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- Herausgeber: like-erotica
- Kategorie: Erotik
- Sprache: Deutsch
Zoey is a pawn in her father's desperate game to save their family fortune from ruin.
Caught between the odious demands of her suitors and the magnetic, dangerous pull of the mysterious Señor Martinez - the infamous Duke of Strathmore - she finds herself pushed to the very brink of propriety. When a public lapse in etiquette leads to a private lesson in obedience, Zoey discovers that the Duke’s wicked reputation is well-earned. His firm hand promises both a stinging shame and a forbidden pleasure she never dared imagine. In a world of rigid corsets and even more rigid rules, she must decide if she will submit to the Duke's discipline or lose her heart to the scandal of the season.
This is a high-heat historical tale of power, submission, and the price of true desire.
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Seitenzahl: 470
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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Spanked By The Wicked DukeA Very Erotic Romance NovelTHEODORA JONES𝒯 𝒥© Theodora JonesAll Rights Reserved • 2026
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: The Crushing Embrace of Duty and Whalebone
Chapter 2: A Baron’s Fading Fortune and a Daughter’s Worth
Chapter 3: London's Gilded Cage and the Price of Entry
Chapter 4: Arrival of the Infamous Señor Martinez
Chapter 5: Whispers of a Foreign Dukedom and Limitless Coin
Chapter 6: The Dark Intensity of Undisclosed Secrets
Chapter 7: Etiquette’s Razor’s Edge: The Strathmore Society
Chapter 8: Lady Guinevere Robinson’s Scrutiny
Chapter 9: The Unforgivable Sin at Afternoon Tea
Chapter 10: Intelligence Praised Above the Pianoforte
Chapter 11: Magnus Williams’s Venomous Disapproval
Chapter 12: The Dangerous Interloper and the Innocent Heart
Chapter 13: The Rustle of Silk Hiding a Racing Pulse
Chapter 14: Stolen Glances Across the Ballroom Floor
Chapter 15: The Heavy Scent of Unspoken Desire
Chapter 16: A Conversation Behind the Shadowed Drawing-Room Door
Chapter 17: Zoey’s Inexorable Pull Toward the Unsuitable
Chapter 18: The Strategic Glance of the Wicked Duke
Chapter 19: Noblesse Oblige or Noble Deception?
Chapter 20: The Vital Land Deal and the Necessary Connection
Chapter 21: The Baron’s Desperate Plea and Mounting Debts
Chapter 22: The Odious Proposition of Addison Pendleton
Chapter 23: Terrell Brown’s Cruel Amusement Regarding Stays
Chapter 24: The Lace That Concealed Too Much Vulnerability
Chapter 25: A Morning Fitting That Ends in Frustration
Chapter 26: Roscoe’s Un-English Manners Under the Gaslight
Chapter 27: Escaping the Matron’s Vigilance
Chapter 28: A Ride in Hyde Park Where Propriety Faltered
Chapter 29: The Secret Correspondence Hidden in a Glove
Chapter 30: Denzel Torres Witnesses a Meaningful Exchange
Chapter 31: The Weight of Expectation Versus the Lure of the Foreigner
Chapter 32: Malachi Amesbury Notes the Duke’s Unusual Interest
Chapter 33: Lyra Danvers Comments on Zoey’s Frayed Ribbons
Chapter 34: The Art of the Clandestine Meeting
Chapter 35: Where Did the Reckless Passion First Ignite?
Chapter 36: Zoey’s Confrontation with Her Own Societal Chains
Chapter 37: The Moment the Corset Felt Most Constricting
Chapter 38: The Annual Grand Ball of the Duke of Strathmore
Chapter 39: Amidst the Quadrille, A Moment of Reckoning
Chapter 40: Martinez’s Veneer of Calculation Begins to Crack
Chapter 41: Confession Amidst the Swirling Chandeliers
Chapter 42: The Consuming Truth of Genuine Desire
Chapter 43: Unmasking the Duke’s Dark History
Chapter 44: A Vow Sworn Under Duress of Public Observation
Chapter 45: Terrell Brown’s Attempt to Claim His Prize
Chapter 46: Pendleton’s Manipulation Unraveling in Real Time
Chapter 47: The Insult of Considering Zoey’s Dowry Above Her Soul
Chapter 48: Martinez Silences the Petty Gentry with Authority
Chapter 49: Proving a Title Stronger Than Local Gossip
Chapter 50: The Revelation of Martinez’s True Power
Chapter 51: Levi Clark Observes the Shift in Social Power
Chapter 52: Raven Smalls Whispers the Scandal’s Epicenter
Chapter 53: Zoey’s Choice: Duty’s Cold Embrace or Fiery Love?
Chapter 54: Shedding the Suffocating Layers of Obligation
Chapter 55: Accepting Scandal for the Sake of the Heart
Chapter 56: The Hand That Offers Freedom, Not Finance
Chapter 57: Isis Bailey Gasps Behind Her Fan
Chapter 58: Hassan Moore Notes the Sudden Departure
Chapter 59: The Aftermath: What Will Polite Society Declare?
