I. The Town

The story of Mr. Jones could not be found in any form of educational discipline in the Town. But it did not stop the children, even those in adulthood, to speak of him as if he was part of history.

Adults, titled and commoners alike, would spend countless hours debating how a man who lived all his life above discovered the Town, their world belowground, by accident.

The giant holes above the Town were well-hidden from those aboveground, making it almost impossible for anyone to find one. Unless they were looking for it. But no matter, because mayhap by accident or intention, Mr. Jones fell from one of the many holes scattered all over the Town and landed into a lake half a century ago.

Many believed that poor Mr. Jones was taken prisoner by the Town Guards until he died; while others said he was amongst the surviving lineage of the Town Founders who came down and built the Town, designing it to nurture and be livable, all in their great attempt to conserve history. The theory sounded farce, considering any surviving lineage of the great Founders had long faded into the background of polite society.

Perhaps the most acceptable theory of all could be heard from the readers of the surviving copies of the forbidden book, The World Above , written by one anonymous folk. Fifty years ago, the Town Leaders banned all copies of the book. Thousands of copies were burned, but the few surviving ones were kept hidden, passed from one trusted hand to another. Most considered it a work of fantasy, but there were those who believed every word.

Alas, after finishing the book and reading its contents of the stories aboveground—of carriages that did not require horses; of people capable of talking to one another across vast lands through magical devices—most readers were inclined to believe that Mr. Jones penned the book himself and died upon its publication.

Fragmented details from the book spread all over the Town and reached children’s ears. They considered the world aboveground a place filled with magic that the stories themselves turned into fairytales. Most adults, particularly the Town Leaders, saw it as a threat because no one could enter the Town. Once they do, everything the Founders fought for shall perish.

Yet the myth of Mr. Jones was proof enough that the people of the Town were interested of the unknown and mysterious world above them. Service people would dream of escaping their dreary lives through the many holes over their heads. And despite their lavish gowns and balls, the affluent lords and ladies wondered what life above might be. Did they offer better fabrics? More products to paint their faces? And perhaps, a better selection of the opposite sex?

The World Above spoke of endless sunshine, mountains, skies, oceans and fresh air. It spoke of people of different other colors and languages.

But all of that was but a dream; for the Townspeopl

e had always lived their lives hundreds of feet belowground, save for Mr. Jones, should he have existed at all.

The Founders built the holes too high aboveground. Climbing out was impossible. Attempting, even with the faculties to do so, would land one in a dungeon. And it was not as if many had desired to risk it, because most simply never found the idea appealing. As much as they wanted to believe the words in The World Above , the townspeople also knew that the world above them could be not as what they dreamed of. Surely, like the Town, they had problems too—and they may be worse.

It was far better to enjoy the dream than to have it shattered by a nightmare.

Few wanted to escape the Town. Fewer had ever thought of it, and no one ever found a way out.

Well, everyone believes that to be so , said the mind of a particular young lady who had read The World Above countless times.

“How do you think he survived the fall?” Lady Cressida Belverst wondered aloud, looking up at the hole, her pale skin relishing in the warm sunlight from above.

She was under one of the largest holes in Willowfair. It gave anyone a glimpse of the sky above, unlike the smaller holes. Cressida might have considered this one her favorite if it was not above a large public park. She did not dislike the park, merely the gossipmongers who crowded it. In fact, the said ladies might very well send for their pillows and tea sets here, considering the amount of time they spend under the hole to watch others while exchanging opinions on the latest gossips and scandals.

“ If he survived the fall, someone must have caught him. Or he fell on a softer ground—or someone looking up at the hole like you are doing now,“ Meredith, her lady’s maid absently answered.

The vastness of Meredith’s imagination could be compared to that of the hole above, Cressida wryly thought. It was that limited. She considered lending the copy of her book to the lady. Mayhap then Meredith would be enthusiastic about the topic.

Cressida rolled her eyes. “You’re not even taking this matter seriously,” she said instead, thinking that the World Above would remain her secret.

“I am not.”

“Why ever not?”

“Because you’re trying to waste our time talking about a myth—a fairytale.”

“No, I am not,” Cressida answered, closing her eyes and reveling at the heat of the sun above them.

If there was anything she hated amongst the already dreadful events of the past few days, it was the gloomy feel of the Town. It was often cold and sunlight was scarce.

“We’ll be late. Your father should be wondering.”

“Let them wait a little while longer,” she murmured, picturing the bright blue sky and the ocean she read about.

Could a vast mass of water truly move back and forth with great intensity? Did they really splash back against the surface as what The World Above shared?

Oh, how she would trade her expensive gowns for a moment above!

“Your mother will have a faint if you do something strange today,” Meredith said beside her, voice filled with warning and apprehension.

Cressida finally opened her eyes and turned to her companion, her light dress rustling as she shifted on the stone bench. “I’m not planning to do something strange.”

Meredith looked at her as if she knew better. She had reason to be apprehensive.

“You are known for your minor scandals , milady. Of course, I have reason to be apprehensive. And I’ve known you almost half your life. You don’t have to say anything for me to suspect you are planning something.” When she remained silent, Meredith added, “Marrying the Lord of Easton is—”

“—the worst idea of my already horrid lifetime, I know,” Cressida cut in with a dramatic sigh.

Meredith shook her head with a faint smile. “ If Lord Easton is ten times your age, I would agree that it is. But he is not . He is merely a few years older than you and you have known each other—“

“—and never liked each other all our lives since the pond incident. You need not remind me that this marriage is doomed, Meredith.”

Her companion sighed and slowly stood. “It’s time to go, milady.”

But Cressida did not move. She turned away from Meredith and looked up at the giant hole above her. She thought she saw something fly by, mayhap a bird of some sort. Then her brows slowly moved to form a small frown above her eyes as an idea slowly took form, just big enough to make her pay attention to it, like they always did before every infamous minor scandal .

“Meredith, have you ever been to the famous woods in Wickhurst?” she asked.

“No. I have merely been to Wickhurst once and never dared venture their woods. They say it has three large holes, ones larger than what we have in Willowfair. People there have better complexion because of it, they say. The gentlemen venture there for their famous hunting games.” Meredith grew impatient when Cressida only nodded. “Milady, we really have to go. It’s about time.”

“You don’t even have a watch. How do you know it’s time?” she asked with irritation, but she jumped to her feet all the same. Meredith waited until she started walking and followed her toward the waiting carriage. The gossipmongers’ gaze shadowed her as she sashayed away from the park. She ignored them, as her mind reeled with the most stunning plan ever thought of anyone in the Town.

No wedding was going to happen in a month’s time because Lady Cressida Belverst was going to disappear.

If Mr. Jones found a way in, she would find a way out.

Or up.

II. A Mismatch and a Pact

Calan Haverston, Lord of Easton, was amongst the most eligible gentlemen in the Town. His father, Charles Haverston, the Lord of Carnfield, was one of the ten Town Leaders and would have been the Prime Minister if he did not step down eight years ago. The very mention of their name summoned respect and praise. In fact, their bloodline had been amongst the most fortunate. Well, until Calan and his brothers were born, in Cressida’s honest opinion.

The brothers did nothing but spend their wealth going around the Town, engaging in trysts that the gossip section of the Town Herald was only happy to feast on.

But they were gentlemen, and two had titles in their names. Those were enough to make all mamas drag their daughters to balls or gatherings, always hoping that the Haverston brothers would grace them with their presence. It happened throughout the four social Seasons of the Town.

The Willowfair Season always opened the Town Leader Convention for the first three months of the year. The Wickhurst Season, the most vibrant and scandalous, started on the second quarter, then Sheills and Granville respectively for the rest of the year.

