Rosamund
"My lady?" Jennifer's smile widened, and she turned to my father with theatrical amusement. "Lord Fletcher, how delightful. Your daughter seems to have interesting ideas about protocol."
Heat flooded my cheeks.
"Forgive my daughter," my father said quickly, stepping slightly in front of me. "Up until a week ago, she was living with her grandmother in the countryside. She's not yet accustomed to society."
"I didn't ask for explanations," Jennifer scoffed, then turned to the middle-aged man with glasses. "Arthur, please proceed with examining the lady."
"Examining her?" My father stepped forward, brows arched in confusion. "What for? This is not part of the arrangement."
"My mistake, Lord Fletcher," Jennifer laughed dryly, clearly unbothered. "One of the criteria for a Duke's bride is to ensure she's a virgin. If your daughter cannot meet that requirement, I'm afraid the arrangement will not go through."
I stilled as the words bride echoed in my mind. Surely, that meant something different. I turned to my father.
"What is she talking about, father?" I whispered.
"Not now, Rosamund," he said through clenched teeth and turned to Jennifer. "But that was never stated. No one informed me of this requirement. Surely, we can—"
"If it's not convenient to allow us to examine your daughter, then you can go," Jennifer cut him off. "But just know this: the agreement is off. Make up your mind, Lord Fletcher."
Sweat beaded on my father's brow as he turned to look at me.
"Father, what is this about a bride?" I whispered again. "Am I to marry the duke?"
Guilt flashed through his face for a moment, but the next instant it was gone. He turned to Jennifer and nodded.
"Fine. I approve."
"But father," I protested, reaching for his sleeve. "This is not what you told me."
"You're here now," he said coldly, brushing my hands off. "That's all that matters. Do your duty."
By this time, Arthur had reached me. The two nurses each came to stand by my side, already reaching for my elbows.
"If you'll follow me to the adjacent room, Lady Rosamund. It won't take long," Arthur said with surprising gentleness.
"Father!" I pulled against the nurses' grip, panic cracking through my voice. "You told me this was an introduction. You never said anything about—about marriage or—"
"Take her away," Jennifer said, waving dismissively. "We don't have all night."
The nurses tightened their grip on me and began steering me toward the side door. I dug my heels in, reaching back toward my father desperately, but he had already looked away, his jaw working as he refused to meet my eyes.
"Father, please—" I cried.
Just as we reached the side door, a voice cut through the room, overshadowing my panicked pleas.
"That will not be necessary."
The nurses froze mid-step. Arthur looked toward Jennifer, who, for the first time, seemed uncertain.
My gaze turned towards the direction of the voice, realising it had come from the man at the window.
The broad-shouldered man in dark riding clothes had turned at last. He crossed the room slowly, and as he moved from shadow into light, I forgot how to breathe.
He was younger than I expected, and he was wearing a mask.
The mask was crafted from black leather and silver, covering the upper half of his face from forehead to cheekbones. Only his jaw, his mouth and sharp chin were visible. His eyes, hidden behind the mask's dark openings, were impossible to read.
I felt my pulse quicken as he stopped a few feet from where I stood between the nurses. For a moment, everything else in the room seemed to fade away.
If this was the Duke, who was the handsome man by the fireplace? Were there two Dukes here?
"Your Grace," Jennifer moved toward him with a soft smile on her face. "The examination is standard protocol. You must let Arthur do his job."
"I determine what protocol is," he said quietly, his gaze settling on Jennifer with an intensity that made her step back. "The examination is cancelled."
Jennifer stumbled slightly, confusion and hurt clouding her features.
The masked man turned from her without ceremony. His voice was cold and commanding: "Clyde, pay Lord Fletcher according to the agreement and prepare the carriage. We leave for Wellspring tonight. I will not spend a moment more here."
"Well noted, Your Grace," Clyde replied smoothly.
The handsome man in the velvet chair rose immediately and lifted a small leather case from beside his chair. He carried it to my father and placed it in his hands with a bow.
My father stared at the case, his face draining of colour as the weight of it settled in his hands. "Your Grace…I don't know what to say."
The masked man had already turned away from him. He was walking toward me.
His gaze didn't waver as his eyes—visible only in those dark openings—found mine again. I couldn't look away. For some reason, everything about him felt wrong in a way I couldn't name. Not evil, but wrong. There was something in the air around him, thick and suffocating.
He finally stopped in front of me, so close that the faint scent of lavender and an unusual rush of heat wafted up to my nostrils. It was an unexpected softness for a man like him.
The nurses released my arms instinctively and stepped back.
I lowered my head, hoping to hide the confusion and fear warring across my face. I was trembling, though I couldn't say why.
Gently, the masked man reached for my right hand. His touch was ice cold, and I realised my hand was shaking in his grasp, but I didn't pull away.
He lifted my hand and lowered his head, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. The gesture was old-fashioned, almost courtly. It made no sense. Nothing about this made sense.
When he looked up, his grey eyes held mine through the mask's openings.
"My name is Nevan Wilder," he said softly, and his voice carried a weight that seemed to shift the very air around us. "I intend to be your husband."
He paused, letting the words settle between us like a vow and a threat twisted together.
"I am the Duke."