Chapter 60: Nia Green Wonders if Virtue Can Survive Such Audacity
Chapter 61: The Strength Required to Defy One’s Father
Chapter 62: Roscoe Martinez’s First Morning as Zoey’s Protector
Chapter 63: The Quiet Strength of a Foreign Noble’s Love
Chapter 64: A Letter of Resignation to Magnus Williams
Chapter 65: Acknowledging the Sharp Edges of Passion
Chapter 66: The Promise of a Life Unburdened by Small Estates
Chapter 67: Sasha Little Attempts to Decode the Rupture
Chapter 68: Terrell Brown’s Fury at Being Bested
Chapter 69: Addison Pendleton’s Sour Defeat
Chapter 70: Guinevere Robinson Refuses to Send an Invitation
Chapter 71: A Glimpse into Martinez’s Unconventional Household
Chapter 72: Zoey Learning the Language of Power
Chapter 73: Acknowledging the Cost of High-Stakes Romance
Chapter 74: Luke King Offers a Cautious Nod of Approval
Chapter 75: The Disposal of Unwanted Stays and Expectations
Chapter 76: A Visit to the Duke’s Uncharted Territories
Chapter 77: A Moment of Peace Beyond the London Season
Chapter 78: The Future Woven with Undeniable Scandal
Chapter 79: The Oath Taken Before Witnesses Unseen
Chapter 80: Honoured by Passion, Bound by Love: The Martinez Union
Chapter 1: The Crushing Embrace of Duty and Whalebone
The whalebone pressed against Zoey Hargreaves’s ribs, a daily torture she bore with the stoicism expected of a Baron’s daughter, yet today, the constriction felt sharper, mimicking the tightening grip of her family’s insolvency. She stood before the looking-glass, her maid, perhaps Nia Green, fussing with the maddeningly tight fastenings of her emerald silk gown.“Miss Zoey, if you would only breathe less deeply, perhaps we could achieve the proper silhouette for Lady Guinevere’s affair,” Nia murmured, her fingers struggling near the small of Zoey’s back.Zoey offered a faint, strained smile. “My dear Nia, if I breathed any shallower, I fear I should faint before the first round of tea cakes. And then Papa would have true cause for despair.”Her worth, she knew, was not in her wit, though she possessed a decent portion of that, nor in the modest acreage of their crumbling country seat, but in the small, desperately insufficient marriage portion her father could scrape together. That portion must secure her future, and soon.The drawing-room at Lady Guinevere Robinson’s residence was a suffocating tapestry of pastel silks and suffocating scrutiny. Every matron present possessed the calculating gaze of a hawk assessing field mice. Zoey managed a curt nod to the hostess, whose perfectly coiffed white hair seemed to vibrate with judgmental energy.Then, Roscoe Martinez entered.He was not merely wealthy; he was a phenomenon. Tall, dangerously dark where the London gentlemen tended toward pallor, and carrying an aura of potent, untamed power that made the very air in Lady Guinevere’s room feel thin. Whispers suggested foreign dukedom, untold millions mined from resources unknown to polite English commerce. He moved with an unsettling lack of deference, his gaze sweeping the room as if cataloging its flaws.When he took the seat nearest Zoey during the interminable serving of weak tea and cucumber sandwiches, the polite murmur of conversation faltered.“Miss Hargreaves,” Martinez said, his voice a low, resonant thing that cut through the delicate lace of drawing-room chatter. He ignored the thinly sliced ham. “I have heard you play the pianoforte, and while your execution is technically sound, I find myself more intrigued by the intelligence I see dancing in your eyes when you are forced to listen to idle gossip.”Zoey froze, the teacup halfway to her lips. Praise for her mind, delivered so openly, by such a man, was not merely scandalous, it was revolutionary.From across the room, a sharp, brittle sound preceded the entrance of Magnus Williams, the reigning arbiter of propriety, whose face was currently the color of overripe plums.“Martinez,” Williams declared, stepping forward with proprietary stiffness. “Your assessments of our young ladies’ inner workings are perhaps better kept to your ledger books. Miss Hargreaves is famed for her delicate accomplishments, not for sparring with foreign interlopers.”Martinez merely arched a dark eyebrow, an expression that spoke volumes of his low opinion of Williams. “Then perhaps your accomplishments are merely skin deep, Williams, if you cannot see the substance beneath the silk.”The venomous attention of society had locked onto Zoey like a vise. That evening, beneath the brilliant chandeliers of the first major ball, the restraint of the corset felt like a physical manifestation of her duty. She navigated the swirling couples, her dance card already dangerously thin, knowing that every glance she shared with Martinez was a feather added to her notoriety.He sought her out during the intervals between dances, finding her near the shadows of a potted palm.“You seem constrained, Miss Hargreaves,” he murmured, his fingers brushing her bare arm as he took the offered glass of punch from a passing footman, though he did not drink.“I am constrained in all things, Mr. Martinez,” she managed, the tightness in her chest purely from proximity to him. “It is the nature of my station.”“And what if I told you,” he leaned closer, and she caught a faint scent of leather and something dangerously spicy, “that I see beyond the stays and the social performance? That I find the constraint itself rather offensive?”His dark eyes held hers, and the polished floor seemed to tilt. It was in those stolen moments, in the darkened alcoves where the violins faded and the rustle of silk was the loudest sound, that the unspoken desire hardened into something undeniably real. He treated her not as a decorative pawn, but as a prize he intended to claim, fiercely.The shadow of ruin loomed large when her father, Baron Hargreaves, cornered her the next morning in the morning room, his face etched with defeat.“Zoey, my dear girl. It is settled. Addison Pendleton has made his final offer. His nephew, Terrell Brown, is agreeable to overlooking some of the estate’s... shortcomings, provided the settlement is prompt.”Zoey felt the blood drain from her face. Terrell Brown. A man whose eyes lingered too long on the severe line of her waist, who had once audibly remarked at a country gathering, “The Baroness must have paid a fortune for stays that tight, good structure for a broodmare.”“Father, I cannot,” she whispered, the word catching in her throat.“You must, child! Pendleton’s debt collectors are circling like vultures! Brown offers security,” her father pleaded.That evening at the lesser assembly, Zoey saw Martinez across the room, his attention momentarily diverted by the fussy presence of Addison Pendleton, who was clearly holding court on Terrell’s virtues. Zoey felt a desperate need to escape the suffocating presence of her duty, personified by the looming spectre of Terrell Brown and the crushing whalebone around her diaphragm.When Martinez finally approached her, his usual smooth composure was fractured. His gaze was intense, focused solely on her.“Hargreaves,” he began, using her family name with a possessiveness that sent a thrill down her spine. “I require a confirmation. I have engaged in necessary negotiations these past weeks. Land grants, titles in the East… they require established ties to the British aristocracy. Your name, Miss Hargreaves, is the key to cementing the final deed. I confess, my initial focus was strategic.”The blow landed exactly where she feared. A calculation, not a courtship. The realization was sharper than any tight lacing.“I see,” Zoey said, forcing her voice level, her chin lifting instinctively. “I am merely a necessary title, then. A bridge to your foreign ambitions.”“At first, yes,” Martinez admitted, his voice suddenly raw, dropping the practiced facade. “But that calculation has dissolved, Zoey. It dissolved the moment I saw you flinch under Williams’s petty tyranny. I want the title, yes, but only if it is bound to you, irrevocably.”The annual Duke of Strathmore’s Grand Ball was a sea of diamonds and judgment. Zoey moved through the quadrille, her silk gown swirling, the heavy lace feeling like chains. Terrell Brown cornered her near the refreshment table, his hand clumsily attempting to grip her elbow.“You look flushed, Miss Hargreaves,” Terrell leered, his breath sour. “Perhaps your stays are a touch too snug tonight? I enjoy a woman who knows her limits.”Before Zoey could recoil, a shadow fell over them, cold and immense. Roscoe Martinez, looking every inch the foreign Duke, stepped between them.“Brown,” Martinez said, the single word carrying the weight of an executioner’s sentence. His eyes, dark with banked fury, swept over Terrell with contempt.Terrell, sensing the shift in atmosphere, stammered, “Martinez, this is a private discussion concerning an established arrangement with my uncle, Pendleton, regarding the Hargreaves dowry and future marital arrangements.”Martinez turned fully toward Zoey, ignoring Brown as if he were a bothersome insect. “Zoey, look at me.”She lifted her eyes, seeing past the ruthless businessman, past the scandalous rogue, to the desperate sincerity warring within him.“My past dealings are dark, I will not lie,” Martinez confessed, his voice pitched low so only she could hear it above the orchestra’s swell. “I came to secure a title through expediency. But now, I swear to you, I would ignite every parcel of land I own to secure your happiness instead. My devotion is not a negotiation. It is a consuming fire.”The pressure of the whalebone was suddenly unbearable, a final, suffocating reminder of the life she was meant to lead. With a swift, decisive motion, Zoey pulled her hand away from Terrell Brown.“Then the negotiation is over,” Zoey declared, her voice ringing clear, silencing the immediate vicinity. She reached up and grasped the tightly laced ribbons at the back of her bodice, tearing them open with a sharp, surprising tug that snapped several threads and sent a rush of glorious, painful air to her lungs. The stiff confines of the corset instantly relaxed, mirroring the sudden, exhilarating freedom in her soul.She turned to Martinez, placing her newly liberated hand firmly in his. “I choose scandal, Mr. Martinez. I choose passion. I choose you.”Martinez’s smile was predatory and triumphant. He drew her against him, an embrace both possessive and utterly tender, silencing Terrell Brown’s sputtering protests with a mere glance of undeniable authority that promised utter ruin should he interfere further. The music swelled, no longer a cage, but a soundtrack to their bold, defiant beginning.
