Broken Bride

“That part of your long, proud heritage was screaming my name last night,” I tell him. “As I am sure I mentioned, she’s my wife.”

Digby colors and coughs, then tries to pretend I didn’t say what I just said. I can practically hear him whisper terribly vulgar under his breath.

“Marriages can be annulled.”

“Not once they’ve been consummated. Not once a bride bears her husband’s child.”

“She’s nineteen years old!” He thunders the words, suddenly furious.

“Yes. And the age of consent is eighteen. And, as I believe I have mentioned, we’re married.”

“You will return her to our care, Mr. Vitali, or you will feel the full might of the old guard upon you. The knights of Arthurian times do not slumber.”

He’s threatening me with fairytales.

“I came today to let you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that this is over. I intend to keep Matilda Braybrooke for the rest of her life.”

“Or yours,” he says, his accent becoming silky smooth with threat. This would be the part where anybody worth his salt would shoot me. But Digby is not a man of action. He is a man of words and documents and spreadsheets. He is accustomed to having his way with little to no resistance. He does not know what to do with me, and so he is left with doing absolutely nothing at all.

“Should have given her back to him,” Bobby says when I get back in the car. The faint scent of filthy mint hangs in the air. He’s been vaping again.

“They don’t want her because they like her. They want her because her death means payouts of millions of pounds. They’ll kill her if they get their hands on her.”

“Oh.”

Bobby thinks about that for a second. There are so many implications to consider.

“So if she had your baby…”

“Yes, a Braybrooke baby would be worth millions.”

“Ah.”

He falls silent. I don’t know what is going on in that dark little head of his. It’s impossible to say. He likely doesn’t know himself. Bobby is a brutal enigma wrapped in even more brutality. But he likes being comfortable. So perhaps this will put an end to the incessant calls to get rid of Tilly.

Frankly, I have other things to worry about. I did not like what I saw in Digby Spencer’s eyes. The man is untrustworthy, and I have no illusions that anything was resolved today. Tilly is in danger. That means Digby Spencer has to die.

Chapter 16

Angelo

I am surprised to see Tilly standing at the door to my office. I thought after the morning’s fracas she would be licking her wounds and staying as far away from me as humanly possible for several days.

“Yes, Matilda.”

She blanches a little hearing her full name, but she comes in anyway. Her gait is a little stilted from the effects of the cane.

“I thought I should speak to you,” she says. “After the events earlier in the day.”

What an English way to put it.

“You mean when I caned you.”

“Yes. Quite.” The hue on her cheeks increases in color and intensity. “I can’t…” she pauses. “If I see… what you were doing to Mark. I can’t…” Her jaw clenches and she looks at me with ferocious determination. “I’m not going to stand by while people are abused, Angelo.”

I put my pen down and give her the full benefit of my attention.

“You call it abuse. I call it discipline. Mark knew what the consequences of disobedience were, as did you. I don’t act without warning. You all know what is expected of you.”

“I won’t let it happen in front of me.”

“You can’t stop it.”

I see her bite the inside of her cheek. She’s such a strong, sweet little thing. Spoiled, yes, but at least she’s trying to use her overwhelming sense of entitlement for good.

Living here will be a challenge for her. Some people have triggers they can’t help. She apparently cannot yet help reacting when she sees others being punished. Given the way Bobby behaves, that’s something she’s going to have to get over eventually.

* * *

Tilly

I have no power here. I can’t appeal to his sense of goodness and decency, because he has neither. I am just as captive as poor Mark is, and Bobby. Talking to him is a waste of time. Just looking at him makes the harsh lines of the cane inflame all over again.

“I’m sorry for wasting your time,” I say, turning to leave.

I can feel his eyes on me.

“Tilly. Come here.”

I turn back and look at him, wondering if I’m in trouble. I thought I’d been respectful, but who knows what Angelo considers respectful.

He lifts his hand and crooks a finger at me. Oh fuck. Oh god. I feel my ass literally start to sweat as I cross the room and walk over to him.

Angelo pulls me onto his lap. Unlike Mark, he does not make any effort to avoid the cane lines. He settles me on his hard thighs, where I squirm and wriggle in a futile attempt to get comfortable.