Chapter 1
Lincolnshire, 1847
The man above Marissa York groaned loudly, his breath shuddering over her cheek.
She turned her head and frowned at the wall as the room spun slowly around her. Goodness. This wasn't going well at all. Thankfully, it seemed it was nearly over.
After an endless summer of pretending to look for a husband in London, Marissa had thought to treat herself to a night of forbidden pleasure. It was her family's first house party of the hunting season, after all. Everyone else was having a rollicking good time, and Marissa had thought to find some fun too. But instead she'd found clumsy rumbling, not to mention a bit of discomfort and lots of grunting. Perhaps this was why girls were ordered to keep themselves pure for marriage. No matter how unfortunate the consummation, there was no turning back afterward.
"My love," Peter White sighed into her ear. "My sweet, sweet Marissa. That was beautiful. Perfect."
"Perfect?"
"Oh, yes."
She stretched her neck, trying to ease the strain on her back. "Um, could you please ... arise?"
"Of course, I'm sorry." He pushed up to his elbows. Unfortunately, though this eased the weight on her chest, it pushed his bottom half more thoroughly against her. Everything down there felt rather... squishy.
"Mr. White, please? Get up?"
He gave her a sly grin. "Don't you feel silly calling me Mr. White right now?"
"No."
"When we are married, I hope you will call me by my Christian name, at least in—"
"Pardon?"
He leaned down to press a kiss to her nose. Marissa wiped it away.
"I'll speak to your brother tomorrow," he purred.
"You will do no such thing! Now get off. It's taking you more time to dismount than you spent riding."
Finally, the stubborn fool seemed to sense that she wasn't limp with gratitude at his rutting. He drew back, squishing even more firmly into her.
"Oh, just get off me, you great dolt!" she cried.
He gasped, "Marissa!" as shocked horror took over his face.
And that was when she heard the footsteps in the hall. Her eyes went wide. She pushed at his chest. And the door opened.
Marissa held her breath. It was dark. The light
from the hallway might not have reached them. If they just kept quiet. . .
Peter White cleared his throat. "If you would close the door, please. We require privacy."
Before her shock could twist into anger, the shadowed figure shifted. "Pardon me?" Her brother's voice.
Oh, no. Not her brother.
The door flew fully open, and Marissa had to squint against the light from the hall, so she could only assume they were now visible. Her heart sunk down to rest on her spine. "No," she breathed.
"Marissa Anne York!" her brother bellowed just before he lunged for the man atop her.
Mr. White was finally off her, but she could hardly summon a feeling of thankfulness. The shadows of the two men merged into one large beast that lurched into the darkest corner of the room. Vases shattered. A table crashed into the wall.
"Stop!" Marissa screamed, hoping her shout would put an end to the fight and stop time as well. If she could only go back to a half hour earlier when she'd finished that last glass of wine and let Mr. White coax her into this room . . .