Chapter 2: A Baron’s Fading Fortune and a Daughter’s Worth
The whalebone dug mercilessly into Zoey Hargreaves’ ribs, a constant, sharp reminder of her station. Each morning, the maid struggled with the laces, pulling them tight until Zoey felt the exquisite agony that signified her readiness to face the London Season. Her father, Baron Hargreaves, paced the threadbare Persian rug of their modest drawing-room, his brow perpetually furrowed beneath the weight of a rapidly diminishing title and an estate that produced naught but dust and dwindling rents.“Zoey, my dear,” her father sighed, his voice thin with desperation, “Lady Guinevere Robinson hosts her infamous tea on Tuesday. You must make an impression. Remember your duty. Your worth, now, is measured only by the security you can procure.”Zoey managed a fragile smile, the effort causing a prickle behind her eyes. “I remember, Papa. The stays are tight enough to ensure I present a suitably slender figure for inspection.”She knew the drill. She was the finely wrapped package whose contents must appeal to the wealthiest bachelor within sight, for the Hargreaves coffers were lamentably empty.The catalyst arrived not in a quiet letter, but with a jarring, public collision. It was the first grand ball of the season, the Duke of Strathmore’s affair, a glittering monument to old money and rigid hierarchy. Zoey, encased in dove-grey silk that did little to disguise the straining tension of her bodice, navigated the throng when Roscoe Martinez entered the ballroom.He did not merely enter; he commandeered the atmosphere. Martinez, whispered to possess a ducal title from some sun-baked, distant territory, moved with a dangerous assurance that mocked every carefully rehearsed curtsy. His wealth was rumored to be obscene, his acquisition methods questionable, and his very presence an affront to the staid sensibilities of the English aristocracy. He was the Wicked Duke incarnate, and the gossips, led by the formidable Magnus Williams, were already sharpening their claws.Martinez’s dark eyes, however, found Zoey instantly, ignoring the more obvious beauties draped in diamonds. He approached with a predatory grace that made the whalebone around Zoey’s waist feel suddenly inadequate.The true rupture occurred three days later at Lady Guinevere Robinson’s highly regulated high tea. The air in the Robinson drawing-room was thick with the scent of Earl Grey and judgement. Zoey sat poised, enduring the watchful scrutiny of Magnus Williams from across the floral arrangement.Martinez, seated unexpectedly near Zoey, should have been discussing investments or perhaps praising the intricate needlework of the antimacassars. Instead, he leaned in, his voice a low, intoxicating rumble.“Miss Hargreaves,” he murmured, ignoring the dictates of decorum entirely, “I find myself quite intrigued by the swiftness of your wit. I observed you sparring with Mr. Hassan Moore earlier; few ladies possess such acuity.”Zoey froze. A compliment on her mind, rather than her pianoforte recital or the fine stitching on her glove, was unheard of. It was a profound breach of etiquette.Magnus Williams, whose influence was as suffocating as tightly pulled satin ribbon, let out a brittle, audible sniff. “Mr. Martinez,” Williams addressed him with icy formality, “Miss Hargreaves is a vision of delicate accomplishment. We rarely inquire into the workings of her intellect, as such matters are seldom conducive to a comfortable marital understanding.”Martinez merely turned his unsettlingly intense gaze upon Williams, a flicker of cold amusement in his dark depths. “Then, Magnus, you have been missing the true measure of the lady.”The scandal simmered. Zoey felt both mortified by the attention and thrillingly seen for the first time. Martinez, the interloper, treated her not as a decorative object to be acquired, but as a formidable creature to be won.Their interactions became clandestine necessities. Across the ballroom, beneath the dazzling chandeliers, his glance held more meaning than a prolonged embrace in a shadowed alcove. In the brief, stolen moments in the library during a tedious reception hosted by the well-meaning but dull Nia Green, the air between them thickened, charged with unspoken questions and a desire that threatened to undo the painstaking structure of Zoey’s composure. She felt the corset’s constraints not as societal rules, but as the physical manifestation of the choice she was yet to make.The danger materialized swiftly. Baron Hargreaves, pale and defeated, confessed that Addison Pendleton, a local landowner of predatory mien, was offering a lifeline: marriage to his nephew, Terrell Brown.“Terrell is secured, Zoey. He will overlook your lack of substantial dowry, provided you agree before the month is out,” her father pleaded.Terrell Brown, a man whose face seemed permanently set in a sneer, cornered Zoey near the card tables the following evening. He did not compliment her gown. Instead, his eyes raked over her figure with vulgar appreciation.“You look positively compressed tonight, Miss Hargreaves,” Terrell drawled, his breath smelling faintly of stale port. “One hopes those stays of yours are strong. A robust wife is required to manage a productive estate, and you appear rather delicate beneath all that silk. Do mind they don’t snap when you attempt to bear children.”The words were a physical blow. That night, Zoey felt the steel of her corset against her skin like a prison sentence.Martinez intercepted her as she fled the room, his hand closing over her arm with a surprising gentleness that nonetheless brooked no argument.“You are distressed,” he stated, his voice tight. “It is Pendleton’s nephew, is it not? The boor who views you as breeding stock?”Zoey could only nod, tears blurring the crystal pendants around her throat.“I require your alliance, Miss Hargreaves,” Martinez admitted, his usual guardedness slipping. “My land acquisitions in the East require the stamp of established English nobility to secure the contracts. I sought a connection. But know this now, Zoey. The strategy has dissolved into something far more consuming.” He pulled her toward a secluded drawing-room, the sounds of the revelry muffled by the heavy oak door. “My interest is no longer strategic. It is absolute.”The night of the Duke of Strathmore’s Grand Ball arrived, heavy with expectation. Zoey wore white, the color of sacrifice, and the pressure of the whalebone felt unbearable, a physical manifestation of the duty pressing her toward Terrell Brown.The quadrille began, the figures prescribed and tedious. Zoey moved mechanically until Martinez cut across the floor, his expression grim, taking her hand from her designated partner, the hapless Levi Clark.“I will not have you bound to that man,” Martinez hissed, pulling her into the swirling chaos of the dance, but not following the steps. His eyes burned with an intensity that banished all propriety. “I have made arrangements that negate any need for your father’s paltry association with Pendleton.”As the music reached its crescendo, Zoey felt the final straw break. She looked at the polished floor, the faces of the polite society who judged her worth by the rigidity of her posture, and she made her choice.With a swift, decisive motion, Zoey pulled her hand away from Terrell Brown, who had momentarily intercepted her.