"Freedom," he whispered. "You'll be free to do as you please and go where you wish."
Her eyes lifted to his. "You can't mean that." It was unheard of. She knew what to expect as his wife. Mrs. Gale had ensured she knew her duties. She'd have to birth heirs, host parties, accompany her husband where he wished to go, and do it all without complaint. She knew that once she moved from the house that Creed had provided for her use, she would simply be given to another man who would rule over her. She took her hand back, once again upset that he'd dangle something so absurd before her eyes. "I know what to expect as your wife."
"Yes, and as your husband, you can expect me to keep my word."
She laughed. "Oh, should I? I recall you telling me this morning to expect nothing from you." His words still hurt.
He frowned. "I regret this morning, Philomena. I was not myself."
"And how often does such a thing occur?" She was feeling better by the moment. She crossed her arms. "What happens when you're angry as you were this morning?"
His own temper seemed to be growing as he leaned away. Deep grooves appeared between his brows. "I wouldn't strike you, if that is what you fear."
"Oh, but your words can cut just as deep."
When he hesitated, she moved around him and started down the graveled path toward the house, going around the hedges in the middle of the garden and sticking to the outer path.
He caught up with her moments later. "We'll have dinner at a friend's house tonight."
She briefly closed her eyes. "I feel a headache coming on. Perhaps we should call it a day and simply part ways for—"
He caught her around the waist, and she could feel the pressure of every finger on her hips as though her dress and petticoat didn't cover her. "You promised me two full days. Are you not a lady of your word?"
The question bit at her just as he'd hoped it would. She’d already planned to break their engagement. The least she could do was keep her promise of two days. "Very well. Dinner."
He escorted her the rest of the way out of Wardington's garden, through the house, and into the waiting carriage.
She ignored him during the ride home but noticed that he didn't try to talk to her either. A glance in his direction showed that he was in his own thoughts. They took a shortcut through streets that were less used and were but a block from her house when Durham had the carriage brought to a halt and leapt out.
And without a word, he was gone.
She leaned toward the window in time to see him use his shoulder to barge his way into a townhouse. There was a shout from inside. A footman cut in front of her and closed the door.
"I'm sorry, my lady, but his lordship will see you later at dinner."
"No." She pushed the door. "He will see me now." And she would finally have her chance to break from not only her engagement but the remainder of the day and even the next. Surely, he would see now how horribly they suited. He was mad. She gave the door another shove and noticed the footman stopped her from moving.
"My lady, I need you to stay here." The footman looked worried and turned to stare at the house with the open door. Already Durham's driver was distracting a pair of women who had arrived at the door, their eyes curious to see what was taking place inside, most likely wondering why a man had broken in the house. He was mad, she wanted to tell them. Dangerous. If they'd been on a busier street, more people would have been about. But no matter. Philomena was witness enough.
"I'll not stay here." She fought to open the door again. "You can't hold me here."
"Please."
She turned and moved to the other side and was out before the footman could come around. Then she was sprinting to the door and slipped right past the driver with the two women before rushing up the stairs and into the room.
She covered her mouth at the sitting room's disarray. It was a small house, and she could hear a ruckus that vibrated the ceiling and strange noises coming from upstairs.
"My lady, please." The footman touched her arm.
"Don't touch me," she hissed.
The man moved his hands away but blocked her path to the hall. "I need you to return to the carriage." He obviously knew his employer's ways and wished to keep them hidden. She wondered if the marchioness had known about her son's ways as well.
"No." She started toward him. "And if you touch me, I will scream, and those women outside will hear me."
The man looked worried, but another scream from upstairs made him turn, and Philomena used that moment to go past him and start up the stairs.
"My lady, please."
She ignored the man as she moved toward the sound of weeping and didn't slow her steps until she was standing at the open door to a bedchamber. She covered her mouth, and her eyes watered at the sight.
Durham stood over a man on his knees, his fist raised in the air ready to deliver another blow to the man's already broken face. His face was enraged.
"No!"
The marquess turned to look at her and, just as quickly, something silver gleamed in the light right before Durham grunted and fell to the floor. Mena turned and let out a strangled sound as the man on the floor retracted a knife from Durham's side right. Then, with the same quick move, he turned and jumped out the open window.
Gone in a blink.
The footman rushed past her and toward the window, and Mena moved over to Durham but couldn't see the wound underneath his hand. She froze again, staring at him, unsure of what to do, unsure of what she'd seen.
"Go," Durham grunted, and Mena placed her hands behind his head and guided him back before turning her eyes to his side. He cursed.
"Mind your words," she whispered, fear making her nerves vibrate. "What were you thinking? What happened?"
The sound of feet rushing up the stairs made Mena turned to stare at the door. Her heart climbed into her throat as she feared the man with the knife had returned to finish what he'd begun. When she saw it was the driver, she relaxed.
Durham was breathing hard. "The witnesses."
"I told them you lost your key, my lord. They're already gone."
"Good. Ralph went after him. Take Lady Philomena home and send a note to Simon."
"No." She turned to him again with tears in her eyes. "What's happening?" She touched his hair, pushing is back from his sweaty brow and bit her lip to hold back her tears. Everything about this moment reminded her of the worst day of her life.
The marquess looked at her, his expression pained. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I'll be making dinner tonight."
"My lady." The driver stood beside her with his arm out to her, waiting for her to take it.
She turned to the driver and shook her head. "Please, help him." The words sounded helpless to her own ears and were all she could get out before the crying began and her pleas became broken. "Please, don't l-let him d-die." Not like Father.
The driver moved to Durham's other side and went to work.