Months of held in misery crashed through her carefully built dam, and her shoulders stooped slightly. Unaware of what she was doing, her hand reached toward him almost imperceptibly. He was here!

He was here? Horror struck her, and all at once, reality smashed into her chest, threatening to crush her completely as an all too familiar hand trailed down her neck and upper back. The fingers latched possessively onto her shoulder. She snatched a handful of her skirt to stay her hand, repressing her trembling with every ounce of her remaining willpower as she looked up at her husband.