Chapter 4

Suffocating.

The weather. My mood. All of it.

I was about to slip away to the terrace for air when Augusta approached.

"Miss Fairfax." Her voice was honeyed. "I think you owe me an explanation."

I looked at her. "About what?"

Augusta gave a faint smile and held up a jewelry box. It was empty.

"A brooch that belonged to my late mother has gone missing."

"What's wrong, darling?" A society matron sidled over, feigning surprise.

Augusta's eyes reddened instantly. "Earlier, in the dressing room—you were the only one who went in."

"The only one? Are you sure? Isn't there always a maid in the dressing room?" I frowned.

A clumsy frame job, riddled with holes.

"Of course there's a maid," Augusta nodded. "But the maids would never steal. They wouldn't dare—not in a lifetime."

She paused. "So that leaves only you."

Hushed murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"Mrs. Pembroke's heirloom?"

"That's no ordinary piece of jewelry..."

"Didn't her family lose everything? Maybe she wanted to pawn it?"

Cecilia rushed through the crowd, flustered, and clasped Augusta's hand. "Miss Augusta... there must be some misunderstanding. Eleanor would never do something like that."

Augusta smiled. "I'm sure I believe you. But I can't say the same for her."

I drew a deep breath. "Get the maid in here. Check the cameras. Cameron—security cameras are the one thing this house has no shortage of."

I turned my gaze to Cameron.

His expression was utterly impassive.

Augusta added softly, "Cameron, you know what Mother's brooch means to us."

I clenched my teeth. "Cameron. Check the cameras."

He finally spoke—and it was the last thing I wanted to hear.

"I'm very disappointed in you."

Was this the Middle Ages?

How could he pass judgment so easily?

Were cameras just decoration in the Pembroke house?

I grabbed Augusta by the shoulders, barely containing my fury. "Where did you hide the brooch?"

"That's enough." Cameron cut in. "Right now, you look like a lunatic."

Thunder rolled.

The storm that had been building all evening finally broke.

"This is a setup!"

I'd had enough.

I tore down the stairs, burst through the front door, and ran straight into the rain.

The downpour hammered into me. My gown was soaked through in seconds.

My heels skidded on the stone steps—I nearly fell but forced myself upright.

I didn't stop until I reached the center of the courtyard. I tipped my head back and gasped for air.

Hurried footsteps sounded behind me. Cameron, holding an umbrella, had followed me out.

"Eleanor. Come back inside."

I turned. Rainwater ran down my lashes, stinging my eyes, but I was more clear-headed than I'd ever been.

I let out a bitter laugh. "You want me to go back in there so I can apologize to your sister?"

His brow furrowed. "Don't use that tone with me."

"Which tone?" I stepped forward. "The one you prefer? Meek and agreeable, admitting everything is my fault?"

Cameron's fist clenched. "You've caused enough trouble tonight."

"You are not a suitable fiancée." He was silent for a beat, then looked at me with open disappointment. "And you're certainly not a person of integrity."

My fingertips were shaking. "You won't even look at the security footage, and you've already found me guilty?"

Cameron's frown deepened. "Are you accusing me?"

"I'm telling you the truth." The corset crushed my ribs, stealing my air. "Cameron—do you know what this feels like? Waking up every morning with a shackle clamped around your neck. I have nightmares every single night. You're standing at the altar, right in front of me, and you've turned to stone."

The rain roared. My voice rose above it, sharper with every word.

"You are nothing like my Darcy."

He finally moved.

Cameron walked toward me. Water from the rim of the umbrella dripped onto my face.

"Stop quoting movies at me." His voice was low. "It's time you grew up."

"Grew up? Your idea of growing up means turning me into Cecilia? Turning me into someone who bows, who smiles on cue, who says 'thank you for the reminder' when she's being humiliated?"

I grabbed a fistful of my soaking hair. "My biggest regret is spending two years learning your precious etiquette! Two years of being ground down!

"Every month I had to bleach my hair platinum—my scalp burned! Every day I ate food so bland it felt like punishment—one taste of spice and I was committing a crime! The angle of my walk, the curve of my smile—all rehearsed in advance. I am a human being, not a machine."

I closed the distance between us, rain streaming off my chin. "You think you've been loving me. You haven't. You've been taming me."

Something cracked in Cameron's eyes for just an instant. "So what you're saying is—you've done nothing wrong?"

I froze, my chest suddenly hollow.

He really could translate every ounce of my suffering into an excuse.

I looked at him, and all at once the whole thing struck me as absurd beyond words.

"You don't understand," I said. "You will never understand."

Cameron's eyes went completely cold. "You haven't realized your own fault."

He said, "That's the problem."

He raised a hand. Instantly, someone emerged from the covered walkway behind him.

"Take her inside." Cameron didn't look at me again. "Lock her in."

I stumbled back. The wet stone nearly sent me sprawling. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Of course I would." His eyes found mine. "Until the wedding, you won't set foot outside that room."