“Then the negotiation is over,” Zoey declared, her voice ringing clear, silencing the immediate vicinity. She reached up and grasped the tightly laced ribbons at the back of her bodice, tearing them open with a sharp, surprising tug that snapped several threads and sent a rush of glorious, painful air to her lungs. The stiff confines of the corset instantly relaxed, mirroring the sudden, exhilarating freedom in her soul.She turned to Martinez, placing her newly liberated hand firmly in his. “I choose scandal, Mr. Martinez. I choose passion. I choose you.”Martinez’s smile was predatory and triumphant. He drew her against him, an embrace both possessive and utterly tender, silencing Terrell Brown’s sputtering protests with a mere glance of undeniable authority that promised utter ruin should he interfere further.“My intentions began as calculation, my love,” Martinez confessed, his voice rough against her ear, “but they have become devotion. I swear it before these dullards. My title is real. My passion for you is the only truth I have ever known.”Just then, Addison Pendleton, his face mottled with fury, pushed forward. “This is an outrage! The agreement with Terrell is settled, Baroness-to-be! You owe your family the security of that match!”Martinez stepped forward, positioning Zoey behind him. The power emanating from him was absolute; it silenced the orchestra mid-note.“Miss Hargreaves is no longer available for negotiation,” Martinez stated, his voice carrying the weight of foreign sovereignty. “I hold the title of Duke in Valdosta, and my claim supersedes the petty squabbles of your provincial gentry. Terrell Brown will find his business dealings suddenly and irrevocably compromised should he attempt to approach my wife again.”The silence in the ballroom was heavier than any whalebone. Zoey looked up at the man who offered not security through duty, but passion through defiance. She took a deep breath, the unrestricted movement of her ribs a testament to her newfound liberty. She did not need the thin comfort of her father’s fading name. She had the undeniable presence of Roscoe Martinez.She lifted her chin, meeting the stunned gazes of the room with cool composure. “I accept my husband’s word,” Zoey stated, letting the illicit thrill of scandal wash over her. The music swelled again, no longer a cage, but a soundtrack to their bold, defiant beginning.
Chapter 3: London's Gilded Cage and the Price of Entry
My very stays felt like they were tearing with the force of my decision. To accept him, here, now, before the entire assembled ton, was an act of such profound rebellion that I might as well have donned trousers and addressed the gentlemen as equals. The whalebone, which had been my lifelong tyrant, suddenly felt like a fragile structure offering no real protection at all. What security was there in a cage built of propriety when the key was held by a man whose eyes promised fire?Roscoe Martinez, Duke of Valdosta, stood before me, his dark coat perfectly tailored, radiating an authority that made even the imposing figure of Magnus Williams seem suddenly diminished. The silence he had commanded was absolute; a rupture in the polite hum of the Duke of Strathmore’s Grand Ball.I looked past him, catching the ashen face of Addison Pendleton, who looked as if he had swallowed a particularly sour lemon. Poor Addison, whose entire scheme to wed his grubby nephew, Terrell Brown, to my nonexistent fortune had just been annihilated by a single, sharp declaration. I shuddered to recall Terrell’s heavy-handed compliments regarding the tightness of my bodice only last week. That particular form of suffocating appraisal was now definitively behind me.“Zoey,” my father’s voice was a thin thread of panic, but I barely registered him. My focus remained fixed on Roscoe. His hand, large and warm, rested lightly upon the silk of my bare arm, a proprietary touch that sent a tremor straight down to my satin slippers.“My dear Baron,” Roscoe drawled, turning his attention to my father with maddening civility, “You seem distressed. I assure you, I am merely securing the most precious commodity in this dreary city. A commodity that, I might add, was being grossly undervalued.”My cheeks burned. Undervalued. The Baroness Hargreaves had spent a decade ensuring I was laced so tightly I could barely draw a breath, all to present a figure worthy of a respectable bid. Now, this foreigner dismissed my entire upbringing with a wave of his hand.“But the arrangements,” Addison Pendleton finally sputtered, recovering his composure enough to try and assert the local order. “The contract for Miss Hargreaves's future with young Terrell Brown is nearly finalized. You cannot simply present yourself and claim her hand, sir! You have not been properly introduced to the mechanisms of our society!”Roscoe’s smile did not reach his eyes. That darkness I had sensed beneath the polished veneer - it was very much present now. “Mechanisms, Mr. Pendleton? I deal in land, in iron, and in sovereign decree. Your society’s mechanisms are quaint, but they do not extend to the matters of a Duke’s wife.” He spoke the word wife with a deep resonance that made my knees weak. He had not asked; he had declared.My corset felt suddenly irrelevant. The pressure was gone, replaced by a dizzying rush of adrenaline. Stepping fully into his shadow, I felt a thrill of terror mix with intoxicating excitement. Leaving the old life behind was terrifying. I knew nothing of Valdosta, nothing of his past dealings, nothing of what it meant to be tied to a man whose authority seemed to eclipse that of the Prince Regent himself. But the alternative was the slow suffocation of provincial poverty, dictated by men like Terrell Brown.“I accept my husband’s word,” I said, the words clear and ringing, louder than I intended. I looked directly at Roscoe, allowing a spark of genuine acknowledgment for the depth of his feeling - or his strategy - to cross my features.Roscoe inclined his head, a gesture of triumph veiled in courtly grace. “Then, my Duchess,” he murmured, pulling me closer so that the rustle of my fine French lace brush against his heavy wool coat, “we must depart before your relatives decide to re-lace you for the journey.”The implication was clear. There was no turning back. We were leaving this gilded cage, not for a quiet country lane, but for a destiny forged in audacity and scandal. The whispering began immediately, a sharp, collective hiss of judgment from every corner of the room. Lady Guinevere Robinson, seated near the orchestra, looked as though she might physically expire from the impropriety. Magnus Williams merely looked furious, her mouth set in a hard, disapproving line.As Roscoe led me through the throng - no longer asking permission, but carving a path - I felt the weight of every disapproving stare. Yet, beneath the silk and the silk lining, my skin tingled where he had touched me. I was irrevocably bound to the Wicked Duke, and as we stepped out into the cool London night, I realized that this terrifying, thrilling uncertainty was the only true freedom I had ever known. The price of entry had been my reputation, and I found, to my utter shock, that I was more than willing to pay it.
