XVI

The dim candlelight flickered in the darkness of the bedroom, casting dancing shadows on the walls as night enveloped Westlin's mansion. Grace lay beside him, naked, still feeling the warmth of Marcus's body on hers. As she watched him sleep, the calm that radiated from him was in stark contrast to the storm of thoughts that consumed her.

"What am I doing?" she thought, feeling her heart torn between the passion they had shared and the urgency to reclaim her freedom. Carefully, she slid out of bed, trying not to make a sound. Marcus's soft breathing remained steady, and for a moment, as she slipped on her robe, Grace allowed herself to keep watching him. His face, relaxed in sleep, wore an expression of vulnerability that deeply moved her. Despite his initial roughness, Marcus had shown her a tenderness that had touched her heart. Her heart shattered at the thought of leaving him, abandoning him in her struggle to regain her freedom. But she had no choice. If she stayed by his side, the misunderstandings between them would grow so large that they could never truly be happy.

"If fate wills it, perhaps we will meet again," she thought, tears welling in her eyes.

She walked slowly toward the tub and picked up the lilac scarf Marcus had taken from her hair earlier. Returning to the bed, she placed it gently on the pillow where she had rested. She looked at him one more time. Unable to stop crying, she leaned down and softly brushed his cheek. The light touch made him stir. Grace held her breath, but sighed in relief when she saw Marcus simply turn over to the other side. She gazed, for the last time, at the body that had been hers all afternoon. He hadn't just possessed her; she had possessed him, too—she had known that all along. Taking a deep breath, she looked once more at the scarf. It had been a small gift from her mother, and in his desire to protect her, Marcus had found it. He would never know what that gift meant. But she did.

Feeling the weight of her decision, she turned and left the bedroom, whispering a sad farewell. When she reached her own room, Lesly was waiting for her.

"Are you all right, miss?" Lesly asked softly, noticing the pain on Grace's face.

Grace nodded slowly, but the lump in her throat kept her from speaking. She had prepared herself for this moment, but she had never anticipated the pain she would feel in leaving. Despite everything, she knew she had no choice.

"Yes, I'm fine," she finally responded.

"Do you regret it?" Lesly asked as she quickly helped her dress.

Grace shook her head slightly, but she couldn't stop the tears from flowing more freely. She knew she didn't regret being with Marcus, sharing an intimacy she had never imagined. But she also knew that staying meant giving up her freedom.

"No… I don't regret it," she murmured, her voice trembling, eyes brimming with tears.

"If you're sure, then let's go. It's the perfect time, milady," Lesly said, finishing dressing her.

Exactly. It was the perfect time to escape. After discovering that a carriage was leaving for Dover that night, they had decided to seize the opportunity. From there, they would travel to France, where they would hide for a while under the protection of the one relative Lesly had left. Later, when things had calmed down, they would return to Scotland and live the peaceful life Grace had always longed for.

In silence, the two of them slipped out of Westlin's residence. There was no one to interrupt their escape—they had made sure of that. And when the servants had seen that she was truly going to offer herself to their lord, they gladly accepted the afternoon off that Lesly had offered them. The only one left in the house was Ryder, but luckily for them, his hearing wasn't very good.

Once outside, the fresh air felt strange to Grace. Perhaps the warmth of Westlin's body had given her a new sensitivity to her surroundings. Her hands trembled, as if they were unwilling to leave him behind.

"Good evening," greeted the coachman who was to take them to Dover. "No luggage?" he added with surprise.

"We were robbed," Lesly quickly replied. "This damned city is a cesspool!"

Hearing her angry tone, the coachman asked no further questions, simply opening the door and helping them inside.

The carriage began to move slowly along the dark roads, pulling away from the mansion. The sound of the horses' hooves echoed in the stillness of the night, but to Grace, the loudest sound was the beating of her own heart.

The dawn had barely begun to tint the sky with shades of gray when Marcus awoke, a strange heaviness weighing down his body. His half-open eyes struggled to adjust to the faint light filtering through the curtains. The silence in the bedroom was overwhelming, an echo of solitude that reverberated in his ears. He instinctively reached out toward where he knew Grace should be, but the space beside him was cold. Too cold.

Something was wrong.

His still-groggy mind took a moment to process the absence. At first, he thought Grace had risen early, perhaps still weary from the night they had shared. But when he turned his head toward her side, a small detail made his heart race: a lilac scarf resting on the pillow, where she had laid her head. Marcus reached out with a trembling hand to pick it up.

The scent of Grace's hair still clung to the soft fabric, but that delicate fragrance, which once would have soothed him, now filled him with a toxic mix of fury and betrayal. She had left him. His body still felt sluggish and stiff, but the weight of the betrayal was the only thing clear in his mind. Grace had fled.

" You abandoned me, " he muttered under his breath.

The scarf trembled in his hand, his fingers closing around it tighter and tighter. She had poisoned him with sweetness, lulled him with her touches, while crafting a meticulous plan to escape. Every kiss, every whisper, every knowing glance… it had all been part of the game she had started days before.

Marcus shut his eyes and clenched his jaw until a dull pain began to spread through his head. She had no idea whom she had betrayed. The pain of trusting her suffocated him, but he wouldn't let it consume him. Now was the time for revenge.

With a low growl, he threw back the sheets and got to his feet. The cold of the floor crept up his bare feet, though he barely felt it. His body was still recovering from whatever she had slipped into the wine. But his mind was already alert. Too alert. He strode toward the window and yanked the curtains open, letting the pale morning light flood the room. He gripped the scarf so tightly his knuckles turned white. That piece of fabric, once filled with memories, now stood as a symbol of her betrayal.

The air in the room felt thick, heavy, as if it shared in the fury boiling inside him. Westlin brought the scarf to his face, closing his eyes for a moment, breathing in the perfume she had left behind.

" Ryder! " he bellowed, his voice echoing through the house.

The butler appeared immediately, startled by the call. Though accustomed to his master's cold demeanor, the look on Marcus's face in that moment sent a chill down his spine. The fury in his expression suggested something was about to erupt.

" Saddle my horse, " Marcus ordered, dressing quickly.

Ryder nodded swiftly, slipping away in silence to carry out the command. Once he was dressed, Marcus grabbed the scarf he had thrown on the bed and tucked it into his jacket pocket. He wasn't going to let Grace's betrayal go unpunished. What pained him wasn't just the loss of control—it was her. He had begun to see her as more than just a prisoner, someone he could share his life with. And she had stabbed him in the back.

His anger burned, but beneath it, there was a cold, calculating resolve. This wasn't just about wounded pride. It was something deeper, more personal. She wasn't just a woman who had deceived him; she had been the only one capable of breaking through the walls he had built over the years.

"This isn't over," he thought, lips pressed into a tight line as he stepped out of the room. He walked down the hallway with determined steps, the sound of his boots echoing off the floor, a promise of vengeance in each step. He wouldn't let her escape. Not now, not when he knew he desired her more than he had ever imagined. Grace would be his, one way or another.

The horse was ready when Marcus stepped into the front courtyard. As he placed his foot in the stirrup, one last image of her flashed through his mind: her laughter, her scent, the memory of her body perfectly fitting with his.

" I will find you, " he thundered. " And when I do, you will know what it means to betray Marcus Baxter. "