The duchess never raises her voice, yet every word from her lips pulls me deeper into the trap I cannot escape. I stand frozen at the bottom of the stairs because to move is to obey, and to obey is to lose another piece of myself to her.
Eleanor knows my fear better than I do. She knows that without this house, without her keeping me close, I would have nothing left but the streets and the shame of having been discarded once again. So when she orders me to lift my skirts and reveal the birthmark only she has touched, my hands move even as my heart pounds with dread and something far more dangerous.
The ledger pages scatter across the floor like fallen leaves, and still I cannot look away from her eyes.
