Page 4 of Brix

“Of course, darling. We’ve told you. We’ll need an heir.”

“Mother, I am not going to marry right now. I refuse,” she said, staring at her parents. “You can’t make me do this. Don’t make me do this.”

“Daphne, you can continue to have a career while you’re married if you and your husband agree.”

“Mother, this isn’t the Elizabethan era. Women don’t need their husband’s approval to have a career. I will not marry.”

Yet somehow, her parents were able to manipulate her, coax her, force her to do just that. To a man thirty years her senior. She’d been told over and over again that he was a good man. Successful. Respected. Except Daphne had seen him in private.

His behavior was appalling. Boorish. He would suck his teeth after meals, pick his nose at the table and wipe it on the linen napkins. He was rude to the staff, rude to waiters and waitresses at restaurants.

This was not a man she wanted to spend her life with. Yet she agreed. She cursed herself every day for agreeing to that. She knew better. Yet she did it anyway.

It started when she refused to kiss him on the lips at the wedding. She’d turned her cheek shyly, giving him the corner of her mouth. When they danced, he held her so tightly she thought she’d never be able to breathe again. He ground his pathetic groin into her body, and she nearly vomited on him.

When his anger boiled over into their wedding night, accusing her of being childish and a whore for dancing at her wedding with an old schoolmate, he proceeded to beat her, rape her, and beat her again. Leaving her to ‘think’ about her actions, he went to London to spend a few days alone in his apartment.

Daphne had no one to call other than her parents. At first, she thought to dial her mother’s number, but something inside of her said don’t. Instead, she called her father, who was so appalled by the situation he immediately went to his daughter’s side.

When they arrived, they were horrified at the nightmare they’d created for their daughter. Swift with action, they got her medical care, called their attorneys, had the marriage annulled, and never asked their daughter about the incident again.

For Daphne, it wasn’t that simple. Although they didn’t want to speak of it, it did happen, and she had to deal with the outcome and emotions she carried from it on a daily basis.

She moved out of the estate to an apartment in London, living the life she’d always wanted. But her ex-husband, Sir Marshall Campbell always seemed to find her. By law, he couldn’t come near her, couldn’t speak to her. But he was letting her know that he could find her.

When her best friend in the whole world called her for help, she immediately jumped into action. Elena Fayek was a brilliant archaeologist and dear school friend. Staying with Daphne for a few weeks, she quickly found herself in a lot of trouble.

But Elena had a hero. A big, handsome, wonderful hero. Major Carson. And her big, handsome, wonderful hero had a friend.

Brixton Slater.

Sent to pick up Elena’s things from Daphne’s apartment, they were able to get to know one another, chatting casually. For Daphne, it was as if she’d known him forever. She wanted to tell him everything about her life, but there just didn’t seem to be enough time.

When he left for America, she assumed they might see one another again soon. Her parents had taken up the task of getting an heir once again, and Daphne was ready to bolt.

But before she could leave, she had to help Elena and the others. Their lives were at risk, and so was something very important at the auction house. Something no one seemed to be able to identify.

She helped the team with Elena’s father, the true criminal, and she found herself, once again, beaten and broken. Only this time, there was someone there to save her. Someone who didn’t want her to produce an heir to an estate. Someone who put her safety above all else.

“I’ve got you, angel. I’ve got you,” whispered Brix. “We’re going home.”

CHAPTER THREE

Daphne opened her eyes and stared up at the rough-hewn beams of the cottage. She’d been there almost seven days now, recovering from a beating nearly as bad as the one her ex-husband had delivered to her.

Every day the medical team would arrive, give her a good examination, change her dressings, and help her to shower. They were patient, talented, and absolutely lovely to her.

She pushed herself up against the headboard, slowly, gingerly moving her own body for the first time.

“You’re not supposed to be moving, beautiful,” he smirked, leaning against the door jamb.

“Brix, stop calling me that,” she grimaced. “I’m black and blue all over and can barely move. I hardly look beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful to me, Daph.” He moved closer to the bed and sat beside her. “How are you feeling? Any pain today?”

“Some,” she nodded. “It is better. Really, it is.”

“Well, today, you’re going to get a real treat. A bath in a hot spring.”