“Indeed, I am delighted to have you all here!”

Jacintha tried to smile as Lord Slate lifted his glass in a toast, far too aware of just how much the man had drunk. They had only arrived that very afternoon and, instead of excusing themselves to take tea in the drawing room in order to leave Lord Slate and their father to their port, Lord Slate had insisted that they remain. The tea had been drunk and, much to Jacintha’s displeasure, the conversation was becoming a little more ribald. In fact, she was quite astonished at just how different Lord Slate appeared to be. Gone were the gentlemanly manners and careful speech. Instead, there appeared to be a rather easy manner – a little too easy, perhaps – and a slightly drunken slur to his words. This was not the best impression he could have made.

Not that it appeared to matter to her father who was, at this point, enjoying just as much port as Lord Slate. He lifted his glass in return and chuckled, leaning heavily back in his chair. “Thank you for your invitation, Lord Slate. I am sure I speak for both my daughters when I thank you for your generosity.”

“Indeed,” Jacintha murmured, throwing a glance towards Harmonia who, much to her relief, seemed as perturbed as she. “Papa, don’t you think it’s time you retired? You have been very tired of late.”

The truth was, whilst she was indeed concerned for her father, Jacintha did not particularly want to be in Lord Slate’s company at this point. He appeared much too brash for her liking, which rather unsettled her.

“Yes, I agree, papa,” Harmonia added, getting up from her chair. “Do excuse us, Lord Slate, but we are all quite tired from the journey. I hope you do not mind if we retire early.”

“Not in the least,” he said, getting up from his chair and giving her a slight bow. “I look forward to your company again tomorrow.”

Jacintha caught her breath as Lord Slate trained his gaze on her, feeling as though she were being caught in a trap she had not been aware of.

“I shall retire also,” she murmured, coming around to help her father from his chair. “Good evening, Lord Slate. Thank you for a wonderful time thus far.”

The lie fell from her tongue easily as she took her father’s arm and, managing to avoid Lord Slate’s gaze entirely, both she and Harmonia helped their father from the room. He was not particularly drunk, however, but rather appeared to be very tired from the trip. The liquor did not help his exhaustion, of course, and Jacintha was relieved when they made it to his bedchamber.

“He has his manservant waiting for him,” Harmonia murmured, ensuring that he sat down by the fire in his room before hurrying back towards Jacintha. “We need not worry about him until morning.”

“I do hope the journey was not too trying,” Jacintha replied, quite concerned for her father’s health. “Do you think he will be all right?”

“I am quite sure he will,” Harmonia replied, firmly, patting Jacintha’s arm. “You need not worry. After all, this trip is mostly about you and your future, is it not?”

Jacintha sighed, chewing on her bottom lip for a moment. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

“You were not pleased with Lord Slate’s behavior this evening?”

“I was surprised,” Jacintha admitted, quietly. “Mayhap he is just glad to be home again and has allowed himself a trifle more freedom. You know how it feels to return to where you belong.”

Harmonia nodded, her eyes searching Jacintha’s for a moment. “The future is not decided, Jacintha,” she said, softly, with one had on the door handle to her bedchamber. “Remember that.”

Jacintha smiled and pressed a quick kiss to her sister’s cheek before bidding her goodnight. Walking quickly along the corridor towards her own bedchamber – which, much to her confusion, was quite a distance away from her sister and her father’s rooms – she tried not to worry about Lord Slate’s strange behavior this evening, putting it down to good spirits and nothing more.

“Ah, Jacintha.”

She shrieked, jumping back in fright as Lord Slate himself appeared at the top of the staircase to her right, holding onto the rail with one hand and with a glass of port in the other.

“Lord Slate,” she gasped, putting one hand on her frantically beating heart. “Whatever is the matter?”

“Nothing is the matter,” he replied, with a wide grin. “I just wanted to ensure that you were quite well before you retired to bed.” He climbed the remaining two stairs and came towards her, staggering just a little. “Are you quite well, Jacintha?”

“I am,” she replied, glancing along the hallway and wondering how she was to get around him in order to reach her bedchamber. “You need not worry yourself, Lord Slate.”

His smile was slow, turning into a leer as he moved infinitesimally closer. Warnings began to sound in Jacintha’s mind, making her lurch away from him, only for him to grasp at her arm.

“You need not run from me, Jacintha,” he murmured, his eyes growing dark as he pressed her back against the wall. “This will be your home one day soon. You have nothing to fear from me.”

“I do not fear you,” she replied, firmly, despite the fact that she did not feel as assured as she sounded. “But I would ask you to release me, Lord Slate. I am tired and wish to go to bed.”

“Would you like me to accompany you?”

She gasped, her eyes widening as he grinned, his eyes fixed on her lips. The question was so rude, so uncouth, that she did not know what to say.

“I assure you that there is nothing wrong in partaking in such things before we are wed,” he whispered, as though to encourage her to do exactly what she knew she should not. “A few months in advance will be of very little consequence.”

“No, my lord,” Jacintha said, as strongly as she could. “I do not wish for such a thing.”

This is not Lord Slate, her mind screamed, as she tried to move away from him towards her bedchamber. This cannot be the man who courted me so patiently in London.