Chapter 4: Arrival of the Infamous Señor Martinez
The air within Martinez’s hired town carriage was heavy, thick with the scent of his exotic cologne and the lingering heat of the ballroom. It was a world away from the damp chill clinging to the corners of our own modest London lodging. The windows, tall and gleaming, reflected distorted images of Zoey Hargreaves, a Baron's daughter whose future had been secured by a thread of whalebone and a desperate prayer, now speeding toward an unknown future.This was not merely leaving a ball; this was crossing a threshold. The sheer opulence surrounding Roscoe Martinez was intoxicating, foreboding, and utterly grand. The carriage itself felt like a miniature fortress, upholstered in velvet so deep a crimson it appeared black in the gaslight filtering through the glass. It spoke of boundless reserves, of wealth accrued without the tiresome necessity of polite society’s approval."You look pale, Miss Hargreaves," Roscoe murmured, his voice a low vibration against the silence. He did not touch me, yet his proximity seemed to press against the finely woven lawn of my gown.I adjusted the stiff lace at my throat, feeling the familiar, dull ache where the stays held my diaphragm captive. "I fear I have caused quite the flutter amongst the dowagers, Señor Martinez."He gave a short, dry chuckle that held no humour, only appraisal. "Lady Guinevere Robinson will survive. Her pronouncements have the weight of stale tea leaves. As for Magnus Williams, she is merely vexed that a man of means has chosen to favour your company over that of her favoured nieces. I hear she has been attempting to place the unfortunate Levi Clark with every eligible heiress this season."The mention of Magnus Williams’s disapproval only solidified my resolve. It was precisely the venom of the established order that made Roscoe’s attention so dangerously alluring. He treated the rules of Strathmore society as if they were suggestions whispered by children."You were exceedingly bold at tea today," I managed, my voice steadier than my pulse suggested. "Praising my understanding of Latin texts, rather than commenting upon the fineness of my embroidery. It was quite scandalous."His dark eyes fixed upon mine, and in their depths, I saw not the polite regard due a potential connection, but a consuming, almost predatory interest. "Scandal is merely the price of honesty, Zoey. And honesty, when one possesses a mind capable of appreciating more than the latest London fashions, is a rare commodity indeed."He leaned closer then, dismissing the driver’s presence as if he were a piece of furniture. The scent of spice and something sharply metallic - perhaps the scent of power itself - enveloped me."Your father’s difficulties are known to me," he continued, the change in subject abrupt and pragmatic, slicing through the nascent romance like a cold blade. "Addison Pendleton has been circulating his intentions regarding your future with tiresome diligence. He seeks to bind the Hargreaves name to his nephew, Terrell Brown. A creature whose chief interest lies in cataloguing the tightness of a lady’s corsetry, I am reliably informed."My breath hitched. I had not shared the full extent of my father’s desperation, nor Terrell Brown’s odious fascination with the pinching of my stays. How much did Martinez truly know, and how much of this grand, intoxicating attention was merely strategy?"Mr. Brown is certainly... insistent," I conceded, feeling the blood rush uncomfortably to my cheeks, aware that beneath the silk, my corset felt impossibly tight, a cage mirroring my obligations.Roscoe’s lip curled slightly. "Insistent men are easily deterred when they realize they are barking up the wrong lineage. My purpose in London, Zoey, is twofold. The first is cementing the acquisition of the northern tin mines. The second is far more immediate."He paused, letting the weight of that second, unstated purpose settle heavily between us."And what is that immediate purpose, Señor?" I whispered, though I already knew the answer resided in the dangerous landscape of my own rapidly beating heart."To ensure that no man who views you as a chattel for his nephew’s amusement, or as a mere stepping stone for his own estate consolidation, ever lays a finger upon you," he declared, the quiet intensity in his voice far more commanding than any shout. "I came for the mines. I find I may require the Baron’s daughter as collateral for something far more valuable to me."The carriage slowed before a residence whose grandeur made even the finest Mayfair townhouses seem provincial. This was clearly Martinez’s temporary domain, and it radiated an assured authority that made my father’s title feel like a faded calling card."You are offering a reprieve from ruin, Señor," I stated, maintaining the detached formality society demanded, even as the anticipation threatened to crack the facade."I am offering a partnership, Mademoiselle," he corrected, reaching out to brush a stray curl from my temple, his touch possessive and electrifying. "One that promises far grander rewards than a dull, provincial marriage to a bore obsessed with stays. You wish for freedom from duty. I offer a duty of a different sort entirely: one lived at the highest pitch of passion. And I assure you, Zoey Hargreaves, I am prepared to pay the full social price for your company."