Tiny Town was the only city that did not host a convention. In fact, Tiny Town was primarily independent, but for political and economic reasons, it had to take part in all crucial decisions.

While all ten Leaders and the Prime Minister convene with the members of the House of Lords and House of Commons during the four Seasons, the schemes to leg-shackle every possible unmarried gentleman brew on the surface through countless balls, operas, and tea parties, all officiated by the desperate mamas and daughters. While the men decide the fate of everyone, the mamas try to manipulate that of their daughters and sons. Most often, they were more successful than the conventions themselves.

But the Haverston brothers were elusive. It was very rare to find the three brothers in the middle of a ballroom. The most common questions were always whispered around: Are they not in Willowfair for the Season? Were they at the Theobald weekend party? Then will they be present in the Wickhurst Season?

When word got out that the eldest brother, the Lord of Easton, was finally getting married, Cressida’s life turned from slightly bearable to grandly horrid. Not only was she subjected to ire and envy, she was also the favorite example of the mamas as they wagged their tongues on the subject of seducing the Town’s most elusive bachelors like the Haverston brothers.

That last bit was the most infuriating thing for Cressida. There was no seduction. There was not even a dance shared between her and the Lord of Easton, an opportunity most ladies of her standing would grab for a chance to brush their gloved fingers with a lord as their grand attempt at seduction. And to hear rumors such as having been caught in a tryst with Easton was outrageous! No such thing happened!

There was merely a secret negotiation between her father and Charles Haverston, both of whom had worked together as Town Leaders, and thought it best that their eldest should marry each other. Her father, Lord of Belverst, doubled her dowry, while his wife, Lady Eloise, promised that Cressida would sire the Haverstons as many heirs as they needed although she herself bore an only child and the said child was nowhere near to being called a son .

As pathetic as she found the arrangement to be, Cressida knew that to throw a tantrum was not only unladylike, but it would also only strengthen her parents’ resolve to marry her off to Calan. She knew her mother was thinking she had caused them enough trouble.

She had been to countless balls, dressed in the best dresses that Willowfair could offer, and yet she had not received a single proposal for marriage.

Not that Lady Cressida was unpleasant to the eyes. In fact, she could make a few gentlemen turn to give her a second look. But she surrounded herself with an air of confidence that most men would not want for a wife.

She spoke her mind too frequently than warranted, much to her mother’s mortification. And when the poor woman would leave her for a few minutes in the presence of a satisfactory marital candidate, her daughter would always be alone when she gets back, having scared the man away with her honest remarks on politics and history. And sometimes, the smell of his breath.

And most often than not, she could not stand to be amid other ladies without giving an honest opinion about how their dresses were killing them, inquiring if they could breathe through their corsets at all. They would never hide their shock and distaste over her vulgar remarks as well, making matters worse for Cressida’s marred reputation of being unladylike.

Many would say she was a scandal about to happen, but in Cressida’s mind, the scandal had already happened. From the first time she tripped on her dress and smashed a rather humongous ice masterpiece, she had always been Cressida, the scandalous girl. Or mayhap it was that time she had joked about kissing Lord Preston’s oily face for a natural gloss on her lips. Or perhaps it was when she accidentally drank a glass of brandy and made a fool of herself in front of a lord, asking him to please marry her so she did not have to suffer at least two Seasons of husband hunting.

Three years after her debut into the polite society, Cressida was a total failure, as her mother would regret to say. Therefore, Lady Eloise had said, it was only about time that Cressida be betrothed to someone of their choosing and that someone was no other than the elusive Lord of Easton. Well, no longer elusive because he had just been caught by an unwilling hunter.

With that knowledge in mind, Cressida was certain the man would at least consider her marvelous plan. But first, she had to face her parents and request a private meeting with Calan.

Lady Eloise’s eyes widened when she saw Cressida and Meredith enter the large hall of their estate. “However did you manage to walk around the streets without a corset!” she hissed at her daughter. Before Cressida could answer, her mother turned to glare at Meredith. “You’re supposed to make sure she changes into something proper.”

Cressida rolled her light brown eyes and continued climbing the enormous staircase to go to her room. “I cannot breathe in my corsets lately more than ever, mother. I told you, I think I have a disease and shall die young.” Her mother was behind her, having dismissed Meredith to prepare a bath for Cressida. “And if we’re going to discuss my choice of wardrobe, perhaps you’re also willing to discuss my choice of husband?”

Naturally, her mother ignored her. “You were gone almost the whole day, and it’s not proper for a lady, especially one who is soon to marry, to wander around the streets at this late hour.”

“I have it in honest opinion that the entire population of the Town, particularly Willowfair, has no qualms about me walking alone with a chaperone, betrothed or not.” She reached the door to her room and added under her breath, “They would only be happy to witness me amid a scandal,” which her mother’s keen ears heard clearly.

“You may not go out of the estate until you’re married.”

She fixed a faint smile on her lips that did not reach her eyes and said, “And by then I shall be my husband’s problem. Is that correct?”

Eloise Belverst’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”

That you consider me your problem, she wanted to say but settled with, “Nothing, Mother.” She opened her door. “I’m tired. And if my recollection is correct, the Haverstons will arrive in a few hours.”

“Yes. Goodness, yes!” Her mother’s face suddenly turned ecstatic. “I must make sure that everything is in order before dinner.” With that, the lady turned and gracefully made her way downstairs, screaming for the housekeeper.

Cressida sighed and entered her room.

---

As the evening went on, Cressida did not forget to remind herself to take a breath, as it was not graceful to kill herself around the dining table and in between courses.

“Did you invite your friends, Cressida?” the Lord of Carnfield asked.

She swallowed at the man and awkwardly nodded. “Yes,” she lied. Calan’s father was vibrating with confidence and power that she would have said yes in front of the vicar if one was present. He looked more menacing than his son, but his graying hair reminded her that he was getting old and may not be able to light the torch should she be in a pyre.

“Gertrude would have loved to be here,” he said, turning to Lady Eloise. “My sister enjoys planning grand parties. But I’m afraid she’s getting old.”

“I enjoy planning it on my own, my lord, fret not,” said her mother.

Lady Carnfield, Calan’s mother, had long passed away after suffering a long illness, leaving Cressida’s mother to handle all preparations for the wedding. Even without Lady Gertrude’s help, Lady Eloise would manage the feat. In fact, she may as well plan two weddings at her current state.

Cressida sighed with relief, glad that the conversation had smoothly changed. What would Lord Carnfield do if he found out about her plan? He was powerful enough to ask someone to light a torch for him while Cressida stood in a pyre. In fact, he may not be too old to even tie a rope around her neck and hoist her up on a beam.

She was biting her lower lip in contemplation when a low, manly voice asked, “Are you feeling fine?”

She turned her head to meet the Lord of Easton’s dark gaze from across the table, then stole her parents a look while they entertained the Lord of Carnfield. Both men were intently listening—or so it seemed—to Lady Eloise’s grand plans for the wedding.

“I’m quite alright, my lord,” she murmured, not because she was shy but because she was almost out of breath. Meredith must have put a lot of effort in securing her stays earlier after having heard an earful from her mother about Cressida’s inability to hide a corset underneath her dress. “I was expecting to meet your brothers tonight.”

“They have much better things to do.” His tone dismissed the topic at once.

Cressida pursed her lips and assessed her future husband. Well, maybe, if her plans did not work out.

Even without his title and wealth, women would still stumble on their feet in his presence simply because of his looks. His dark hair looked like it would feel heavenly silky through their fingers, she heard one woman whisper once. His deep blue eyes, shadowed by long thick brows which naturally frowned, had always been a subject of interest amongst the female population. The decent height and broad shoulders, they said, would make them comfortable in a waltz. The straight nose made many believe he was not one who engaged in physical bouts with other men, therefore he did not have heavy hands. Cressida could not quite understand how they came to the last conclusion when she herself had boxed a man once straight on his nose. The brute was still going around balls, his nose pristinely straight to this day.

