The carriage gates closed behind me and I knew Philip's estate would be my cage and my sanctuary both. His limp did nothing to soften the authority in his voice when he told me what obedience would cost a new wife who had nowhere else to go.
I hide my terror of abandonment behind soft compliance, but the shame he draws from me with every raised skirt and measured stroke is what truly binds me to him. The birthmark on my thigh seems to mark me for this, and if anyone learns how the count disciplines his wife, his title and our fragile bond will shatter.
His fingers brush mine over the ledger, then close tight around my wrist, and the question hangs between us: will I let the world hear what I crave from his hand?
