Once Upon a Temptingly Ruinous Kiss - Bree Wolf Page 0,1

pit from whence there was no escape…before eventually a depressing calm settled upon her, robbing her of every bit of hope and forcing her to accept that life would always be thus.

Always.

“I cannot leave you like this,” Louisa protested, tears misting her own eyes, and Leonora loved her sister for her devotion. Yet, she could not allow it.

“I want you to,” she whispered, gritting her teeth against the first shiver that drew closer. She could feel it approaching like a gazelle might sense the lion hiding in the tall grass. “I need you to.” She swallowed hard, doing her best to hold on. “Thank you for waking me.”

For a seemingly endless moment, Louisa looked at her sister, the expression on her face torn between reluctance and the inevitable understanding that even if she stayed…she could not help. “Very well,” Louisa finally said and rose to her feet. “I shall see you in the morning.”

Forcing a smile onto her face, Leonora nodded. “In the morning.”

When the door finally closed behind her sister, Leonora let go. She did not wish to. She did not wish to feel the pain and fear and terror. Worse, the helplessness. The powerlessness. But she needed to.

In the early days after the attack, Leonora had fought the onslaught…and it had wrecked her in a way nothing else ever had. She had been unable to recover for days, her body weakened, her mind unable to form a clear thought, her heart twisted beyond recognition.

She had lost herself in these moments.

Now, after half a year of practice, Leonora knew better. She knew she needed to let these feelings in. She needed to feel them. She needed to shake and shiver, to weep and sob in order to reclaim at least one small part of who she was.

And so she did.

By the time the last trembles ceased, the sun was beginning to rise in the East.

Exhausted, Leonora slumped back into the pillows, hugging her knees to her chest as she curled into a ball of misery. The bruises of that night had long since faded. She had burnt the gown she had worn that night, ripped beyond repair—although Leonora knew that that had not been the reason why she had burnt it. Every physical reminder of that night was gone, and yet, Leonora still found herself trapped.

Unable to leave that night behind her.

Unable to step back out into the light.

Unable to…live.

Would it ever stop? Would she ever be free? Or forever remain locked in this prison, tormented by the past? Would she ever forget that moment when he had looked upon her, their eyes locking for no longer than the length of a heartbeat? Would she forever feel his hands upon her? His lips upon hers? Would she forever see him in every man to cross her path, never knowing who he was?

All these questions and more swirled in Leonora’s head—All day! Every day!—and deep down, she knew the answer.

Had known it since the night of the masquerade.

The night she had wandered away from the ballroom, curious to observe those around her. Never had Leonora’s observations guided her toward something dangerous, and she had not expected what had happened then. She had ventured deeper into the darkened maze of corridors and alcoves, and then—

Her hands still balled into fists at the thought of how he had come upon her. She could still feel his hands upon her, his breath upon her skin, his mouth upon hers, silencing any objection she had voiced.

Eventually, Leonora had managed to free herself and gotten away before anything more could have happened. Still, it had not been soon enough.

The damage had been done…

…and it seemed irreversible.

Yet, lately, Leonora could not help but wonder if there were others. Other women who had experienced the same hell she had. Of course, like her, they could not speak of it for fear of repercussions. After all, society was merciless when it came to a woman’s reputation.

Did no one care?

Close to dawn that very night, Drake Shaw, Marquess of Pemberton, stood in a small clearing in Hyde Park, surrounded by tall-standing trees. His gaze was trained straight ahead, his arms at his sides, one hand holding a pistol, the muzzle pointed upward. He took a step forward, and then another, and another, his strides large and calm. He felt his heart beating in his chest, wondering if indeed it knew any other rhythm but this steady thump he felt against his rib cage. Indeed, he might well die tonight,