Free The Other Duke by Jess Michaels Page A

nodded even though she didn’t want to voice the truth. Rafe deserved to know it all.
    “The night I came out in Society, my father insisted that we attend the ball with Cyril and his family. We met at their estate to ride over together and he took me out on the terrace. He was going on and on about how pretty I was and then he was just…on me. Pressing me to the wall, holding me too tightly. His mouth was everywhere, his hands were everywhere and then he…”
    She gasped for breath, trying not to relive it all, trying not to be swept away by the memories she had so carefully kept at bay in her everyday life.
    “He raped you,” Rafe said softly.
    She nodded, relieved he could say what she could not. “Yes. And then he took me inside, blamed my torn dress on a blackberry bramble on the edge of the terrace, and we went to my coming out ball together as if nothing had happened.”
    “My God,” Rafe growled beneath his breath.
    “Cyril danced with me, smirking the whole time, and before we parted that night he told me that I was truly his now and that there would never be an escape because he had claimed me.” She swiped at the tears that accompanied her unwanted memories. “No other man would want me even if I could convince my father to undo the betrothal.”
    “How did you survive the night after what he had done?” Rafe breathed.
    She shrugged. “I scarcely recall. It is all a blur. I went through the motions of my life, I suppose, without feeling or seeing what was around me.” She shook her head. “I think that became my mode of survival. It had to be because Cyril didn’t stop.”
    Rafe flinched. “Yes, you said he did this more than once.”
    “After that he went back to his usual intimidate and grope routine,” she said. “But every once in a while, he would go further. I dreaded seeing him because I never knew if this would be one of the times he would ‘exercise his husbandly rights,’ as he would put it. I only ever told my friend Emma—you met her today.”
    Rafe nodded. “Yes, a lovely woman, though a bit standoffish with me. I can see why now.”
    “She’s protective,” Serafina explained with a shake of her head. “She only knew the barest details. Once she encouraged me to tell my father.”
    “And?” Rafe pressed.
    “Of course, I couldn’t. I already told you why.”
    “Bastard!” Rafe snapped.
    “My father or Cyril?” she asked softly.
    He spun on her. “Both,” he growled, his blue eyes flashing with indignation, rage. All for her. It was a strange thing. She had never had a champion before.
    She found she rather liked it.
    “It went on that way for two years,” she said with a shrug that didn’t at all reflect the tangle of pain in her heart. “We were to marry after I turned twenty, but then Cyril’s father died and his mother all but collapsed, so it got put off. I felt like the prison door had been cracked a bit, but it was a false freedom. It only delayed inevitable. And now, two years later, I was to marry him today. Until he quite obligingly died.”
    “Only you still weren’t free,” Rafe said softly.
    She looked at him. He remained naked and somehow that comforted her. She was emotionally exposed and he physically. It was as if that put them on more equal ground.
    “But you are a very different warden, Rafe,” she said. “And so far, you haven’t proven yourself to be cruel.”
    “I hope I never shall,” He turned and paced the room once more. “I was such an idiot. Here I read all your hesitation as residual feelings for Cyril, despite how mad it was to me that someone like you could care for a toad like my cousin. And all along it was this ugly truth that affected all your actions.”
    She nodded. “Yes. It is why I wanted to negotiate for my future after our marriage. It is why I am happy to give you your freedom. It is why I hate this room.”
    Rafe froze and looked around himself. “Great God, this is Cyril’s old chamber.