What many did not know, and what Cressida fortunately had the privilege to experience , was that he was a cold, know-it-all, arrogant man.

He never hid that part of him the first time they met years ago when his father held a party for his birthday when they were barely out of the schoolroom. She met him and his brothers after her mother almost literally pushed her in his direction, telling Cressida that Calan could very well be her future husband.

Cressida, still full of fairytale stories at that age, believed her mother. She had thought, in her little mind, that she would find a friend in him; that she would someday be his princess bride and they would ride a white carriage to their castle. But Calan had always been serious and adamant to be left alone, even as a boy. She had followed him around their Easton manor and to a pond nearby, where he pushed her into the water when she refused to leave when he ordered her to.

His dark hair and deep blue eyes could fool all women of all ages all over the Town, but not Cressida. She did not have to attempt to know him more after that unfortunate afternoon in the pond where she was brought in by her governess, crying, dress drenched, and swearing that Calan Haverston was no prince charming and that she would never marry him.

When the present and older Calan sitting across the table moved his head to see if their parents were still engaged in a conversation, Cressida was drawn back to the present and their impeding marriage.

“My lord, I know this is not the best of time to say this,” she started, her eyes anxiously looking over at their parents, “but I would like to have a private conversation with you after dinner.”

Calan’s brows arched, and she could not even understand what it meant. The rest of his features did not even twitch, making Cressida even more uncomfortable. It was hard to read the man.

When he did not answer, Cressida raised her brows higher and leaned over her plate. “Well?” she whispered, impatient.

He was silent for a moment before he finally gave a curt nod.

Cressida smiled inwardly. It was settled then. She would ask him to help her, and if things went accordingly, they would not have to suffer an unwanted marriage.

---

Calan noticed that Cressida was getting restless. The dinner went smoothly, and they were now in the sitting room having tea. He tried to reason that this marriage was sound. It would make things easier for him, and his father would be satisfied. And it would not hurt that his estate would gain a woman to look after it.

But he hated talking about the wedding.

He stood up just as when Lady Eloise was about to speak to him and announced, “If it is not improper, I would like to get some air in the garden.” He turned to Cressida who was almost at the edge of her seat and added, “Would you like to accompany me, my lady?”

Lady Eloise clapped her hands together and with glee said, “The air outside is much better.”

Cressida needed little prodding, for she stood after Calan and hooked her hand in his arm.

Their fathers were busy talking about business with their cigars to notice them walk out the doors that led to the gardens. Calan’s eyes hovered over Cressida’s father. The man seemed entirely unaware, appearing to be quite content with the upcoming union.

The moment they were out of eyesight, Cressida withdrew her hand and walked faster, far from earshot.

Calan calmly followed. He had to admit that he was quite intrigued with Cressida’s sudden request to talk to him in private. It had always been his opinion that she was not one who could distinguish the word private from scandal .

When she finally stopped, surrounded by fake greenery commonly found in large towns like Willowfair, with a few actual plants here and there, she turned to him and said, “I do not want to marry you. At all.”

Her brown eyes were almost dark and wide as she uttered the words, and Calan fought the urge to laugh. “I’m afraid the matter is already settled, my lady.”

She shook her head in annoyance. “You very well know we dislike each other.”

“Dislike is a strong word. We barely know each other.”

“You pushed me into a pond. I disliked you ever since.”

He chuckled with incredulity. “You’re not good with grudges, I see.”

She ignored his comment. “You do not want to marry. I do not want to marry you. That should be enough.”

Calan cocked his head to the right and looked at her. Cressida was not physically dreadful. In fact, any man would agree that she had enough physical attributes that would do. If she could only behave like other ladies in their circle, she would have been married by now.

He was fine not marrying her, for he could always find ways for his plans, but this marriage was happening. The papers were sealed. And his father wanted this to happen and Calan wanted what his father wanted because it was the only way he could repay the man for what he did many years ago. If Charles Haverston wanted Cressida Belverst as his daughter-in-law, Calan would do it. After Calan’s unacceptable betrayal, he vowed to be loyal to his father, and he shall do so by honoring his wishes.

“I suppose you already have a plan?” he asked because he was curious.

The smile that broke her face surprised him. It brightened her features, and he almost wanted to step closer and inspect her face. But then, what good would that do? Calan already had plans to get away from what was to come after their marriage.

“I do,” Cressida said. “It will sound impossible, but I think it’s not entirely so. However, I will need your help.”

His eyes narrowed with curiosity. “My help.”

“If you don’t want this wedding to happen, you’ll have to help me.”

No, I need this union to happen, he thought. “In my thirty years, I have never been asked by a woman to help her escape a marriage to me,” he said instead, almost with amusement.

Cressida scoffed, an act a lady avoided in front of a gentleman. But clearly, at four-and-twenty, Cressida was nowhere near those women. “Mayhap because you have never been engaged prior to this,” she snapped sarcastically. “And do not be too arrogant about it, my lord, because not all women would die trying to be your wife. Include me on the list if it exists.”

“Your plan, Cressida?” It was the first time he addressed her informally, and he saw that she was not at all pleased. Intriguing, really, because some women spent many waking hours dreaming to hear their names roll from his tongue.

She squared her shoulders and said, “I want to get out of the Town.”

Her statement rendered him cold and speechless for a long while. His jaw tightened and he slowly blinked away the memories. “You mean you want to go up there.”

She nodded her head. “Yes.”

Calan stared at her for quite a while before he finally blinked, his mind reeling at the possibilities and what it would do to his plans. He shook his head. “You know it’s impossible.”

“Says who? It’s merely never been tried enough,” she corrected. “At least to my knowledge, that is.”

Oh, it has been tried, he replied in his head. “And this is where my help comes in?” he asked aloud.

“Yes.” She nodded, her eyes glittering with innocence and determination. “You will help me escape.”

It was then that Calan allowed a mocking chuckle. “You know you can run to the other side of the Town, escape and hide somewhere far, but not really get out, Cressida. It’s impossible.”

“I will find a way,” she strongly said, her head held high that for a moment Calan almost believed she could do it.

But not without my help , he thought.

He mentally shook the idea out of his head. No. Not again

. “Is marrying me that horrible that you would want to risk the consequences of getting out of the Town?” he asked, his voice without offense. He was merely curious.

“Yes. Because I intend to marry for love. And I believe I will find it up there.”

She had lost hope finding a match, Calan thought. And lost her mind along with it.

Marry for love? He almost laughed at the idea.

Unmoving, entirely comfortable in his spot, Calan gave Cressida a quizzical look. “ If you get out of this place, can you assure me that my father would not marry me off to the next rich lady? For believe me, he shall,“ he said. “I know that you are desperate to get out of this marriage, but I’m not a fool to help you and get myself trapped in the same mess again. I’d rather marry you now than have another chit who might be worse than you.”

He saw anger flare in her eyes and he was almost amused at how her face was too open for him to read.

Cressida slowly reasoned, “But if I disappear, they will look for me. You wouldn’t have to marry another if your current bride is missing . That will buy you enough time to find a more suitable and tolerable girl. One better than me.”

Calan saw her point and understood it. But the problem was, he needed this bride. Unless Lord Amery was keeping another daughter inside his estate, Calan had to marry this daughter.

Maybe it was because he gave no reply as fast as she wanted him to, or she thought he was not taking this matter seriously, that Cressida squared her shoulders and said, “Very well. If you cannot help me, I’ll do it on my own. And I’m telling you, my lord, that if I fail, I’ll make sure that you will suffer for the rest of your life because I will not be a willing wife.”

