Panic brought the images clamoring, nonsensical and pointless. The scores of weddings she had attended, snippets from her own. Lucien laughing, the victory in his summer-green eyes as he spun her into their first waltz. The answering challenge in Dev’s as he claimed the next one.
Granddad Thad emerging too somber from Daddy’s study, watching her.
Dev leaned down now with obvious intent, fanning the flames of panic hotter. “Be mine, darling. Now and forever.”
She tried to twist away, but his arms held her tight. “Dev, you can’t be serious. Elopement? You wanted a courtship. To show the world—”
“And how better to do that than with a fait accompli?” He claimed her mouth in a fierce kiss that kindled revulsion within her.
God of my end, help me. Show me how to escape him, Father.
Father—a thought she held tight to as she extracted herself from his embrace, careful to keep only sorrow on her face. “Darling, you know how I have longed to marry you, but the war is over, or it will be within days. My father will be home. Please, let’s wait for him.”
He turned away with a curse vile enough to make her wince and then pivoted back with tight rage on his face. “You don’t understand. It has to be now. Things will change with the end of the war, Mari. Things will…happen.”
She could feel her pulse thudding in her throat and prayed he couldn’t see it in the low light. “Of course things will change, but not for us.”
He gripped her by the shoulders, his fingers digging enough that a whimper of pain escaped. They relaxed immediately. Apology lit his eyes. “Don’t be a fool. Do you think Lincoln will just release all the power he has seized?” His fingers bit again. “I need you to trust me. I need to know where you stand, Mari.”
A shiver slithered up her spine. Granddad Thad’s very words two and a half months ago, the morning he brought her into the Culper Ring. Had embracing her loyalties made any difference at all? Had she accomplished anything with her hours of transcription, with the bottles of invisible ink she had used?
She knocked his hands away. “At the moment I stand with a man who is acting the bully. Don’t play the tyrant with me, Devereaux.”
“Don’t push me away. I swear to you, you’ll regret it.” The look in his eye sent her back a step, though he followed. “At least give me the words. Is that so much to ask?”
She retreated more, though again he pursued her. “What words?”
“The ones you refused Lucien.” The flash in his eyes put her in mind of the storm that had left so many houses in ruins. “He thought it a blessing, the fool, that you never asked for words of love. But we know the truth, you and I.” He grabbed her arm again, twisting so that she had no choice but to land against his chest or else let him wrench her shoulder out of socket. “We know you never spoke of love to him because your heart was mine.”
Words echoed, a crystalline reminder. God’s, not Dev’s.
“Tell me.” He pressed her too close, so that she could scarcely breathe. “Tell me you love me. Tell me you’re mine.”
“You think you can demand those words by force?” She pushed in vain at his chest, her heart thundering when she saw a shadowed figure beyond him. “Let go, Dev. You’re hurting me.”
“No. You’re mine, Marietta. You have already given yourself to me. Why fight me now?”
Oh, Lord, please don’t let that be Slade. He already knew plenty of her secrets, but that one… He would no doubt look at her with the same horror Walker had. But if his eyes shone with disappointment instead of the affection that had taken place of the wolf, she wasn’t sure she could bear it.
The shadow stepped into a patch of dim light. Walker. Thank You, Lord. Though he didn’t look nearly so happy as she felt at seeing him. “I believe the lady asked you to take your hands off of her.”
Dev let go with one, but only so he could turn around, dragging her with him. The muscle in his jaw pulsed. “You think you can order me around, boy?”
Walker smiled, small and mean. “You think I’m gonna stand here while you ravage her like you did Cora? Give me an excuse, Hughes. Give me an excuse to hurt you.”
Pushing her away, Dev reached under his coat and pulled out a dagger that gleamed with menace in the light from the windows.
Not a dagger—it was the one from the cellar. Marietta sucked in a breath and jumped between them. Grateful as she was to have a champion, her tainted virtue wasn’t worth Walker’s life. Her eyes fastened on Dev’s too-calm face. “Put that away.”
He didn’t even glance at her. “Step aside, Marietta. I don’t intend to let some half-breed mutt think he can intimidate me.”
From behind her came the rustle of fabric. The sound of a gun being cocked, of a revolver’s cylinder rotating into place. “Do your worst, Hughes.” Walker’s voice was a low rumble, sure and steady.