Miss Emma Baxter paused outside of her uncle’s office unable to ignore the raised voices coming from within.

“You will settle your debt or face debtor’s prison.” A raspy male voice shouted.

“Surely I have something other than coin that you would be willing to accept,” Her uncle, Mr. Silas Powell, suggested.

Emma crept closer and peeked through the crack of the partially open door. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Lord Winham stood near her uncle’s desk, a tumbler of amber liquid in his beefy hand.

“You should refrain from gambling if you haven’t the blunt to settle your losses, Baxter.”

She should have guessed as much. Uncle Silas had gambled away nearly everything they had, save for the house and a few baubles her aunt had entrusted to her before she passed away. Those too, would no doubt have been lost as well if Uncle Silas knew she possessed them. He’d claimed to have stayed away from the gaming hells these past months. All the same, she wasn’t the least bit surprised to hear he was in trouble again.

After all, it was only a matter of time where Uncle Silas was concerned. He always fell back into the trap. The habit had caused a continuous heartache for her aunt while she lived, and likely caused her death. Poor thing, she had loved him deeply despite his failings and as a result fretted more than was good for any one person.

“You are welcome to anything I posses, Windham. Name your desire and it is yours.”

What was there to take other than their home? Her uncle’s pub, she supposed. One would be as devastating a loss for them as the other. If Windham took the house they would have no shelter—if he took the pub they would have no income.

“Perhaps there is one thing you posses of interest to me.” Windham rubbed his rounded chin between his thumb and forefinger as she stared, her belly in knots. “Miss Emma.”

Bile rose in her throat. She fought to suppress it as she stared at the men. Uncle Silas would never…

“Done,” Uncle Silas agreed. “She is yours to do with as you please.”

How could he! Was it not bad enough that her own father gave her away after her mother’s death? Now her uncle intended to use her in order to settle his debt. She’d not stand for it. The office door ricocheted off the papered wall from the force she used entering the room. “You cannot give me away like I am nothing more than an old settee.” She glared at Uncle Silas prepared to do battle.

Both men stared at her with rounded eyes. Windham recovered first and ambled over to her. “Calm down, pet. I will make you a fine husband.” He reached out one meaty hand, resting it on her lower back. I have desired you for years and promise not to disappoint.

She jerked away from him then moved to the opposite side of the drab room, her slipper clad feet pounding the worn rug beneath them. “I will not marry you, Lord Windham.” She turned her attention on Uncle Silas. “You cannot force me.”

Uncle Silas offered a smile as he rounded his desk coming toward her. “Do be reasonable, Emma. Lord Windham is a wealthy baron. A far better match than you could have hoped for. Hell, you do not even have a dowry, but now you will be a countess.”

She stiffened her back. “Have you thought to ask yourself why a wealthy baron would seek my hand?” She would wager he had not. Furthermore, the answer could not be undying love. The baron’s intentions arose from lust at best. Good Heaven’s, he’d said as much only a moment ago. The way he gazed at her on the rare occasions they were in the same room always sent chills through her. Death would be preferable to a forced marriage with the old lecher.

“His reasons do not signify. Fact is, Lord Windham has offered for you and you will accept.”

“I most certainly will not,” She raised her voice a fraction.

Windham studied her from his place near the window a slight curve to his plump lips and something dark in his gaze. “I have longed to posses you from the moment I first laid eyes on you, Miss Emma. You will be the jewel in my barony.”

Uncle Silas took firm hold of her upper arm, leaning in so close she could smell the liquor on his breath. “You owe me for all the years I have cared for you.”

“I never asked for your care. Father sold me to you.” She fought back her rising tears. “I owe you nothing.”

Windham approached, placing his hand on her shoulder, he whispered in her ear, “Once we are wed, I will see you tamed, pet.”

She glared at him, “Never. I will never marry you.”

He ran his hand down her back to her buttocks, squeezed, then strolled to the door before turning back to her Uncle. “See that she complies, Baxter. I expect to be wed in three weeks time or it will be debtor’s prison for you. I will have a betrothal contract outlining the wedding plans sent over for your signature.” Windham tossed her a lecherous smile before taking his leave.

“I will never marry you. No one can force me,” Emma yelled at his retreating back.

Her head snapped to the side as her uncle’s open hand smacked into her cheek. She placed her own hand over the stinging flesh. Her resolve strengthened and she held her head high in challenge. “You can do whatever you please, Uncle. But know this. I would embrace death before a marriage to Lord Windham.”

“You always were a foolish chit.” He pulled her from the office then pushed her toward the stairs. “You will remain locked in your room with nothing more than a meal a day to sustain you until you see reason and accept Windham.”

She started up the stairs, her chin notched defiantly. “You might as well refrain from sending food. I will not eat a bite.”

“You only harm yourself. You will be wed to the baron with or without your consent.”

His heavy footfalls behind her urged her to walk faster as she made haste for the sanctuary of her chamber. She knew not how she would get out of this marriage, but there was no way she could comply. She’d think of something—someway, somehow, she had to escape the baron’s clutches.