She lifted her skirts and strode away. Calan realized then that she was indeed serious. And would most probably get in trouble if he would not step in.

As her plans—and the lack thereof—played inside his mind, he found no reason not to help her. Her disappearance would mean three things: First, people would give him years as he attempts to find his bride, all the while giving him time to do what he had to do; second, people would talk and think he was the reason she disappeared and his reputation would be ruined. No mama would want to marry their daughters off to a man who might have very well murdered his bride; third, his father might change his mind because of the second and focus his attention on his two other sons.

Calan’s mind raced to calculations as Cressida walked away. Would it be worth it? Would helping Cressida escape the Town help him at all?

Before he could call himself stupid for doing it, Calan called out to her and said, “Wait.”

Cressida skidded to a stop and turned, her face clearly showing him she was trying to mask the hope and expectation.

Bloody hell, this was complete suicide. But it would serve him well. He would not be directly defying his father’s wishes for an heir, for it would not be his fault if Cressida disappeared, yes? And he could still stay close to the Belversts.

He did not like the plan, but it would benefit him. “I’ll help you,” he said to Cressida.

Her face broke into a very beautiful smile.

Calan’s jaw tightened. He would help her because, by God, he knew a way to get out.

III. The League of Founders

“You will not take back your word, will you?”

It was not her question that intrigued Calan so, but the way she said it. It sounded desperate, telling him she was that determined to go through with it, and for a second, he doubted his decision. Now that he had given his word to help her, he could not very well take it back. But looking at Lady Cressida Belverst standing there in her blue satin gown, a strand of her hair dangling beside her face, her light brown eyes almost black in the darkness, Calan could not help but wonder how she would survive the world outside the Town.

She may be unconventional herewith her outspoken mind and uncaring attitude toward her reckless actions, but she had always survived because she was privileged. However, out there, she could very well be a danger to herself. Stripped of her lavish gowns and her parent’s riches, even Calan was uncertain of what awaited her aboveground. He may have an idea, but that did not mean he knew how people would treat her there.

Up there, she would be utterly alone to fend for herself.

Alone.

Good God!

How would she fare alone out there with no maids to do her bidding, no status for protection?

Make up your mind, you bloody idiot,

a voice whispered to him.

“Calan.” Hearing his name from her lips snapped him back to his senses. “How do you plan to help me escape?”

Escape. Was that how she would call it? Was the Town a prison for her?

“Do you know of a way? I’m certain there’s a way somehow. How else had the Founders gotten here in the first place? How else could they have built those walls outside the holes? There must be a way out. Given time, we can do our research and I’ll be out of here before the wedding.”

He was not quite hearing her then because he was too transfixed on her lips as they moved. Why had he not noticed those before? Had they always been flushed with color?

She had now walked back to stand before him, her eyes curious and excited. “Calan. Easton!” she called out again, her voice tinged with impatience now.

Finally, Calan tore his eyes from her lips and blinked to gaze directly into her eyes. That must have been a mistake as well because he almost— almost —made a grab for her shoulders and it was not very difficult to imagine pulling her toward him and learn if her lips felt as good as they looked…

He shook his head once, removing the vision from his mind.

He could have other women that would take only what he could offer. He did not have to ruin this one.

But her very presence, standing too close before him, opened him to surprising realizations. He had seen her in her best ball gowns, seen her in rare occasions with better lighting, and yet it was the first he acknowledged she was a woman, one who had the potential to make his blood boil with desire if that was not yet happening now.

She was a danger to him, he realized. Lady Cressida was no longer the girl he pushed into a pond. He could not deny it any more than he wanted to maintain the image of a spoiled, careless girl in his mind.

Mayhap the Town would be better off not having Lady Cressida Belverst in it. The Town Herald could very well do with more pages of something more interesting than her recent scandals.

She was narrowing her eyes at him now, her face full of doubt. “You are not considering marrying me, are you, my lord?”

Calan held back his answer, for she would not like it at all.

“You know of my reputation, and though it’s a wonder why your father ever approved of me, you know I will taint your good name—your title. I will not be a very good wife for you. I’m a walking scandal and you know that. I’ve been on the Herald far more than you and your brothers combined, and have been caught in the most undesirable situations before and it would continue to be so if I stay here and be your wife.”

With great effort, Calan took a step back, hoping the action would ease the alarming effect of her nearness. He cleared his throat and gazed at her with what he hoped to be a wry look. “There’s no need to make a list of your scandalous traits. You are by far the last woman I would think for a wife, Cressida.” He was proud of the coldness in his tone, and it was good that she did not take offense at all by the contented smile on her lips.

“And that’s why you are going to help me,” she whispered with a secret, knowing smile. “So you can keep as many women as you want without having to bother with a wife.”

It was his turn to smile. “I can have as many women as I like, even with a wife.”

He got a response from that last sentence. She arched her brow and eyed him with distaste. “Spoken like a Haverston.”

He cocked a brow. “Would you like to elaborate that statement?”

She brushed it off with a wave of her hand. “Oh, you know what your reputation is around Willowfair—even the entire Town, my lord. I find no need to elaborate.”

“You mean my brother’s reputation.”

She gave him a mocking look of surprise. “Do not tell me you are not the rake Lord of Easton everyone is talking about. I beg your pardon; I must have been betrothed to someone else with the same title.”

“I may like women in a more private setting, Lady Cressida, but I’m not a rake.”

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Well, that may be true.” She tilted her head to the side, eyeing him with curiosity. “Now that I think of it, your reputation only precedes you because of your brother Adrien.”

“Precisely,” he answered, thinking about the youngest of the Haverstons. He never hated being placed in the same category, for it actually benefited him in a lot of ways in the past, most particularly when he was doing one of his special tasks.

“But that doesn’t entirely dismiss the fact that you keep mistresses. And still plan to, even with a wife.”

He looked at Cressida for a long time. His eyes went to trail down the slender curve of her neck and the soft-looking skin her dress allowed to spare, down to the curve of her breasts that offered a lot of promise. He may not need a mistress if she was his wife.

But he could not want a true wife. Not in this lifetime.

Addressing her statement, he asked, “And you want to find true love?”

Despite the darkness in the garden, he could see the color flush her face. “You are mocking me.”

“I am merely curious why you believe you cannot find it here.”

“The answer is actually simple if you are not as stupid as I am thinking you are now,” she snapped at him, tearing her eyes from his to look around the quiet garden.

“No, I believe I do not know the answer to that, my lady. Do enlighten me.”

When her eyes returned to match his gaze, Calan saw…pain? Helplessness? But that could not be. And before he could make another assessment, it vanished, and she was saying, “Because I’m betrothed to you and I have no way to escape you. And I’m already thoroughly judged here.”

---

Cressida hated that she had to admit that, and much more so to the man standing before her. He looked at her as if he could not understand. Of course, he would not. He had never been judged by anyone, at least not so brutally. He was never paraded like a doll by his father, looking for a love match for countless Seasons. Most of all, he was not judged for having mistresses and was even chased for the lack thereof. She, on the other hand, had to exhaust all efforts to be strong against the prejudices of society merely because she was born with a slightly different anatomy!

“Do not look at me like that,” she snapped, taking a step back.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re looking at a child struggling to tie a ribbon around her hair.”

“Forgive me, Cressida, but that’s exactly how I see your problem.”

Cressida scoffed. Of course, as a well-rounded man, he would think her problems were too miniscule compared to any issue that was at par with his intellect and interests. For men like him, her concerns were never a problem.

“You know nothing about my problem except the one that involves you, and that is us getting married. Shall we focus on that, yes?”

His gaze was slowly stripping her of her façade, utterly ignorant of her struggles.

