Page 78 of When Hearts Surrender

He gripped my hand, forcing me to look at him. “For the duration of this arrangement, you’re mine. Mine to protect. Mine to care for. Don’t you forget it.”

Heat unfurled inside me, and my lips parted. My body couldn’t help responding to the dominance in his voice.

I want to be his.

His eyes flared and snagged on my mouth, but then he dropped my hand and looked away.

Not wanting this distance between us, I whispered, “Should we practice your speech for the gala?”

Maxwell gave me a curt nod, and I smiled encouragingly at him. “You can do this. It’s just you and me. Let’s start from the beginning.”

He took a deep breath and rolled out his muscles. Clearing his throat, he began, “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for coming to the ball.”

It’d be a repeating cycle each night. He’d sit next to me and silently eat, then we’d practice his speech. He’d wait until I fell asleep before he’d disappear.

What’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours, Maxwell?

I walk back to my writing desk and set my drawings and pencil down, ignoring the rattling of the tree branches against the building, the creepy creaking of the bones of the house, like it’s restless, just like me.

Taking a seat at the chair, I close my eyes, exhaustion weighing heavily on my eyelids as I listen to the howling sounds of nature.

Moments pass by before I open my eyes. The skies are pitch black. I must’ve fallen asleep without realizing.

Stretching, I stare at the desk in front of me—it’s my favorite furniture in the room. It’s obviously an antique, well preserved and made of rosewood with gold hardware. I trail my fingers on the smooth surface, tracing the thin lines betraying the years of use before moving to the intricate scrollwork carving on the legs of the table and the drawers.

Judging by the items I found on the trays on the desk before, Maxwell’s grandmother was probably the last person to use this space before the room was forgotten.

My elbow accidentally knocks into my drawings, and my pencil clatters to the ground in the gap behind the desk and the wall.

Squatting down, I move the chair out of the way and maneuver myself into the tight space under the desk. Pressing one hand to the inner surface of the furniture, my other hand moves around the floor to reach for the pencil.

“Almost there,” I huff as I lean in, trying to grab it.

Click.

I freeze, my pulse quickening.Did I just hear that?Frowning, I crawl back out and look around, searching for the source of the sound.

A small drawer pops out from the side of the desk, previously hidden by the intricate carvings in the wood.

My eyes widen.A hidden drawer!I’ve heard about these contraptions in vintage furniture. The howling of the wind ratchets up, the clashing of the foliage outside more thunderous, but nothing can dim the excitement rushing through me.

Quickly, I look inside the compartment, finding one crinkled envelope, yellowed with age, the red wax seal of the Anderson lion already broken.

I carefully take it out, my fingers gingerly smoothing over the elegant script that says:

My Beloved Emma.

My breathingcatches and a desperate ache gnaws inside my chest as I open the envelope and take out the letter. The paper is wrinkled, like someone balled it up before, and the penmanship is beautiful.

My Beloved Emma,

In the next few days, you will see me behave like the role I was born into, a coldhearted duke. But let me reassure you, the man you love is still here, still very much in love with you with all of his heart.

Louisa found out about our affair and confronted me about it. As your belly became swollen with our child, she grew suspicious, because she knew you didn’t cavort with the men on our staff and you rarely go out, since you’d much prefer spending your free time painting or reading.

She asked the servants and under coercion, one of them told her about us. While our marriage isn’t a love match, she has her pride, and I’m afraid she won’t let this go and will hurt you. I’m afraid she’ll thwart my plans of leaving her.

To protect you and our babe, I have to cut you off as would any man of my station do in such circumstances.

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