VI

The icy wind whipped against Marcus's face as he galloped relentlessly through the villages that had once been home to the Countess of Hesse. Days of travel, filled with unanswered questions and an increasing sense of urgency, had begun to wear on him. Time was running out, and every place he visited only added to the frustration clouding his already tangled mind. He couldn't allow the wedding to take place, not when he was almost certain the woman accompanying his friend was not who she claimed to be.

The quiet, peaceful villages stood in stark contrast to the turmoil raging inside him. The old roads, cobbled paths, and overcast skies seemed unbothered by Westlin's desperation. Everything remained as it always had, but Marcus felt as though something dark lurked in the hidden corners of these lands. Every conversation he had with the former servants of the Countess's family only pushed him closer to the edge.

Many of the servants who had worked for the Baron, the Countess's father, claimed that after she left to marry, the family had disowned her as if she had never existed. No mention of her, no memories. They said the entire inheritance had gone to a nephew of the Baron, who now resided at the family estate. Marcus had no choice but to seek out this man, hoping he could provide the information he needed to stop the impending disaster.

When he finally met the man, the conversation proved just as frustrating as the others. The nephew only shared childhood anecdotes and hazy memories of family gatherings— nothing that offered the truth Marcus sought. Except for one detail.

" The Countess of Hesse had a scar on her right shoulder, " the man mentioned casually. " It was from a fall off a horse when she was a child. "

Marcus remembered the moment Grace had appeared in that stunning dress at the ball. Her bare shoulders had shown no sign of the mark the man had described. That small but crucial piece of the puzzle confirmed what he had suspected for days: the woman about to marry Cassian was not the real Countess of Hesse. She was an impostor.

With his heart pounding, Marcus left the nephew's estate, his mind racing. Though the revelation of the scar confirmed his suspicions, he had no solid evidence to stop the wedding. He felt a rising desperation, as if each passing second dragged him closer to the brink. Grace's face appeared repeatedly in his thoughts. How had she come to this? What role was she playing in all of this? And, most importantly, how could he prevent her from ruining his friend's life?

Time was slipping through his fingers, and as he galloped back to London, Westlin couldn't shake the urgency gnawing at him. Every mile he covered brought him closer to an inevitable decision: he had to uncover the entire truth, no matter the cost. Yet, with each step, his obsession with Grace grew, rooting itself deeper in him in a way he couldn't control.

After three long days of fruitless searching, Marcus finally returned home. Darkness was beginning to fall over the city as he crossed the gates of the mansion. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally. Yet, the fury and frustration consuming him wouldn't let him rest. As soon as he dismounted his horse, Ryder, his ever-faithful butler, appeared to greet him with the same impeccable courtesy as always.

" Welcome, milord, " Ryder said with a respectful nod.

" Prepare a hot bath and dinner, " Marcus ordered, his tone sharp and almost brusque.

" Of course, right away, " Ryder responded calmly, unbothered by his master's severity.

As Marcus climbed the stairs to his chamber, he felt the weight of the past days settle heavily on his shoulders. Every muscle in his body was tense, but his mind refused to stop, like a clock that never ceased ticking. He knew he needed rest, yet something kept him alert, something that had haunted him since the first moment he had seen her.

Once in his room, Marcus began undressing slowly, letting each garment fall to the floor one by one. The cold air in the room wrapped around him, though it did nothing to calm the heat burning in his chest. It wasn't just the need to discover the truth that kept him awake, but something far more primal. Since he had met her, since that first encounter in the street, something inside him had shifted.

His mind couldn't stop returning to that moment: the accidental bump, the closeness, the brief contact between their bodies. It was as if an invisible current had passed through him then, something he still couldn't fully understand. The impact had been immediate, and though days had passed since then, the intensity of that feeling hadn't diminished in the slightest.

He stopped in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection. Despite his stern expression, Marcus could see how confusion consumed him. Every thought led back to her. To Grace. Not just because of the mystery surrounding her, but because of the growing desire that was beginning to take control of his mind. A longing that burned inside him, making him feel vulnerable to someone he knew he couldn't trust.

When the bath was ready, Westlin sank into the hot water, hoping the heat would bring him the relief he so desperately needed. But as soon as the warmth enveloped his body, the tension inside him only intensified. It was as if the heat of the bath stoked the flames already burning in his chest.