The Lord of Easton did not have to suffer the same scrutiny she had to go through from the moment she came out in society. He need not have to hear the harsh judgment of the people of the Town, the people who thought they knew her better than she knew herself, the people who expected her to make a scandal at every ball. And she had proven herself to be just that, no matter how she tried to change their minds, no matter how she followed the rules and etiquette to be a lady. Because she could never tame the passion in the moments she felt them, and every time she would open her mouth or do something spontaneous, she was judged because the judgement was prepared in advance. The women shook their heads whenever she’d go out without a corset, whenever she would use her hands when food proved difficult with a knife and fork. The men would find her intriguing at first, then they would start to step back whenever she offered her opinion. Her parents…her parents were willing to give her away without asking if she agreed to it.

She was judged because she was amongst the flock of women who had to find a husband of suitable background; because she had to compete with others for future security. That was all that mattered, after all—security. Not love, not even friendship. Security, which in Cressida’s opinion, meant prison. For marriage in the Town meant having naught but what your husband was willing to provide. You might gain his name, but you shall never have his riches. What more his affections? There might be a lucky few, but she was not amongst those who would do nothing but pray for it.

She needed the affections before surrendering her own freedom, not the other way around. If she could not find it here, then she would find it elsewhere.

And it would not be here . She wanted to do more, and though she could do so here, she would merely ruin herself further. She could not just go around the Town for an adventure. No, that did not happen for a woman. Society was not forgiving to women who dared for more. And that was precisely what she wanted—more. She wanted to experience much more than the Town could offer.

Out there—up there—was a promise of endless sun not confined in a small, circular park or a country estate with their own holes , a promise of real plants in the garden, of wind so fresh, of real bright light, of rain, of oceans and mountains…of magic; of love not bound by societal standards, of people who would accept her passion for the simplest and dumbest of things.

Out there…out there was her place. Out there was her adventure.

Looking back at Calan, her determination was made certain. She could never marry him. He was arrogant, a know-it-all, and he would never love her the way she wanted to be loved. He had no other passion other than his title and his own desire to please himself the way he saw fit. She would never have a place in his life, and it was not a life she wanted.

Yes, perhaps she was judging him too much, but why could she not judge as well? Men judged her freely. She could very well judge them the same.

“Let’s not talk about my problems. I’d rather we discuss our problem,” she reiterated, breaking the silence. “I know you’re eager to get yourself out of this mess our parents have agreed upon. Let’s get to work as soon as possible, Easton.”

She saw him take a deep breath. “What do you have in mind?”

“I was hoping, actually, that you have suggestions. Surely, you have encountered stories during your travels that might help us?” When he did not open his mouth to answer, she continued, “Very well, I will have to do a bit of research on my own then. I shall have to call for you if I need you and let us hope that by that time, I would have found a way out of here.”

He started pacing, his head bent in consideration. Finally, he stopped, and he looked up. Looking over her shoulder once, he asked in a low voice, “Have you heard of The League of Founders?”

“Of course. Who has not? They’re the Town’s secret—not so secret anymore—group of men tasked to ensure everyone’s—” She stopped short when realization hit her, and her eyes widened. “You’re a—but that’s impossible!”

His eyes returned to her, a hint of a smile on his lips. “I’m not saying anything. But do not speak of this again or I’ll be forced to consider making certain you disappear for good.”

She took an involuntary step back, her hand over her mouth in shock. “You’re a Leaguer. But…you… How is that even possible?”

He looked around the garden like an apprehensive man on a tryst with a secret lover. “I suggest, Cressida, that you keep your voice down,” he snapped at her. “And I have not affirmed it. You better think twice before repeating such information to anyone else.” The warning and threat in his voice made Cressida gulp. And then her eyes lit up with more hope than ever.

“You know of a way out. You must, yes, Easton? You are a Leagu—” The glint of warning in his eyes made her pause, and when she spoke again, it was lower than a whisper. “You know of a way out.”

She had always known that the League of Founders kept valuable secrets. And she had always wondered if amongst them was a way out of the Town.

Although no one would willingly talk about them, particularly the women, she heard from whispers and gossips that they were more powerful than the Town Leaders themselves. They held the Town’s secrets. They had been protecting it for centuries since its foundation, but the identity of their members had always been a kept secret. One could only guess, and no one would dare admit it.

And now she had to find out that the Lord of Easton was amongst the League of Founders! Suddenly her mind was full of questions. She wanted to find out more about the mysteries of the Town. She wanted to know if Mr. Jones was real. She wanted to know if The World Above spoke of truths.

“Calan, you know of a way out. Tell me. Please, you must know. Is there really a way out?”

He did not even blink, his face impassive. “Where do you think the waters in the ponds come from and go to?”

Cressida merely blinked. Of course. They must have come from outside and lead outside.

Did that mean that someone in the Town could easily come out and back in without notice? How many people knew of it? Did the Leaders know? Was she the last person to know of this, or was she the only one outside the League of Founders to be aware of it? Or perhaps… “How far had the League gone to keep these secrets?” she wondered aloud.

So many questions, yet she could not voice them all. She could barely wrap her mind around the fact that all of those things were possible. A way out of the Town! Bloody hell, there could be dozens—hundreds even!

Calan broke the silence and without answering her last question, said, “If I show you a way out, Cressida, you must know that there is no turning back. You cannot return.” The finality in his voice was clear that she almost had second thoughts.

Never return? To the Town?

When she could not utter a reply, Calan continued, “Do you hear me? You cannot go back.”

She met his dark blue eyes. “Why?” she asked.

He did not answer. Instead, he held her eyes and said, “Think about it for a day or two but repeat no word of what we have discussed here to anyone. I do not wish for this secret to spread for I abhor damage control.” She gulped upon hearing his last words. She could already picture herself imprisoned in a dark dungeon or worse, hanged by the Leaguers themselves. Or burned in a pyre with Lord Carnfield holding the torch.

Calan’s voice snapped her back to the present. “Think about this very carefully, Cressida. I can marry you and still have what I want. Or I cannot and lose nothing. You, however, have much to lose either way. I will come find you after some time.” He let his words sink in and added, “It is here or up there, my lady.”

Up there. She blinked, her mind reeling with the adventures she would find aboveground.

It was here or up there.

IV. On the Third Day

“Congratulations on your engagement, Cressida.”

Red-haired Belinda was smiling at her, but Cressida knew that behind that perfect look were thoughts of disdain.

The lady was only one of the many women who had a special distaste toward Cressida, but to be fair, the woman was amongst the few who did not bother to hide it. She’d had enough time spent behind curtains, corridors and pillars to overhear other ladies speak of her with malice, but were voluntary mutes when confronted. Belinda was different. Like Cressida, she was not shy to speak her mind.

Their relationship was beyond that of abhorrence, for it started years ago.

“Thank you,” Cressida answered, returning her gaze to the middle of the ballroom, ignoring Belinda altogether. She had no time for spats because she had decided to be very graceful from now on. One should not draw more attention to themselves if one was to commit a crime.

But it was proving to be difficult, of course, especially in this particular setting. Her mother had to drag her to the ball because she had to make appearances now that the Willowfair Season had finally begun. But Cressida knew better. Lady Eloise wanted to brag about her lucky strike. A Haverston name was not merely a big catch but the catch of not just this Season, but perhaps the rest of the year—or the decade!

“I notice your fiancé did not escort you?” Belinda pressed, giving Cressida one of those looks that were provoking and condescending, yet beautifully innocent at the same time. However the brat could master such look was a mystery to Cressida. The woman had obviously mastered the art of it.

“He’s busy, I assume,” she gritted out while chanting in her mind, ‘You can’t be on the Herald tomorrow, Cressy. You can’t be on the gossip section. Not one name!’

