VIII

The soft murmur of footsteps along the carpeted hallway and the muted voices of the servants barely reached through the closed door of Grace's room. Despite the luxury surrounding her, the atmosphere felt suffocating. The wedding dress hung in the corner, a pristine white shadow that seemed to mock her with a promise she had no desire to fulfill.

She sat at the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, staring into the flames dancing in the fireplace. The heat from the fire did nothing to warm the cold that gripped her from within. Lesly had stepped out to attend to a servant from Symes Manor, leaving her alone with her thoughts—something that only deepened her anxiety.

Her eyes drifted toward the dress once more, and melancholy washed over her. She didn't feel like a bride, much less a happy one. With a stifled sigh, she rose and walked toward the fire. The marriage she was about to enter was nothing like the one she had imagined for herself. The mere thought of spending her life with a man whose heart belonged to another filled her with nausea. She clenched her hands tightly, her nails digging into her palms. She felt trapped in a fate she hadn't chosen, and the idea of living an eternal lie terrified her.

A lump formed in her throat. Her dream had always been so simple: a quiet life in the countryside, far away from the aristocracy and its lies. She thought of Scotland, the place where she had dreamed of living, surrounded by nature and peace. But how could she flee now? How could she betray her mother's memory by breaking the vow she had made?

Tears began to slide down her cheeks, and this time, she couldn't stop them. She covered her face with her hands, letting the silent sobs consume her. She felt everything slipping out of her control—her dreams fading away as an unstoppable future loomed before her.

A knock at the door startled her. Grace quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks with the sleeves of her dress, trying to regain her composure before Lesly returned. She didn't want her maid to see her like this, so vulnerable.

" Come in, " she said, her voice barely steady.

But the voice that responded from the other side wasn't Lesly's.

" Miss Collier, I am Marcus Baxter, and I've come to see you. "

Her heart stopped for a moment before it began to race wildly. What was he doing here? Why was he seeking her out? Fear surged within her. She knew something was wrong. "What does he want from me?" she wondered, trying to avoid the confrontation she dreaded.

" I am alone, my lord, " she replied, struggling to remain calm despite the tremble in her voice. " It's not proper for us to meet. "

The silence that followed was brief but thick with tension. Marcus's response came swiftly, and when he spoke, his voice was firm, leaving no room for negotiation.

" Either you open this door willingly, or I'll open it myself. "

Panic overtook her. She knew she had no choice. Slowly, with trembling hands, she approached the door. Her entire body felt as though it was on the verge of collapse. Her heart pounded so loudly she feared Marcus could hear it from the other side. That premonition she had felt since arriving in London was about to come true.

She turned the doorknob carefully, but before she could fully open it, Marcus pushed his way inside, forcing her to stumble backward. The intensity of his movement caused her to lose her balance, and before she could fall, Marcus caught her by the waist. Once again, she found herself trapped in his arms, feeling the heat of his body and his quickened breath. The contact disarmed her completely.

For a fleeting moment, fear mingled with a strange sense of closeness, of familiarity. But Westlin, aware of the effect his proximity had on both of them, released her abruptly. With a brusque gesture, he stepped back, a visible struggle playing out on his face. The confusion on Grace's face shifted to apprehension, and Marcus noticed. Despite his harshness, he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. He hadn't meant to frighten her, though he knew he couldn't let his emotions distract him from his purpose.

" What... do you want, my lord? " she finally whispered, barely audible.

Marcus looked at her; his dark eyes reflected the internal tension tearing him apart. He was trying to maintain control, but her nearness, her fragility, made it increasingly difficult to keep his emotions in check.

" You will not marry Hantersey, " he said firmly, his words as sharp as a verdict. " A liar cannot have her way. "

Grace felt her entire world freeze. Her hands fell limply at her sides, unable to form a response. How had he discovered the truth? What had gone wrong? What part of her mother's carefully laid plan had failed?

" What... what do you mean? " she managed to murmur, her voice trembling as panic grew inside her.

Marcus stepped closer, his gaze fixed on her blue eyes—the eyes that had captivated him, that now reflected her fear.

" I said… you… will… not… marry… Cassian. "

With each word, the distance between them shrank until they were so close they could feel each other's warmth. Their breathing grew more rapid, their intense gazes locked. The air between them was charged with tension, ready to explode. Neither moved back; both were caught in this silent yet powerful confrontation.

" Why? " Grace asked, struggling to hold herself together. But the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

Marcus, without breaking eye contact, delivered the truth like a final blow.

" Because you are the maid of the Countess of Hesse. "

Marcus's words hit Grace like a punch. All her efforts to maintain the fa?ade, to hide the truth, crumbled in an instant. The pressure she had felt for so long, the constant fear of being discovered, finally overwhelmed her. The world around her grew blurry. Before she could react, everything went dark, and she felt, for the third time, that same man catching her in his arms.