A low, guttural grunt came from the bed.
The sound, muffled but distinctly masculine and angry, cut through the tense silence. Instantly, the three women froze, their heads snapping towards the source.
Derek was still lying on the bed, his face a thundercloud of rage as he glared at the intruders who had witnessed his utter humiliation.
Marissa turned back to the bed, her entire demeanor changing in a heartbeat. The cold, intimidating judge vanished, replaced by a soft, doting wife. She parted the curtains just enough to conceal her face from the room while making it seem like she was speaking privately to her husband.
"My love, don't be so angry," she cooed, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "Pay them no heed. It was just a silly disturbance. I will punish them myself, you needn't worry your handsome head about it."
Lorena, still kneeling on the cold marble floor, heard this and felt a fresh wave of terror. The Duchess was placating the Duke, which meant his anger was now being directed solely at her and Ashlyn. She scrambled forward on her knees, her hands clasped in a desperate plea.
"Your Grace, I'm so sorry! I swear, it was an honest mistake!" she cried, her voice trembling. "I saw an intruder entering the west wing… I was only concerned for your safety! That is the only reason I came here!"
While Lorena babbled her excuses, Ashlyn's mind was racing. Her plan had failed, but how? The man Lorena had arranged couldn't have just vanished into thin air. Her eyes, wide with panic, darted around the room, searching for any sign, any clue. Where did he go? He has to be here. Did he climb out the balcony before Marissa jammed it? No, impossible. Her gaze swept past the heavy drapery of the four-poster bed. And then she saw it. A slight bulge under the damask curtain near the headboard, close to the floor. A dark shape, barely visible.
A surge of triumphant relief washed over her. He didn't disappear! she thought, her heart soaring. He's hiding right there! The fool must have hidden when he heard the Grand Duke arrive! All she had to do was expose him, and the situation would be saved. Marissa would still be ruined.
Her thoughts were shattered by a sharp, clear voice.
"Sister."
Marissa was looking directly at her.
Ashlyn, lost in her scheming, responded involuntarily. "Yes?" The familiar, informal word slipped out before she could stop it. A flicker of horror crossed her face as she realized her mistake. She immediately bowed her head low, her forehead nearly touching the floor. "Yes… Your Grace," she corrected herself, her voice a terrified whisper.
"Tonight is your wedding night as well," Marissa said, her voice deceptively calm. "You haven't even taken off your wedding dress. You haven't had a bath. Yet you are here, in my chambers, in the middle of the night. What are your intentions?"
Ashlyn kept her head bowed, her mind racing to find the right words. This was her chance. "I… I was just worried about you, Marissa!" she cried, using her sister's name in a calculated plea for familial sympathy. As she spoke, she began to crawl forward, towards the bed. "I was so scared when I heard there might be a man, a thief, in your room!"
With a final, desperate lunge, she reached the bed and yanked the heavy curtain aside at the very spot where she had seen the shadow. "I feared he might be hiding here!"
She revealed… nothing. Only the carpet and the carved leg of the bedpost. The man was not there. Ashlyn stared at the empty space, her mouth falling open. Her eyes, wide with disbelief and horror, darted back to Marissa.
SLAP!
The sound echoed in the silent room. Marissa's hand had struck her cheek with sharp, stinging force. The blow sent Ashlyn tumbling sideways, landing in a heap right beside Lorena, who instinctively shoved her away in disgust.
"Knowing the Grand Duke was in this very bed, you still shamelessly approached it and lifted the curtains," Marissa said, her voice dripping with contempt. "What filthy thoughts are running through your mind, little sister?"
Ashlyn held her burning cheek, tears of pain and humiliation springing to her eyes. "No, no, no, sister… Your Grace… I meant well!" she sobbed. "I truly feared thieves had entered the west wing and made their way into your bedchamber!"
Marissa folded her arms, looking down at the two pathetic, kneeling figures. "With all this commotion," she said, her voice laced with amusement. She looked at Ashlyn. "One claims it's all for my own good." She then shifted her gaze to Lorena. "While the other calls it a small misunderstanding." She shook her head slowly. "Your excuses are as weak as your schemes."
Her eyes hardened. "Slap yourselves."
Lorena and Ashlyn looked up, their faces etched with disbelief. "Your Grace?" Lorena whispered.
"Now," Marissa commanded.
With trembling hands, Lorena gave herself two light taps on the cheek, barely making a sound. Ashlyn, her face already smarting, managed one weak, hesitant slap.
Marissa chuckled, a low, mocking sound. "When you were shouting and tearing my room down, you both had so much strength. Now you don't even have the energy to punish yourselves? That's very disappointing."
She turned, sat on the edge of the bed, and drew the curtain a little, pretending once again to talk to Derek. She nodded her head seriously, her expression thoughtful, murmuring random affirmations. "Ohh… yes, I see… and okay… of course, my love."
She turned back to the two women, who were watching her performance with growing dread.
"His Grace is not satisfied," Marissa announced, her face grim but her eyes dancing with cruel light. "He thinks you hit too softly. He feels your apologies are insincere." She paused, letting the fear build
"He wants you to hit each other."
She leaned back slightly, a small, vicious smirk playing on her lips. "Go on. Show him how truly sorry you are."