The last time she came face to face with one of Belinda’s friends, she ended up unintentionally emptying a glass of wine on the woman’s dress. But it was Cressida holding the glass, so perhaps it must have been no accident after all, the gossips said.

Her mother had to pay off someone simply to make sure that incident did not appear on the Herald. Really, who fool would enjoy penning such petty things? Of all the valuable things one could write about, who would bother wasting strokes of ink on some foolish ladies hunting for husbands?

“Too busy for his betrothed? My, I wonder how he would manage to have an heir after you’re married if he cannot force himself to be near you?” Belinda turned her all-too-perfectly-made red head to stare at the dancing couples in the ballroom, acting nonchalant. Another talent of hers, of course. Not everyone could utter insults clearly through barely moving lips except Belinda. “He will need an heir, yes?”

“You have such broad knowledge of the complexities of the subject, Belinda. I’m surprised.”

The woman chuckled, pretending to watch the dancers that whirled past them. “But then, he could always sire an heir without his wife , if you know what I mean.” Cressida’s brow twitched, the last remaining strings that held her patience erect slowly cutting themselves. Belinda sighed dramatically. “You can always rear a child from one of his mistresses like a lot of women here secretly do.”

Cressida forced a smile, eyes on the dancers, and murmured, “If that happens, I hope the child will not be from you, dear, because I cannot imagine rearing one with a brain like yours.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Belinda’s eyes widen, mouth falling open as she scoffed. “Are you… Did you call me stupid?”

Without sparing the woman a look, Cressida leaned closer. “Now, why would I do that to a very respectable lady of polite society, Belinda?” she asked and sighed in mock boredom. “I’m not calling you stupid, dear,” she said, finally eyeing Belinda with a slight sneer. “I’m treating you as one.”

Her longtime nemesis from when they were in Madam Pearson’s School for Young Ladies scandalously—and gracefully—gasped. “You—”

“I’m being honest,” Cressida cajoled. Sometimes, she enjoyed bantering with the chit, but she liked Belinda more in her head—burning in the middle of a pyre. She crunched her face and tilted her head to the left as if in deep thought. “Mayhap that’s why I caught big. The Lord of Easton seems to like the idea of a scandalous wife than a…” She veered her eyes back to Belinda. “…pampered, manufactured, phony girl very much comparable to my mother’s garden plants—the fake ones, of course, because the living ones are quite valuable.” She looked at Belinda with as much condescension as she could gather and added, “I really hope that prettily dressed head of yours has more talent than it lets on.” Over Belinda’s shoulder, she could see the woman’s friends making their way over, perhaps sensing trouble. “I suggest you find a better hobby better than sewing flowers on a cloth, darling.”

Belinda’s face was now scarlet. And under her breath she clearly said, “You should count yourself lucky that your parents fooled the Haverstons to consider someone with no breeding at all. You have no other friends other than that untitled friend of yours who grew up in the brothels her father owns. Your mother must be—”

“I know I’m never one of you. You do not have to point that one out. Although I should consider myself lucky indeed, because to be considered a member of your circle is the most insulting and scandalous thing ever, if not at all abhorrent,” she spilled out in one breath before she walked away, leaving Belinda gaping at her in horror and disbelief. She stopped a good distance and turned to add, “And dare not insult Mary in front of me again, Belinda. Your friendship with the Prewitts can never equal what I share with her.”

Cressida fought her way through the crowd of people wearing the finest gowns and jackets. She hated the entire charade even more now. The loud, blasted music, the dim lights, the heavy air. And the stares. They were not congratulatory ones—they were curious and gawking because how in the bloody hell did Lady Cressida Belverst catch a Haverston?

Cressida could only scoff. Was she not worth it? Were they much more deserving?

Perhaps they were more deserving if perfecting the flair of social etiquette was the only criteria, but they did not have her father’s business. The Belversts were the largest manufacturers of cotton. They owned the biggest factory that provided nearly half of the Town’s supply. Unless the desperate mamas and their daughters could put up a bigger one to accommodate the vast Haverston cotton plantations, then they would have to settle with the fact that Cressida was the chosen lady to sire the next Haverston heir.

Along the way, she had heard whispers around her.

Where’s Easton?

She is that girl who called the Lord of Bradford a pig, am I right?

Seen her walk around, pretty sure she was without a corset! Can you imagine that?

If I knew being scandalous would land one a lord, I would have let my daughter do a thing or two.

She’s not even that pretty.

She ought to learn to be as soft as the cotton they manufacture, I tell you, dear…

Finally, Cressida found herself alone in one corridor outside the ballroom. The lights were dimmer and she could only guess what time it was. They did not have skies to even see if it was night time!

The World Above spoke of how people could tell the time simply by the color of the sky. They have different weather seasons.

Here, they only had their four social Seasons which transpired in four cities around the Town. Elegant balls and pretty weddings meant Willowfair Season; extravagant parties and scandalous marriages could only mean the entire Wickhurst Season; snore-worthy gatherings and rare romantic weddings mostly happened only during the Sheills Season; and of course, the very prim-and-proper-only parties and overly religious marriages were available to those who enjoy the Granville Season, one Cressida had never even attended because her mother knew her well enough.

Having suffered three years of those four Seasons and witnessed how it was the center of everyone’s lives, was enough for Cressida. But here she was on her fourth Willowfair Season.

She sighed and shook her head to wave off the impending daydream. Leaning her hack against the wall, she looked up with a sigh. The muffled music and the mingling sounds of chatters and forced demure laughter were all excruciating.

Mayhap that’s why she was never one of them. She always found herself alone in times like this, sometimes catching gossips about her or others. Oh, how many times had she stood alone, hidden, and heard the ladies talk about the Belverst girl and how she was a lost cause!

Her eyes wandered to the door that led to the small garden of the estate. Lady Furton was amongst those who did not believe a garden should be as lavish as the ballroom, and the gray and dreary garden clearly manifested that. And clearly, everyone recognized it as well because there was no one around.

Gardens in the Town were mostly filled with fake plants that the gardener’s role was to water to clean and dust, instead of nurture. There were living plants, of course. Other estates had their own greenhouses lit with special lamps to make the plants thrive. For many married women, maintaining a beautiful greenhouse was a pride and joy. Apart from marrying their daughters off, that is.

But greenhouses were not enough for Cressida. She wanted more. There were woodlands in the Town but most of them were not friendly to women. Perhaps the only one recognized to be safe was the one in Wickhurst. She heard that the Everards, a very rich family in Wickhurst, owned one of the largest and best greenhouses.

She sighed. She did not even know the Everards personally. Why was she even thinking about them and their garden?

The air tonight was chilly. Night must have settled up there , she thought. She sat down on a lone stone bench and took a deep breath. Her mother must be looking for her by now, but she did not care. She had no gentleman to please any longer. She was engaged, was she not?

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Cressida jumped to her feet and whirled around.

The Lord of Easton was standing behind her, almost hidden behind the wall of tall fake hedges. His powerful presence was even more palpable in his evening black jacket and trousers. His black hair was brushed away from his face and his eyes hard and steady as he looked at her.

“You startled me,” she huffed, sitting back down on the bench with relief.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“I needed some air.” She waved with her hand. “Not that you can get it here. Or anywhere in the Town. Except in a very good greenhouse. Or the parks or the woodlands—where I have never been to. But then, that too can—”

“You talk too much, Cressy.”

Her eyes flickered to him. “I do not talk too much. I simply have to explain—”

“Not everyone wants to hear you explain,” he cut her off, walking closer. “Have you made your decision?”

“It has only been three days,” she said, not meeting his gaze. “And why are you here? I thought you cannot come? If people saw you arrive without my company…”

“What would they think?”

