I followed Lucian down a narrow corridor behind the wood-paneled wall of his bedchamber, the hem of my wedding gown dragging against the rough stone floor. My heart hammered against my ribs, but I kept my face carefully composed. The servants lined the hallway, their eyes following my every move. There would be no escape—not tonight, not with so many watchful eyes.
"This passage was built during the last war," Lucian explained casually, as if giving a tour to a houseguest rather than leading his new bride into what I suspected was his private torture chamber. "The previous marquess—my grandfather—had quite the foresight."
"How very... practical," I managed to say, fighting to keep my voice steady. The farther we descended, the colder the air became. My wedding gown, designed for show rather than warmth, provided little protection against the damp chill.