Chapter 5: Whispers of a Foreign Dukedom and Limitless Coin
The crystal chandelier in Lady Guinevere Robinson’s drawing-room cast a thousand diamonds of light across the polished mahogany, yet Zoey Hargreaves felt only the suffocating heat beneath her silk bombazine. Her stays, laced that morning by a nervous maid, were drawn agonizingly tight, threatening to steal the breath she desperately needed after the near disaster.She had been traversing the crowded room, a delicate teacup balanced precariously, when the very air seemed to warp around a figure standing near the mantelpiece. It was Roscoe Martinez. He was engaged in conversation with the formidable Magnus Williams, whose disapproval of the interloper was palpable even from across the expanse of lace and damask.Martinez, impossibly dark against the pale silks of the assembled company, turned, and his gaze caught Zoey’s. It was a physical blow. Just as she faltered, the cup tilting, the collision occurred.Not with Martinez, but with the officious Nia Green, whose flounce of green satin caught Zoey’s elbow with calamitous force. The fine porcelain lurched, and scalding Darjeeling arced towards the pristine white waistcoat of Roscoe Martinez.Zoey gasped, the sound lost in the collective intake of breath that followed such a societal catastrophe. Her entire future rested upon the unblemished reputation of her family; a public mess involving the notoriously severe Martinez would see them utterly ruined.Before the footmen could scramble, before Magnus Williams could launch a single cutting remark, Martinez moved. He did not flinch from the spray of tea. Instead, he caught Zoey’s wrist with a grip that was surprisingly gentle yet utterly firm, steadying her before she could fall entirely."Careful, Mademoiselle Hargreaves," his voice was a low register, resonant enough to carry over the general murmur, yet intimate enough to sound as if he spoke only to her. "Such delicate hands should not be burdened with the duties of a scullery maid."He released her wrist only to take the dripping cup from her trembling fingers. He did not look at Nia Green, the offender, but instead held Zoey’s gaze, his dark eyes glittering with an amusement that bordered on wicked."A momentary lapse," Zoey managed, her cheeks burning hotter than the tea. She felt the crushing pressure of her bodice tighten as adrenaline flooded her system. She hated the sensation of being helpless, of needing rescue.Lady Guinevere Robinson, whose hosting skills were legendary, glided forward, her face a mask of strained propriety. "Mr. Martinez, I trust Miss Hargreaves has not caused you too much distress? Such clumsy girls are the bane of an afternoon assembly."Martinez turned his attention, slowly, agonizingly, towards their hostess. "Distress, Lady Guinevere? Hardly. I find Miss Hargreaves possesses a remarkable resilience. Indeed," he paused, allowing the silence to stretch until the tension in the room was almost visible, "I was just remarking to Hassan Moore that it is a genuine pity London values accomplishments upon the pianoforte above the keen intellect I perceive in Miss Hargreaves."The drawing-room fell silent again, this time from shock. To praise a young lady’s mind over her accomplishments was akin to praising rust over gold in these circles. It was utterly improper.Magnus Williams, seated nearby, let out a sharp, brittle laugh. "Intelligence, Martinez? I doubt the Baron’s daughter has had much time to cultivate such a tiresome quality, occupied as she is with the maintenance of her father’s failing ledgers, I hear."The malice in Magnus Williams’ voice was directed squarely at Zoey, a sharp pin digging into the soft flesh beneath her ribs. Zoey felt the familiar, dreadful tightening of her corset, the whalebone suddenly feeling like prison bars. Her dowry was indeed shrinking, and Magnus Williams, in his patronizing cruelty, knew it.Martinez’s dark expression did not waver, but his focus remained solely on Zoey. "Perhaps," he murmured, stepping fractionally closer so that the scent of exotic spice and strong Spanish leather enveloped her, "she simply requires a more discerning audience to appreciate her true worth, one unconcerned with the trivialities of polite society."Later that evening, at the small, stiff dinner party hosted by the sympathetic Lyra Danvers, Zoey found herself seated far too near Martinez. She wore a gown of deep sapphire, and the constriction around her waist had been increased by the maid, hoping to present a more desirable figure for any potential suitor. The pressure made her lightheaded, but the magnetic pull toward the Duke-by-whisper was undeniable."Your restraint is remarkable, Baron’s daughter," Martinez observed coolly, not bothering to lower his voice as Levi Clark, a tedious bore from the next county, droned on about hunting statistics. "To bear such societal pressure while maintaining such composure. I imagine the whalebone chafes terribly."Zoey’s breath hitched. He noticed the corset. He noticed the constraint. No gentleman dared acknowledge the architecture of a lady’s toilette unless it was to compliment the lace trim."It is the accepted fashion, Señor Martinez," she replied stiffly. "One endures the duty required to maintain one’s place.""And what," he leaned in, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that dismissed the entire dining room, "if I told you I wished to pay handsomely to see that duty entirely undone?"The blood rushed from Zoey’s face, only to return with a vengeance, flooding her neck and chest. The sheer, wicked audacity of the proposition stunned her into silence."I merely mean," he continued, his tone shifting slightly, adopting the patina of plausible deniability, "that the price of your hand in marriage would surely require more coin than your father currently commands. A bargain struck between us could alleviate the need for such self-inflicted torture."The veiled offer of rescue was undeniable, yet it carried the unmistakable scent of a contract, not courtship. Zoey felt a chill despite the heat of the room. Was she merely a negotiation point, a necessary piece of English nobility to anchor his limitless, foreign coin?The danger was intoxicating. She found herself seeking him out over the next fortnight, drawn to the turbulence he created in the staid London air. Stolen glances across the vast floor of a minor assembly near Hyde Park, where the music seemed to serve only as a backdrop to the silent, charged communication passing between them.The true scandal unfolded at a clandestine meeting arranged by the overly eager Isis Bailey, who believed she was fostering a budding, legitimate attachment. They met in a shadowed drawing-room in a less-frequented wing of a hired country house, ostensibly to discuss Martinez’s interest in British infrastructure.Zoey arrived late, having feigned a sudden headache to escape the oppressive scrutiny of her mother. The moment she entered, Martinez was there, abandoning all pretense of detached interest."Zoey," he said, using her given name for the first time, and the sound of it on his lips was like velvet tearing.She felt dizzy, the tight lacing of her evening gown suddenly unbearable. "Señor Martinez, we must be discreet. If Addison Pendleton or Magnus Williams discover we meet outside chaperoned bounds, my reputation will be entirely forfeit."Martinez strode to her, closing the space with unnerving speed. "Let them whisper. They whisper of my dubious lineage and vast wealth already. Let them add that I desire the one woman in this entire tedious city who possesses fire beneath the ice."He reached out, his fingers brushing the exposed skin just above the edge of her low-cut bodice, hesitating near the intricate lacework where her heart hammered violently. "I confess, Zoey, my initial intentions were perhaps… strategic. I require the legitimacy of an established name for a crucial land acquisition. You, as