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Now Beatrice stood with her back against the wall and nowhere to retreat. “I must insist.”

“I insist… harder.”

He pinned her to the wall with his considerable weight, his rotten breath wafting to her nose. Bile rose in her throat and for once, she wished she could actually vomit right at that moment. But her throat constricted, and her body froze, except for the fingers that curled into fists by her side.

“You are so soft.” His sausage-like finger traced her cheek.

Beatrice wasn’t a small lady. She was taller than many, and as such, she had a few inches on her future husband-to-be. But her height had nothing on his girth and strength. He intimidated her with his mere presence and as he stood only a few inches away, Beatrice could do nothing but stand frozen in front of him.

Her breath hitched, her pulse drumming in her throat. And then his lips touched hers. She closed her eyes tightly, her entire body tense and burning in humiliation. He probed his vile tongue against her lips, trying to part them, wetting them, pushing against them.

Beatrice clenched her jaw and pursed her lips tighter. Then his soft, but rather large hand grabbed her neck and tilted her head forward.

Her spectacles slid down her nose and hit his face with a light thud. Irritated, he grabbed the spectacles and dragged them off her, not caring if he hurt her in the process, and then threw them to the floor.

Beatrice gasped in horror. A mistake. He pressed his lips against hers again, his tongue now fully inside her mouth.

Beatrice whimpered, as a single tear rolled down her cheek.

Lansdowne leaned back, his dazed eyes still on her lips. “I can’t wait to have you in my bed.”

An unpleasant shiver ran down her spine as her entire body recoiled from the rotten smell that hit her face, while his words might as well have plunged a dagger through her heart.

He leaned harder against her body, his thigh pressing between her legs, forcing them apart.

“Please,” Beatrice whispered as she jammed her arms between their bodies. “We are not married yet.”

She tried to push him away and create just enough distance to slide from between him and the wall, but he grabbed both her wrists painfully and pinned them to the wall on either side of her body. “Soon, I will have you all to myself,” he croaked and kissed her again.

This time, Beatrice didn’t freeze. She shifted and turned, trying to free herself from his grasp, but to no avail. He was too large, too strong for such an old man. A lot stronger and bigger than her. She would never be able to rebuke his advances. Once she married him, this would be her life. Or even worse. So much worse.

Her wrists burned, and she gladly concentrated on that pain, yanking at his grasp, because thinking of anything else would simply break her.

He let go of one wrist, but she had no strength to fight him anymore as he crushed her with his weight, pinning her against the wall. She forced her mind away from his pawing hand that roamed her body freely, palming her breasts painfully, and away from his awful kiss, the wet and saggy lips, the taste and the smell of him, hoping this would end soon.

He let go of her abruptly, so abruptly she stumbled and caught herself before she fell. His eyes glittered as he looked at her disheveled form and licked his lips. Beatrice’s fingers shook as she tried to pull up her bodice and keep it in place. She didn’t know why he let her go, but she thanked her lucky stars.

Footsteps sounded outside their door, and a moment later, Aunt Agnes walked into the room. Oh, Thank God!

“Lord Lansdowne,” she bit out, not bothering to curtsy.

He didn’t even look her way. He leaned closer to Beatrice once again and whispered in her ear, “You’ll learn to please me.” Only then did he acknowledge Aunt Agnes’s presence. “A pleasure. Looking forward to seeing you at the wedding.” He straightened his cravat and threw one more lecherous gaze toward Beatrice before unhurriedly walking away.

Beatrice sagged against the wall in relief.

“What did he want?” Aunt Agnes asked, her voice sharp the way Beatrice had never heard from her before.

Beatrice squinted at her aunt, trying to discern her mood, but unable to see properly without her spectacles. She swallowed, the taste and scent of Lansdowne still lodged deep in her throat and lungs. Wiping her lips with the back of her shaking fingers, she stifled the urge to cast up her accounts. “My obedience.”

“Oh, darling.” Aunt Agnes strolled toward her and pulled her into a warm embrace. Tears rolled down Beatrice’s cheeks freely now, and her shoulders shook in the arms of her dear aunt. “How I wish you didn’t have to marry him. You’re too young, with a bright future ahead of you.”

Beatrice pulled away and wiped her tears. “I wish so, too.”

Aunt Agnes furrowed her brows and caressed her cheek. “Where are your spectacles?”

Beatrice looked around. A blurry blob lay at her feet. She dropped down to the floor and felt for the familiar metallic frame. She brought the spectacles to her face, still crouching on the floor, and let out a sigh of relief. They weren’t broken. She put them on and let her aunt help her up.

“Come, sit.” Aunt Agnes led Beatrice to the chair by the window. Beatrice was so drained of energy she sank into it.