She stared at him in shock and anger. It wasn't her fault those men had attacked her, but he was punishing her like it was. She bit her tongue hard, trying to keep herself from shouting at him.

"Are you mad at me?" he asked.

​​

She stared at him in disbelief.

"I see," he said. "But I'm not mad, so why are you?"

"You're not mad?" she asked. "I don't believe that for a second."

He sighed, "Okay, I was furious before. But not at you, not really. I wish you knew how to protect yourself, of course, but I suppose it's not fair to blame you for that."

"It isn't," she said, her voice flat and cold.

"I just wish you'd asked for my help," he said.

"But I did," she replied. "I sent Sophia to get you."

"And with your so-called friends?" he asked.

She stared at him in surprise, "You know what happened at the bar? How did you find out?"

"If I want to know something, I find it out," he replied.

"That was just a petty fight," she said with a sigh. "I had some words with some jealous girls I went to school with. I wasn't going to call you to the bar to defend me from some silly teenage girls."

"I'd be happy to defend you," he said. "Even if they are silly teenage girls."

Catherine looked at his face—he smiled, but his eyes were sad.

"Did you happen to hear anything else about what happened at the bar?" she asked.

He raised an eyebrow, "Do I look 40 or 50 years old to you?"

She sighed, "So you heard."

"I did," he replied. Do you see me that way too?"

Catherine sighed, "If you heard what they said, you must have heard my response."

Sean's lips twitched, "I didn't actually."

She stared at him. It wasn't like him to fish for compliments.

"I told them that you're only a few years older than me," she said.

"Oh, was that all?" he asked.

"I may have said that you're handsome," she whispered shyly.

"Oh, did you?" he asked, his eyes suddenly bright.

"They misunderstood the situation," she answered, trying to change the conversation. "It's not their fault, really. I got married pretty suddenly, and I'm very young. It makes sense they'd overthink it. Besides, Madison put the idea in their heads."

He looked at her thoughtfully, "It's true. You are quite young."

She stared back at him. For a moment, she detected sadness in his face, but when she blinked, it was gone. She chewed her lip. Why had he been in such a rush to marry her? He was a handsome, rich man in the prime of his life. He could have had almost any woman in England, but he'd chosen her. Why? She thought of Pearl Johnson and her model good looks. Why had he chosen her?

"Is there something you want to know?" he asked her.

She froze, wondering if she'd accidentally spoken her thoughts out loud.

"You look confused," he added.

She shook her head, "No, I'm just tired. If you don't mind, I'm going to go to bed now."

Without another word, she switched off the bedside lamp and turned her back to him. She knew she was acting childishly, but she was furious. She'd been attacked, but instead of sympathy Sean had given her nothing but cold, furious anger. He couldn't change that with some ice and a soft voice.

She closed her eyes and felt the exhaustion overtake her as she drifted to sleep, a warm pair of arms wrapped around her. Instead of struggling to get away, she found herself relaxing into them.

When she woke in the morning, she was alone in bed. The pillow next to her own was wrinkled, and a small piece of paper lay atop it. She grabbed the paper and unfolded it. The script was elegant, but the words filled her with rage. She read, Good morning, Honey. For your safety, I ask that you don't leave the main house. Geoffrey will keep an eye on you to ensure that you are completely protected.

She read the note a second time, crumpled it in her fist, and threw the paper across the room. She climbed out of bed and dressed quickly, tugging on the first pair of jeans and shirt she saw. Barefoot she ran down the stairs and charged into the dining room. Sean sat at the table calmly sipping a cup of tea and reading the newspaper.

"What the hell?" she asked.

"Good morning to you, too," he replied.

"You're keeping me prisoner?" she asked.

"You're not a prisoner," he responded calmly.

"The note you left on the pillow says otherwise," she hissed. "I have a life, Sean. You can't keep me locked up in your house. I have plans to meet Sophia, for example. And what about the university? And the internship you promised me?"

"Every time you leave this house, you get hurt," he said.

"Not every time," she objected. "This is ridiculous. I'm your wife, not your pet."

He sighed, "It's too dangerous."

"So what?" she asked. "You're going to keep me locked away from the world just because there are some people who tried to hurt me? For Christ's sakes, some of them were your own family."

His expression darkened, "Don't remind me."

"Well, if you're going to revoke your promises, I'm going to go back on mine too," she snapped. She tugged the huge diamond ring from her finger and slammed it onto the breakfast table.

His eyes flashed, and his face paled, but she ignored him. She turned on her heel and marched to the sunroom. Settling into a wicker lounger, she rang for a maid to bring her breakfast. As long as Sean insisted she stay in the house, she was going to make his life as difficult as possible.

The day stretched on endlessly. She moved from room to room, flipping through magazines and scrolling through her phone. She watched TV and paced the long hallways. When a maid told her dinner was ready, she ignored her and headed to a balcony instead. She sat in a chair and stared out at the grounds, watching the setting sun cast a golden glow over everything.

She watched the grounds darken, feeling hopeless. Though the evening air grew cool and the sky turned inky black, she stayed sitting on the balcony. She scrolled through her phone, brushing away the moths that hovered around the bright light of the screen. A notification pinged, and she opened it—a business journal had just published an article about the Feather Textile Corporation.