Page 10 of Losing Wendy

“Because, my dear,” he says, pulling my body closer to his as he leans in, his damp lips grazing my forehead and issuing a cringe through my bones as he does, “I’m the only one in this room who would dare take a claimed bride.”

My limbs freeze underneath the weight of his words, and he practically has to drag me through the next few steps of the dance.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” I say.

“Now, Miss Darling. Don’t pretend me dull. It wouldn’t be fair. I’ve not determined as much of you, despite your sluggishness in expressing yourself. Your family might play this masquerade off as fun and games, a show of extravagance and a display of extreme wealth, but no Estellian puts his daughter’s body into the wandering hands of strange men without reason.”

The foul man takes his thumb and begins pressing circles into my belly.

Disgust flares within me, but Lord Credence isn’t finished with his accusations. “We’re all thinking it, Miss Darling. Your father can flash your substantial dowry all he wants, but what good is all that money if it will go to an illegitimate son, bartered off upon an unsuspecting husband? Was that the plan, miss? To declare what a lucky and fertile woman you were for becoming with child so swiftly after the wedding night? Passing off your babe for one of noble birth?”

“Lord Credence, I assure you, no such thing has occurred.”

The foul man laughs. “Then explain to me the importance of your being married off with such urgency.”

The freckles of my Mark sting underneath my mask.

It’s not so far from the truth—the story this lord has concocted in his mind. No male has ever wanted me after realizing I’m Marked to another man, one I likely will never meet. As rare as it is for a Mark to appear, it’s even rarer to find one’s match.

Unfortunately, the rarity of it does nothing to assuage the paranoia and possessiveness of the male mind. Sure, perhaps the meninvited to this masquerade have no inkling of my Mating Mark, but Lord Credence can’t be the only male here suspicious of my family’s motivations in marrying me off so quickly.

If the noblemen attending this ball think I’m with child, there’s little chance of them desiring me, no matter how large a dowry my father attaches to me.

Shadows swirl in my vision, but I’m fairly sure they’re conjurings of my own morbid imagination.

You’re mine, they whisper.

Because I always have been.

“If you’re not to be dissuaded, my lord, then why not leave me abandoned on the dance floor?”

Lord Credence chuckles, his breath foul as he flashes me a straight set of teeth which I imagine did not originally belong to him. “Because, Miss Darling, I shall tell you a secret. Though it’s about as much a secret in my homelands as your dalliances are to the men in this ballroom. I’ve outlasted five wives, none of which ever succeeded in bearing me an heir. Not even an heiress. Now, though, I’ll claim ’til the day they rest my body in the grave that it was my wives’ assets that were to blame, I’m no fool. I’m aware it’s likely I who am unable to produce offspring. While your condition might prove a hindrance in the lives of other men, it would solve a great tragedy in mine.”

“You wouldn’t care that the heir would not belong to you?” I ask, so caught off guard by this man’s way of thinking that I find myself momentarily apprehended in this preposterous lie.

“I have suffered shame long enough. No one would know the child was not mine. At least, no one could prove as much, even if they suspected. I told no one of the urgency of this ball when I left, and Kruschi is too remote for news to travel back.”

Indeed. That is the very reason we sent an invitation to Lord Credence to begin with.

“You’re offering a sham of a marriage, so that I might bear an heir in your name?” I ask, biting the inside of my cheek. The idea ofbeing wed to this man makes me long to squirm out of his arms, but if he has no intention of coming near me…

“Oh, sham is not the word I would use,” he says, his trembling voice going gravelly. “A man is not without his needs, after all. Though several of my senses have been dulled with time, I am sure a beauty such as yourself…” He traces my hipbone with his fingertips, allowing his hand to slip down and cup my backside. I flinch, which only provokes him more. “I assure you, Miss Darling, you will fill my last few years of life with pleasure. Though I’m confident you’ll be grateful to fulfill my needs, considering what I’m offering you.”

My limbs seem to have frozen underneath his hungry, weathered touch. I long for nothing more than to free myself of his vulgar advances, but no matter how vehemently my mind screams at me to shove him away, my limbs don’t appear to be listening.

I remember my biology tutor telling me that prey often utilize one of two effective responses to being stalked. Fight or flee.

Then there are the unfortunate fools whose bodies are not meant for survival.

I can’t breathe, can’t move. Even Lord Credence has stopped dancing. I should cry out against him for his impropriety, but it’s as if I’m in a dream in which I’m trying to flee my pursuer, but I’m trapped within my own worthless body, unable to command my limbs.

“What do you say, Miss Darling? Grant an old man a little enjoyment in his last few years to live? Secure a fortune for yourself and your child?”

Ink creeps into the corners of my vision.

It occurs to me that this awful man might be my only hope to escape the shadows.

But could the shadows be worse than this?

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