Lord Slate sniffed, the smile slowly fading from his face. “That is rather disappointing, Jacintha. After all, I have been very patient with you thus far. Is it any wonder that I am growing impatient now?”

She swallowed, a curl of fear growing within her. “You forget, Lord Slate, that you have not proposed and nor have I accepted.”

He snorted. “What does that have to do with it? You are well aware of my intentions, and I hope you would not have granted my court without being aware of what I wanted from you.”

Jacintha winced as he grasped her arm a little more tightly, pain shooting through her. “Lord Slate,” she said, still trying to remove herself from him. “You are hurting me.”

He did not appear to hear her. “Perhaps just a taste of what you can expect will help,” he mumbled, stepping so close to her that his body was pressed against hers. “After all, you have never so much as kissed me.”

Everything in her rebelled at the idea. She did not want to kiss him, did not want to press her lips to his. She felt nothing but fear, wanting to escape from him, to run from him. His hands tightened on her arms, forcing her to stay in place.

His lips were wet, trailing down from her cheek to her mouth. Shuddering, Jacintha turned her face away – and he paused.

“What is the matter?” he asked, sounding rather angry. “We are to be husband and wife, this is what you should expect.”

“I will never expect to be treated in such a way,” she whispered, pressing the side of her face against the wall in an attempt to keep even her gaze from his. “Let me go, Lord Slate.”

There was a long silence. His grip did not lessen nor did he move away. Jacintha remained exactly as she was, ready to twist away from him the moment he let her go.

“You will do everything I ask of you, and more,” Lord Slate hissed, eventually, pressing the length of his body against hers. “You had better learn to obey, Jacintha, for I am warning you now that I do not take kindly to disobedience.”

She turned back to him then, something like anger growing within her despite the cloying fear. “I do not expect to marry a man who will treat me like one of his servants.”

He caught her chin with his hand, squeezing her cheeks painfully. “You will do as you are told!”

With such a declaration, he pressed his lips to her again, his hands leaving her arms and making their way down her body – and Jacintha seized her opportunity.

Pushing him, hard, she made to slip past him, only for him to catch her hand. Without thinking, she struck out at once, her hand slapping him firmly across the face. He staggered back and she bolted at once, her soft slippers sliding across the polished floor.

By the time she reached her bedchamber, he had recovered himself and was coming striding towards her. She did not hesitate but opened the door and slammed it, hard, her fingers trembling as she turned the key in the lock. His fists battered on it for a moment, vile curses springing from his throat – and Jacintha trembled with every word spoken.

“You will not refuse me,” he shouted, his words ringing all through the hallway. “I will have my bride. You are the one I have chosen, Jacintha. You will not turn away from me now.”

“There is nothing between us any more, Lord Slate,” Jacintha replied at once, trying to inject some confidence into her voice. “What was between us is now dead and gone. I fully intend to leave your house as soon as I can.”

He chuckled darkly, making shivers run down her spine. “You may well wish to do so, my dear Jacintha,” he said, still speaking to her through the door. “But mayhap your father can be easily convinced to think otherwise.”

Jacintha did not say another word, clamping her mouth shut as he left her. Sliding down to the floor, she buried her head in her arms, leaning heavily on her knees. She had not expected this. She had never once thought that Lord Slate would turn into such a terrifying ogre of a man once they stepped into his home. Was it the liquor that had done so? As much as she hated what had happened, Jacintha felt awash with relief that she had seen Lord Slate’s true self – liquor or no liquor. She had meant what she said – she would not stay here, not when there was no chance of a future for them both. Lord Slate would not have her hand in marriage and certainly would never have her heart.

Now it became clear why her bedchamber had been so far from her sister’s. Lord Slate had planned to take her here, to make her his own before he had even proposed – possibly even by force. He was a man used to getting what he wanted, it appeared, and that meant that her refusal was more than he could bear.

“I will not be yours, Lord Slate,” Jacintha whispered to herself, slowly getting to her feet and making her way towards the bed. “Never, I swear to you.”

As she lay down, still fully clothed, her thoughts returned to the one man who had dogged her mind ever since she had last seen him in London – Henry. She knew he would never treat her in such a way, not even when he had been at his worst. For a moment, she found herself wishing he was here with her, keeping her safe from the monster she had not expected to meet. Closing her eyes, she fought tears, wishing desperately that she had never consented to come, that she had listened to her heart and chosen to follow it. If she had, then she might not be stuck in such a difficult situation, she might be back in London hoping that Henry’s change in character had been a permanent one.

Jacintha struggled to catch her breath, realizing just how foolish she had been. In her determination not to complicate her life with such things as love and affection, she had pushed away the one gentleman she had never been able to forget and had followed the footsteps of a gentleman she had deemed suitable, only for him to turn out to be anything but that.

How had she managed to make all the wrong decisions? And why had she not seen it before?

Her heart aching, Jacintha gave in to her tears and allowed herself to weep, her world coming crashing around her shoulders. She felt more alone than she had done in a long time, her misery wrapping around her like a shroud. She could only hope that her father would be as horrified as she and that, come the morrow, they would be on their way back to London.