The morning paper lay on the table like an executioner's blade. I stared at it, unable to touch it, as though my trembling fingers might cause it to slice through my carefully constructed life.
"It will be here any minute," I whispered to myself, pacing the length of my drawing room.
Three days. That's all it had taken for the Duke of Thorne to position his guards around my town house, preventing any possibility of escape. I wasn't foolish enough to try. Ducal guards stood at every exit, watching, waiting. My prison was gilded but inescapable.
I smoothed my hands over my expensive morning dress, a habit from years of training myself to appear composed even when my insides twisted with dread. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked relentlessly, each second bringing me closer to my reckoning.
"Lady Beatrix?" Jasper's voice cut through my thoughts as he entered with the morning newspaper. "The paper has arrived."