He leaned his head back against the edge of the tub and closed his eyes. And then, like an unstoppable torrent, the memories came flooding back: Grace's blue eyes, deep and full of secrets; her blonde hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders; the intoxicating scent that had filled his senses during their brief encounter; the softness of her skin, the delicate curve of her collarbone, the heart-shaped lips…

Marcus felt his breath quicken. He couldn't help it. Every part of him reacted to the mere thought of Grace. The tension he had tried to suppress for days morphed into a palpable need. The image of her consumed him, like a storm of emotions swirling around him.

Unable to contain himself, Marcus allowed his thoughts to dive deeper into every detail of the young woman. His mind replayed each feature: her eyes, her smile, the melody of her voice. It was as though she were there with him in that moment, yet out of reach all the same…

The tension built to an unbearable peak, and a low groan escaped his lips as he reached his climax. But the release didn't bring the peace he had hoped for. Instead, as the echo of his own breath faded into the quiet of the room, a wave of frustration washed over him.

Marcus slammed his fist into the water, sending hot droplets splashing in every direction. What had once felt comforting now felt stifling, the peace he had hoped to find evaporating in an instant, replaced by a burning fury.

How had he fallen so low? How could he have allowed a woman—possibly an impostor—to take over his thoughts like this? The disillusionment gnawed at him. It wasn't just desire tormenting him, but jealousy too, watching Cassian at her side. And worse still, his inability to unravel the mystery of who Grace really was.

" I will uncover the truth, " he muttered, his voice laced with determination.

But deep down, Marcus knew it wasn't just the truth driving him. Desire, rage, and obsession were woven together so tightly he could barely separate one from the other. The woman at the center of his thoughts was not only a danger to his friend but also a threat to the control he had always prided himself on.

Marcus rose from the tub with rough, swift movements, water sloshing around as he dried himself hastily. Despite the fury wrapping itself around him, something else urged him forward: a need for action, for resolution. The wedding loomed closer, and he still had no solid proof to stop it.

As he dressed quickly, his thoughts remained fixated on the young woman. "Who is she, really?" The question echoed repeatedly in his mind. Though he knew he needed to tread carefully, the impulse to confront her was overwhelming. He could no longer simply watch from the sidelines—he needed to get closer, close enough to unravel her secrets and trap her in her own lies.

One last glance in the mirror showed a man more determined than ever. His dark eyes reflected a storm of emotions he himself could barely understand. He left his room, heading toward his study where he often went to gather his thoughts. The room was cloaked in silence, interrupted only by the crackling of the fire in the hearth. The dim light enveloped him, but instead of calming his mind, it only stoked the tempest brewing inside him.

He poured himself a glass of brandy and sank into the chair by the fire. He knew he needed to think clearly, to devise a plan to get the information he needed. If Grace was indeed an impostor, he had to find proof. Only then could he save Cassian from a disastrous fate.

His fingers drummed impatiently on the arm of the chair as his mind raced. "Get close to her, make her trust me..." But the thought unsettled him. He couldn't ignore the fact that in imagining himself near her, desire mingled with his determination. Could he really keep his head clear? Or would his obsession consume him before he could uncover the truth? How could Cassian be so blind to what Marcus saw so clearly? How could he not see the farce unfolding before him?

Marcus clenched his fists, feeling the surge of anger rise once more. He wouldn't allow that woman to achieve whatever scheme she had in mind.

He stood abruptly, pacing the room, his mind filled with conflicting thoughts. On one hand, he was determined to uncover the truth, to protect Cassian at any cost. On the other, he couldn't deny the pull of attraction he felt toward Grace—a desire that complicated the situation even further.

"I can't afford to be led by desire," he told himself, repeating the words as if saying them aloud might convince him. Yet, the truth was he was already being swept away by it, and the internal battle between duty and longing only intensified with every thought of her.

As the hours of the night stretched on, Westlin knew there was no turning back. He walked to the window and gazed out over the sleeping city. The distant street lamps flickered, but none offered the answers he so desperately sought. He had to find a way to get close to her, to earn her trust without revealing his true intentions. But the hardest part would be keeping his growing desire for her in check each time he imagined her.

" I will find out who you are, Grace Collier, " he murmured in a husky voice, mentally preparing himself for what was to come.

The internal battle tormenting him was far from over. He knew confronting her would not be easy, and the closer he got to the truth, the harder it would be to maintain control. But one thing was clear to Marcus: he wouldn't rest until he had the answers he needed, even if it meant facing the darkest parts of his own soul.