She sighed. “Bother not,” she muttered.

“Because you do not care what they think.”

“Just so.” She squared her shoulders, refusing to meet his gaze because it bothered her. His eyes seemed to see more than they should, making her uncomfortable.

“I told you I’ll find you soon,” he said, answering her last question. “Why are you out here alone?”

“I told you. I needed some air.”

“Have you caused another scandal?”

“No, although I nearly did.”

“Oh?”

“Not that I care.”

He simply stood there and when it seemed to Cressida that he was not planning to start another conversation, she stood and said, “I better go.”

“Have you made your decision?”

She sighed. “I simply know I do not want to be here any longer.”

“And what stops you from telling me to go on with our plan?”

Cressida met his gaze, and it almost took her quite a while to form an appropriate answer. His eyes were boring into her as if he wanted to devour her. She was not naïve as not to get the meaning. She heard maids whisper about it.

But it couldn’t be. Or could it be? But it was impossible!

She cleared her throat to speak. “I’m not so certain if I can trust you.”

He gave her an incredulous look, the first real emotion she had seen him wear. “You have the audacity to tell me I cannot be trusted?”

She shrugged. “You told me you are a Leaguer. That is something a Leaguer does not easily share.”

“If the situation does not call for it,” he gritted out. “But I believe this one does. As you guessed correctly, I also do not wish for this marriage.”

“You cannot tell your father no? Surely, you can convince him you can find a better match,” she pointed out. “The first round of the four Seasons has begun, after all.”

His jaw tightened and something crossed his eyes that Cressida could not quite decipher. A secret perhaps? “I do not retreat from an agreement.”

“An agreement between your father and mine. You did not make the decision.”

“My father’s words are as good as mine.”

Cressida let out a long sigh. “Gentlemen and your words.” Before he could utter a word, she raised a hand and said, “Very well, then.” She circled around him, reversing their position. “If I say yes, how do you plan to get me out?”

---

Calan turned to face her, struggling to ignore how she looked in that green dress or how her hair teased her shoulder.

Cressida was one of the few ladies he met who wore their emotions in their eyes. He could easily read her within seconds. But she knew of that disadvantageous trait that she barely allowed herself to look him in the eyes. Those moments were her most vulnerable. But right now, she was looking at him with a challenge burning in her pale brown globes.

“I know of passages. I simply take you to one and you can be out of here. How I do so shall never have to be your problem.”

He watched as she considered his words and he had to look away again when she chewed on her lower lip, deep in thought. The woman did not know she was inviting trouble. Even the way she shrugged sent impulses in parts where he did not want them.

“If I take your word, I can be free of this place,” she said, more to herself than to him.

Calan almost did not want to tell her of the bargain she had to do in exchange, one that would horrify her.

But that would be for later. She had to agree first.

“I shall give you more time to make up your mind,” he offered. “I know it’s not easy, considering you’re not allowed to return.”

But she shook her head and squared her shoulders. “I shall do it. Everyone may condemn me for it, even God, but I’ll get out of this place.”

“It is that distasteful for you?”

The fearless look in her pale brown eyes was stronger in the dark, and the determination set by her perfectly curved brows made Calan agree that this woman was not cut for the shallow upper society of the Town. Her courage to set out on an adventure to an unknown world set her out from the rest of the women—even the gentlemen—inside that ballroom.

And women like her are dangerous , he thought.

“No, not so distasteful. The Town has been my home from the moment I was conceived. I would not go as far as say it’s distasteful simply because I’m surrounded by bloody—”

“Your tongue, my lady,” he warned, amusement at the back of his mind. It was not every day that a lady of any good standing would openly throw expletives. He wondered how often she did it, and how many swear words she was eloquent with. Should he start counting now?

“Do not tell me when not to curse, my lord. You’re not my mother,” she snapped. “Anyhow, I’m tired of being judged here by people who sleep with worse demons under their beds, but pretend to be living their dreams after the nightmare. The Town is not distasteful. It’s the people.”

He wanted to tell her she had not been to the other parts of the Town to give that opinion, but he did not. He could argue about her opinions, but how? He knew how the Town could be toward a woman.

He had already set his mind to help her escape and free himself of the marriage. It may be the most selfish move he had done so far, but it was better than to tie someone to a life he could not even give in the first place.

Pushing Cressida to get out of the Town was better than to tie her to him. Because he would always be a Leaguer. He would always sacrifice other things to protect the greater good.

Yet apart from being a Leaguer, there were other things others could never know about him. He had darker secrets no one could imagine. And he knew what she would be in the future. She would still long for her adventure. And eventually, she would lose herself in a dream she never got to live. And Calan would not live with a dead woman who would consider him the demon under her bed.

“Very well, now that you have decided, I must tell you of my plan,” he started. He paused, preparing himself—and her. “I have thought of a way to help you disappear after our talk in your mother’s garden.” She stood motionless, attentive to his every word. “If you leave, I would be left with a missing bride, but still unmarried. They may give me years to search for you or mourn your loss, but it won’t be long before the mamas throw their daughters at my feet. And my father will demand that I find another bride.”

A frown had formed on her face as she listened. “What do you mean to say?”

“What I’m trying to say, my lady, is that we must wed first.”

V. A Somewhat Perfect Charade

“Are you out of your bloody mind!” she hissed, and she saw him frown as she cursed. “One reason I want to escape is to not marry you. Or did that small piece of information too big for your brain?”

“Calm down, Cressida,” his voice droned.

“I’m calm, my lord. This is the calmest I can be, in fact. I’m simply emphasizing words in case you have missed them, which you apparently do quite often.” She placed her hands on her hips and huffed, closing her eyes for a few seconds to gather her wits and self-control.

“What I’m trying to say is that marrying me won’t make you a married woman if you get out of here. And the same goes for me. No wife, no marriage. Marrying you will solve my problem once you leave. While you have your adventure up there, I will not have to deal with the inconveniences of an eligible bachelor. I’ll be a married lord, only that I would not have to deal with a wife. My father will have to turn to my other brothers for the heirs he wants.”

Cressida stomped her foot with frustration, imagining the ground was his face. “But I do not want—”

“Neither do I. But a wedding will happen or you won’t have your chance of getting out of here at all. Either way, you’ll still end up with me.”

“People will think you murdered your wife if I disappear.”

“You do not have to be murdered , Cressida. You simply have to disappear,” he said, flashing a smile. It was the first time it actually reached his eyes.

“This is incredulous.”

“This is the perfect plan. We marry, we go off to the other side of the Town to Easton, I take you to a passage and you’ll go on an adventure aboveground. It’s the most convenient way by far. Getting to the nearest passage out of here will take days of travel. How am I supposed to get you there if we’re not married? As husband and wife, no one will raise questions if we disappear for a long period of time. We can tell everyone that we will take permanent residence in Easton, far from Willowfair, and no one will know you’re gone for months, even years.”

“How about my parents? They will come calling. They will want to see me now and then. They will bother you more if we’re married because then I’d be your problem—I mean, your responsibility.”

“That shall be my problem once you’re gone, not yours.”

“You mean to say that you shall lead them to believe that I left you, eloped with someone else?”

“An elopement with a lover is more likely going to be everyone’s deduction even without word from me. It’s not something you will not have to bother with because you’ll have a completely different life in a different world by then.”

Cressida paused. She hated that he was making sense. If they wed, everyone would leave her alone. No one could do anything about it. And if Calan claimed it would be more convenient for him, then she would not deny him of it. After what he would do for her, he deserved it. The consequences would have to be faced by him, not her. He could deal with it because he was a Leaguer. And Leaguers were powerful and he could get away with an investigation should one ensue upon her disappearance. There would not even be enough evidence to point out he killed her. Everyone would be left with naught but the gossip that she ran away with a lover. Cressida Did It Again , the gossip section of the Town Herald would say.