the daughter of a Baron, were the perfect key."He lowered his head, his breath warm against her ear. "But those cold calculations have dissolved, replaced by something consuming. I look at you, and all I see is the necessity of keeping you safe, near me, always. I swear, the darkness of my past dealings aside, my devotion to you is the only thing in my life that is not transactional."Before she could formulate a response, a sharp voice cut through the shadows."What precisely is being transacted here, Martinez?"Addison Pendleton stood framed in the doorway, looking predatory and grim, his hands clasped behind his back. Trailing him was Terrell Brown, his nephew, whose eyes lingered on Zoey with a repulsive familiarity."Terrell has been most persuasive regarding your father’s difficulties, Miss Hargreaves," Pendleton continued, advancing slowly. "He is prepared to overlook your family’s lack of immediate funds. In fact, I believe we have an understanding settled. You will marry Terrell by Michaelmas, which will relieve your Baron father of his debts and secure your place." Terrell grinned, openly appraising Zoey. "And I will ensure your stays are not laced quite so dreadfully tight once you are under my protection, my dear."Zoey felt a surge of pure, cold fury, overwhelming even the dizzying effects of the corset. To be traded like livestock to this repellent creature.Martinez stepped forward, placing himself squarely between Zoey and the Pendleton contingent. The air around him changed, hardening into steel. The easy seduction was gone, replaced by a terrifying authority."You presume too much, Pendleton," Martinez stated, his voice dropping to a tone that belonged not to a wealthy commoner, but to a true sovereign. "The Hargreaves family owes you nothing, and my interest in Mademoiselle Zoey Hargreaves supersedes any petty agreement cooked up in the back rooms of London clubs."Pendleton scoffed, regaining a fraction of his bravado. "Your interest is noted, sir, but irrelevant. She is promised. The arrangements are settled."Martinez smiled, a chilling baring of teeth that held no warmth. "You mistake my position, Pendleton. I am Roscoe Martinez, Duke of Valois, and my holdings stretch from the Cantabrian Sea to the very borders of the Ottoman territories. I do not negotiate with provincial busybodies concerning matters of consequence."He turned to Zoey, and the raw desire in his eyes was finally undisguised, burning away any lingering doubt that this was merely a political maneuver. He reached out, not to comfort, but to command."Zoey Hargreaves," he said, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. "Cast off the expectations that bind you. Choose the scandal. Choose the passion. Choose me."Zoey looked past him to Terrell Brown’s smug face, felt the agonizing squeeze of her whalebone bodice mirroring the suffocating duty to her father. She had lived her life constrained by propriety and penury.With a decisive movement that shocked even herself, Zoey reached up and fumbled with the delicate silk ribbons at her waist, tugging hard until the fastening gave way with a sharp snap. The immediate, blessed relief of the pressure easing was profound. She felt a sudden, exhilarating surge of air into her lungs.She turned fully to Martinez, the loosening stays allowing her to meet his gaze without the slight upward tilt that servitude demanded."I choose the scandal," Zoey whispered, her voice suddenly clear and strong. "I choose you, Duke of Valois."Martinez’s triumphant expression was mirrored by the look of apoplectic rage on Addison Pendleton’s face. The Duke took Zoey’s hand, his grip solid, and led her away from the drawing-room, past the sputtering Pendleton and the defeated Terrell Brown, walking directly into the bright, terrifying future he had just purchased for them both with his audacity and limitless coin.
Chapter 6: The Dark Intensity of Undisclosed Secrets
The silence that descended upon the Grand Ball, save for the fading strains of the final waltz, was a living thing, heavy and expectant. Zoey Hargreaves felt the sudden absence of the whalebone's cruel embrace like a phantom limb, replaced by a wild, untamed lightness in her breast. She had lived her life constrained by propriety and penury.With a decisive movement that shocked even herself, Zoey reached up and fumbled with the delicate silk ribbons at her waist, tugging hard until the fastening gave way with a sharp snap. The immediate, blessed relief of the pressure easing was profound. She felt a sudden, exhilarating surge of air into her lungs.She turned fully to Martinez, the loosening stays allowing her to meet his gaze without the slight upward tilt that servitude demanded."I choose the scandal," Zoey whispered, her voice suddenly clear and strong. "I choose you, Duke of Valois."Martinez’s triumphant expression was mirrored by the look of apoplectic rage on Addison Pendleton’s face. The Duke took Zoey’s hand, his grip solid, and led her away from the drawing-room, past the sputtering Pendleton and the defeated Terrell Brown, walking directly into the bright, terrifying future he had just purchased for them both with his audacity and limitless coin.The subsequent chaos was immediate, yet distant. Zoey registered the sharp intakes of breath, the horrified flutter of fans, and the rigid disapproval emanating from figures such as Magnus Williams, who watched the Duke steer her toward the terrace doors as if she were being led to the scaffold.Inside her head, the relief warred violently with a cold, sharp apprehension. The crushing pressure of the corset had always been a physical reminder of her duty, of the narrow path to solvency. Now, unbound, she felt dangerously exposed. Roscoe Martinez was a man whose wealth was only overshadowed by the shadows clinging to his reputation. Had she not just traded the known discomfort of poverty for the unknown terror of this Duke’s possession? He had confessed his initial motive had been strategy, a mere matter of English pedigree to secure his holdings. Had that calculation truly dissolved into the consuming fire she felt radiating from him now?She studied the strong line of his jaw, the intensity in those dark eyes that had always seemed to pierce through the silk and superficiality. He treated her as an equal, yes, but an equal he intended to claim utterly. She recalled the subtle, almost imperceptible tremor in his hand when he had first taken hers at Lady Guinevere Robinson’s disastrous tea, the moment he had publicly praised her intellect over the polite accomplishments dictated by society. That moment had felt like a secret shared, a conspiracy against the polite inanities of the ton.Now, the conspiracy was made public, sealed by her open defiance and the deliberate destruction of her most vital piece of armour."You have ruined me," Zoey murmured, allowing him only a few steps before she paused near the cool marble of the balustrade, needing to draw breath in the open air. She could almost feel the eyes of the matrons boring into the back of her neck.Martinez turned, his expression softening only slightly from the hard mask of victory. "Ruin you, my Baroness? Never. I have offered you escape from a slow suffocation. Your father’s fortunes, I assure you, shall mend themselves tenfold with a mere signature." He paused, his gaze dropping momentarily to the lace edging of her gown where the stays had been loosened, before returning to her face with startling gravity. "As for my motives, yes, they began rooted in necessity. I require an unimpeachable name to finalize the acquisition of the Devonshire holdings. Your title, however minor, provides the necessary patina of ancient respectability."The admission stung, even though she had suspected it. "And my heart, Duke? Was that also part of the transaction?"Martinez closed the small space between them with predatory grace. The air thickened immediately, the scent of his