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Prologue

CHRISTMAS EVE, SIX YEARS AGO.

“Ido,” Lady Marina Sheridan whispered, her voice trembling with uncertainty. She’d said her vows. So had he. There was no going back now.

Marina had never imagined she would be married on Christmas Eve. Christmas Eves were for gathering together as a family. They were for watching the yule log, for exchanging gifts and playing games. Not for getting married.

Yet, here she was standing beneath the curious gaze of a congregation, dressed in an elaborate gown, and getting married to a man she had met only minutes ago.

She glanced at him. Burton Rowles, Viscount of Whitmore.

His name was the only thing Marina had known about him before today. Her mother had spoken of him repeatedly, explaining that the match was respectable and advantageous. Marina had listened quietly, then consented. It was not important who the man was, in the end. She needed a husband and at her age, the options were slim.

For as long as she could remember, she had wanted a family of her own. She had always wished for a warm home with a loving husband. She had dreamed of having a daughter she could dress in ribbons, and a little boy she could raise to be kinder than the other men of his generation.

She took a deep breath. When her mother first told her that a match had been found, she’d told herself she would find it within her to love the man eventually.

Now, she wasn’t so sure she would. The Viscount looked older than she had expected. Indeed, he looked old enough to be her grandfather, if not older. He’d been married before, she knew this. His wife had died. She knew this also.

But she’d assumed he wanted to marry her. However, his expression—weary and unkind—made her rethink that assumption.

He looked as though marrying her had been an inconvenience.

“Then I pronounce you husband and wife,” the vicar declared. “You may now kiss the bride.”

The words made Marina’s heart pound. A kiss. Could this part be skipped? Her flowers trembled in her hands as she braced herself, and her husband stepped forward. He smelled like peppermint comfits and sweat. Her stomach turned.

Instead of kissing her lips, he leaned down and pressed a brief kiss against her cheek.

Relief rushed through her. But the warmth didn’t last. It was replaced by a chill of dread when Whitmore’s mouth moved against her ear.

“Congratulations, my dear,” he whispered. “You are mine now. I hope you will obey me better than the last one.”

Marina’s smile disappeared.

“Do not forget your vow. You shall serve me dutifully,” he continued, his words becoming sharper with every unpleasant breath. “And your principal duty shall be to provide me with an heir.”

“I look forward to having a son as well as a daughter,” she replied, aware they were being watched.

“A daughter?” He scoffed. “Do not so much as consider it. I want a son. Only a son. I have no use for a girl. I will do away with a daughter, do you hear?”

Marina stopped breathing for a moment. What? She stared at him as he stepped back, his expression indifferent as though he hadn’t just spoken the cruelest words imaginable.

Surely, she had heard him incorrectly.

She had not. The realization made her chest rise and fall rapidly. Then her disbelief was replaced with something colder.

Marina looked toward her mother, but Lady Dashwood remained seated in the front row, expectant and pleading, as though silently urging her daughter to endure. Then she returned her attention to Lord Whitmore. The stranger she had just married. The man who had just told her that her future daughter would mean nothing to him.

Her lips parted. Perhaps she had been desperate, willing to sacrifice almost anything for the chance to have a family. But she was not desperate enough for this.

Before she could stop herself, she shook her head and released the faintest whisper: “No… No. I do not want this.”

Her words were soft, like melting wax. But the effect they had on the viscount was clear to see. His face contorted into a scowl.

“What did you say?” he demanded furiously, his composure shattering before the entire congregation.

“I said no,” she repeated, fighting back the urge to shed tears. “I cannot do this. I will not.”