Silence followed—one heartbeat, two, three. And then came the brittle shattering of glass upon the floor.
Eden burst through the door. Her father half crouched against the far wall, an untouched glass of dark liquid in his hand. The other glass lay smashed in a pool of spilled liquor at his feet.
The man who had broken that glass raised his hand, and her father dropped to all fours.
Something was happening to Cornelius’s face, his hands—something that made Eden betray herself with a cry of horror.
Her father’s tormentor turned sharply to Eden, and she froze in midstep.
Her husband-to-be had vanished. In his place stood a creature with his face but dressed in animal skins and rags. From his brow grew a crown of antlers that nearly scraped the low ceiling.
He had become a monster.
She covered her mouth with her hand. The creature with Cornelius’s face opened his mouth to speak, and took a single step toward her with one brown hand outstretched.
The blood rushing in her ears drowned out the steady drum of rain and her own gasping breaths. She stumbled back, feeling for the door behind her.
And she ran. Blindly, with no purpose other than escape. She passed a handful of servants and the innkeeper, following the cool, wet draft of air that meant freedom. The inn’s door stood ajar, admitting a sodden pair of travelers. Eden pushed past them without a word.
The dirty cobbles of the stable yard were already slick with mud. She dodged the horses and hostlers and dashed for the gate. In a matter of minutes, her dress was soaked through and her pelisse half fallen from her shoulders.
Still she ran, until the roar of thunder muffled even the hammering of her heart. When she could go no farther, she stopped and turned her face up to the sky. Her hair hung in knotted ropes down her back. One of her shoes was lost. She was lost.
She laughed. Her mouth filled with water, and she swallowed it, wishing to be drowned. She fell to her knees and rocked back and forth, shivering, while raindrops played the role of tears that would not come.
Today is my wedding day.
Today her life was over.
Chapter 1
Six Years Laters
“My lady, Mr. Winstowe is asking for you.” Lady Eden Winstowe turned from her bleak view of Brook Street and acknowledged the butler’s hushed summons with a nod. “Thank you, Bailey. I shall go up presently.” She glanced out the window again, through the splattered raindrops that drowned the world on this dark November morning.
So the time had come. How strange that it should fall at a season when most of the ton had left for their estates to enjoy hunting and holidays, family and friends.
Her throat tightened with the memory of grief. Spencer had been lost to her long ago, before his final illness had drained the life from his body. She had known for years that he wanted to be rid of her, free to marry some fresh young woman with a larger and more reliable income—though it seemed increasingly unlikely that any woman would accept the debauched, unbalanced man he had become. She would gladly have given him that freedom rather than see it end like this, in such pain and bitterness.
Once she’d hated him. Now she felt only pity and helplessness. Lady Eden Winstowe could flout anyone except Death.
“The fire has gone out, my lady. I will send a maid to light it again.”
Eden glanced at the coals in the grate, aware of the chill for the first time in hours. “It is quite unnecessary, Bailey. As long as the fire is adequate in Mr. Winstowe’s chamber—”
“It is, my lady. The doctor is still with him, and Mr. Reynolds. Is there anything more I can do for you?”
The poor man had little enough to do now that they had taken the knocker from the door and closed the house to visitors. “I shall see Mr. Winstowe now, Bailey.”
He bowed and retreated from the room, leaving her to face the stairs alone. The stairs that led to yet another ending.