expensive foreign cologne overwhelming the faint perfume of the assembled crowd."Your heart," he breathed, lowering his head until his lips were dangerously close to her ear, "was the one commodity I did not calculate the value of. It is a treasure, Zoey, one that I find myself unwilling to part with, regardless of any land deal. That darkness you sense in me, the ruthlessness that frightens London society so profoundly, is exactly what is required to keep men like Addison Pendleton and that simpering cousin of his, Terrell Brown, far away from you."He straightened, his voice regaining the commanding tone that had silenced Pendleton moments before. "Pendleton believed he had leverage over your father. He believed he could use his nephew’s lecherous attentions toward your dowry to secure control. He underestimates the price I am prepared to pay to keep what is mine."A ripple of hushed talk preceded the entrance of a side character, the sharp-featured Nia Green, accompanied by a nervous-looking Levi Clark. They approached cautiously, clearly sensing the epicenter of the evening’s scandal."Lady Zoey," Nia began, her voice laced with faux sympathy, "surely you have not allowed the Duke to spirit you away before confirming your engagement to Mr. Brown? My aunt, Magnus Williams, was quite adamant that the contract was all but sealed this very afternoon."Zoey felt the familiar pressure of social duty trying to reassert its grip, urging her to retreat, to apologize, to re-fasten her bonds. But the air still flowed freely around her ribs, and Martinez’s hand rested firmly on the small of her back."Miss Green," Martinez interjected, his voice dangerously level, "Lady Zoey is engaged. She is engaged to the future Duke of Valois. I suggest your aunt concern herself with less important matters, perhaps ensuring her own seating arrangements at the next country assembly are not compromised by this revelation."The implicit threat, the sheer casualness with which he dismissed the entire social hierarchy surrounding Nia Green, was breathtaking. Nia’s composure fractured; she looked as if she might faint, pulling Levi Clark back into the shadows of the ballroom entrance.Martinez watched them retreat with a predatory satisfaction. He turned back to Zoey, his dark eyes blazing with an emotion that felt undeniably real, undeniably dangerous."There is no turning back, Zoey," he murmured, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate path just above the silk of her bodice, where her heart hammered against the memory of the restricting whalebone. "You have shed your duty for my passion. Are you prepared for a life where the rules are written only by us, and where I will defend what is mine with every resource at my command?"Zoey met his gaze, feeling the exhilarating terror of the precipice. She thought of the thin, grey prospects offered by Terrell Brown, of the endless bowing and scraping to maintain a façade of respectability. She looked at Roscoe Martinez, the Wicked Duke, whose power terrified the staid society around them, but whose gaze promised a world where her mind was valued and her body desired without constraint."I am ready," Zoey confirmed, the word a vow whispered against the thrilling danger of his proximity. "I am ready for the scandal."
Chapter 7: Etiquette’s Razor’s Edge: The Strathmore Society
The air within Lady Guinevere Robinson’s withdrawing room was thick, heavy with the scent of over-brewed Darjeeling and the suffocating propriety that clung to the very damask curtains. Zoey Hargreaves felt the steel of her corset pressing against her ribs, a familiar, agonizing embrace that served as a constant reminder of the narrow confines of her existence. Her father’s dwindling fortune meant every gesture, every utterance, was weighted with the necessity of a profitable match.She sat rigidly upon a delicate rosewood chair, her hands folded neatly over the inadequate silk of her gown, acutely aware of the predatory assessment radiating from Magnus Williams, seated across the tea table. Magnus, whose severity of dress suggested a moral superiority that was entirely undeserved, observed Roscoe Martinez as if he were a particularly vile insect trapped beneath a glass.Martinez, however, seemed utterly unconcerned by the societal judgment. He leaned back slightly, his dark, unsettling eyes fixed not upon the silver service or the dainty petit fours, but solely upon Zoey.“Miss Hargreaves,” Martinez stated, his voice possessing a rich, foreign timbre that grated against the delicate English sensibilities surrounding them. “I must confess, I find the preoccupation with mere embroidery patterns tedious. Lady Guinevere, forgive me, but it is far more compelling to discuss the structure of the Roman aqueducts, or perhaps the burgeoning trade routes in the Indies.”A hush fell, so profound one could hear the delicate clink as a maid refilled a Sèvres cup. This was not the discourse permitted at a genteel afternoon tea.Lady Guinevere Robinson smoothed the lace at her throat, her expression hardening into polished granite. “Mr. Martinez, we discuss such weighty topics only when they pertain to the moral upliftment of the young ladies present. Perhaps Miss Hargreaves has not yet been introduced to the complexities of irrigation.”It was a calculated slight, designed to dismiss Zoey’s intellect entirely.Roscoe Martinez merely smiled, a slow, dangerous unveiling of teeth that made Zoey’s breath hitch despite the whalebone restricting her lungs. He addressed Zoey directly, ignoring the hostess’s frosty glare.“On the contrary, Lady Guinevere,” Martinez countered, his gaze locking onto Zoey’s. “I found Miss Hargreaves’s observations this morning regarding the recent political pamphlet quite astute. Her comprehension of the underlying economic distress facing the landed gentry - distress I note your nephew, Terrell Brown, seems entirely insulated from, Addison Pendleton - suggests a mind far superior to one concerned only with needlepoint.”The temperature in the room plummeted. Addison Pendleton, a woman whose ambition was only exceeded by her husband’s debts, stiffened beside her nephew. Terrell Brown, a man whose chief characteristic was his ill-fitting coat and his obsession with the tightness of a lady’s stays, glowered.Magnus Williams hissed, low enough that only the immediate party could catch it. “He flatters her with falsehoods, Baroness. To praise a young lady’s mind above her accomplishments is to invite ruin. He seeks to place her above her station.”Zoey felt a flush rise from the confines of her décolletage. To be praised by Martinez felt like drowning in honey; dangerous, yet overwhelmingly sweet. He saw her, not just the dowry she lacked or the shape the corset forced her into.Later that week, the forced proximity continued under the guise of necessary social observance. The Duke of Strathmore’s estate was hosting a series of preludes to the Grand Ball, and Martinez, having purchased a sizable, if newly renovated, manor nearby, was unavoidable.Zoey found herself cornered near the pianoforte, ostensibly examining the sheet music, but truly waiting. Roscoe Martinez appeared from the shadow of a heavy velvet drapery, his presence instantly commanding the space around them.“The rigidity of that garment must be torture by this hour, Miss Hargreaves,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial register, entirely too intimate for the crowded hall.Zoey’s fingers trembled slightly on the ivory keys. She instinctively drew her shoulders back, a movement that only served to make the lacings pull tighter. “It is merely proper attire, Mr. Martinez. A lady learns to endure what society demands.”“And what if I demand something different?” Martinez leaned closer. The air around him smelled of rich tobacco and something wilder, elemental. “If I demanded you breathe freely, Zoey? If I demanded you stop performing the dance of the obedient doll?”