In the end, they would both achieve their goals. She would disappear from the Town, away from prying eyes, and she could not give a care if people were to think she left her husband for a lover. And Calan would get his peace by being a married man—in name. People would fear him if they were to believe he killed her, or sympathize with him if the elopement story would prove to be stronger, which was probable, considering her scandalous reputation. She could always leave a note for him, explaining her elopement. Yes, of course! That way he would remain a married man with a missing wife.

But there was one problem. “The wedding is going to be in a month. That is too long a time to wait.”

His brows arched. “Do you have something arranged up there, my lady? Someone waiting for you? A ball to attend, perhaps? Tea party?”

She scowled. “Do not mock me.”

“Then be patient. The wedding day needs to happen, Cressida. The marriage life, on the other hand, cannot.”

She finally saw the difference. Of course, she could marry him but did not have to live the rest of her life with him.

She sighed. “I believe being your wife for a day or two won’t hurt at all. And a month shall be enough for me to settle matters. Perhaps I’ll even hint to a few that I’m in love with another so no one will think you killed me.”

“Good.” He peered down at her. “Have we reached an agreement?”

She did not like the way he was smiling at her. She did not like how his presence made her feel either. When she gave a terse nod, he straightened to full height with a satisfied smile and offered her his arm. “Shall we start performing then? Act like we cannot wait for the wedding day to happen?”

She frowned. “No. Whyever would you—”

“You’ll be leaving the Town, Cressida. And I’ll have to deal with the gossipmongers you’ll leave behind. I’d rather want to give them a sense of uncertainty about your disappearance than be completely judged for it.”

“I thought you want them to think badly of you? And trust me, they will not even think badly of you. I’ll be judged alone, my lord.”

Without a reply, he took her hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm. He guided her away from the garden. “It’s far more amusing to witness them crack their brains, wondering how a besotted husband could kill his pretty wife.”

Cressida groaned. “Or wonder why you never saw it coming that your wife will go off with an unknown lover, leaving you behind to mend your broken heart. Fret not, I’ll leave you a gift, my lord—a letter explaining why I had to leave you for the greatest love of my life. You may forward it to the Town Herald.”

She thought she saw the corner of his mouth tug with amusement. “You’re doing well, my lady. Shall we discuss the content of this letter while we waltz?”

Cressida suddenly felt ecstatic. She was rather enjoying this now that she had an accomplice. Ah, evil indeed liked company.

This ought to be perfect!

And if a charade of being a happy bride was what it would take for her to leave the Town without question, then Cressida would gladly play the part. She simply had to make certain to remind herself that Calan was doing this for the same selfish reasons.

---

In the following days after their agreement, the people all over Willowfair had to witness, much to their surprise, the Lord of Easton going about town with his betrothed. Cressida tried to ignore the smiles thrown their way whenever they had to make appearances in the parks, or whenever Calan would escort her into a shop like a truly besotted husband-to-be.

And in the days that followed, she discovered things about him that surprised her. Most often, when they were alone or out of earshot, he was serious and guarded. She would find him absently staring at her and she would look away instantly, refusing to give any meaning to the crime she caught him doing. There were also times when he would be more at ease, even going boldly as taking her hand in his and talk about trivial things and joke about them with her. She would look around and find that there were people staring at them. Surely, they were the reason for his rather intimate display.

Sometimes she wondered if he really cared about her being too outspoken at all, because every time she talked, he would lean closer and listen to her every word. Either he really enjoyed talking to her, or he was simply just an excellent actor. After all, he was a Leaguer. The fact that no one could point out for sure who a Leaguer was among the citizens of the Town told Cressida that they were the best in blending in.

In the days she spent with Calan, never did Cressida allow herself to make assumptions. She was no longer the naïve girl who dreamed for a prince like the Lord of Easton. He was merely acting as the besotted groom who would soon lose his wife. With that thought in mind, she made it a point that she played her part.

It was not entirely difficult, as she first thought, because he was truly that good in making her feel comfortable when necessary, especially in the presence of the gossipmongers.

There was also one occasion, just two days ago, when Calan surprised Cressida. They were inside a bookshop, trying to waste as much time as possible away from her parents’ estate where her mother was making plans for the wedding, and Cressida was alone in one section looking at a new novel while Calan was off somewhere to find something else that was more interesting for his taste.

Belinda came in with her maid and the lady immediately spotted Cressida, taking the opportunity to start another of their graceful spats. “Where’s your groom, Cressida? Had he finally escaped?”

Cressida ignored her, flipping through the pages of the book in her hand without reading a word. She was more focused on keeping her temper in check, reminding herself that murder may prevent her from escaping the Town. A crime will land you in jail, Cressy. Stay calm and graceful.

“Not so very outspoken now, are you? Why? Do not tell me it’s about that gossip.”

“What gossip are you talking about, Belinda?” she asked dryly, eyes still on the book.

“Oh, please. I know you’ve read that article on the Herald.” When Cressida remained mum, Belinda stepped closer and whispered, “It said that the Lord of Easton keeps a really, really dark secret.”

Cressida rolled her eyes. Of course, she had heard that gossip. “Ah, gossips. Always fooling the witless, Belinda. Do you not agree?”

Belinda scoffed. “Are you not the least bit curious?”

Yes, as a matter of fact, she was. “No, not really. Gossips are unreliable, Belinda.”

“Every bit I have read about you thus far were true,” Belinda countered.

The prints of the book may have very well transferred to her thumb by the force of her grip. She looked up to force a smile on her lips. “Why, thank you. I’m glad my little scandals entertain the bored polite society.”

Belinda let out a menacing chuckle. “Oh, trust me, Cressida. Your scandals are like the holy bible to us. They are a significant source of learning, really—teach us a thing or two on how not to be like you and all that.”

Before Cressida could open her mouth to throw Belinda off guard, Calan’s voice spoke behind them. “I must say, Lady Belinda, that your talent must be greater in comparison to my future wife considering you read the Herald so religiously.”

Belinda looked arrested. The lady had stepped back, almost crashing against her maid when she saw Calan who added, “But I must ask—why are you here?”

“My lord?” the lady managed to say, her face the same color as her hair.

Calan looked around with arched brows. “I do not recall this shop selling a copy of the Herald. And since I assume it’s the only piece of literature you read, I’m left to wonder why you’re here at all.” He stepped closer to Cressida with a smile, his hand holding her elbow. “Or is it because my betrothed is here and you wish to ruin her day, to which I’m inclined to say that you do not have to do so because I’ve already ruined it for her.”

This time, Cressida blinked, and she turned to look up at him. “You have?” What in the bloody hell is he talking about?

He looked down at her with a smile that meant to dazzle. “Darling, did I not just say moments ago that you should at least read one article of the Herald every day? To which you indignantly answered that it’s too shallow for your taste.”

Cressida immediately caught on and gamely said, “And to which you replied I should at least pretend I like it over other more sensible reads,” waving the book she held in her hand.

Belinda was blinking at them with a mixture of incredulity and horror, her hand to her chest. But Calan was not through yet because he uttered, “And to which I regret I missed adding that I’m rather fond of the idea that I’m marrying someone who has an excellent taste in literature. Thank the heavens indeed that I’m not marrying a fool!”

“Well then, I forgive you. But I won’t pretend I like the Herald, my lord, even if you deem it necessary.” She turned to Belinda and finished with, “It’s the worst kind of literature the Town ever created. Well, not the entirety of it, of course. There’s just one particular section I abhor.”

Belinda’s face had gone scarlet, but as gracefully as ever, she managed to smile and say, “I must say that you are quite a pair. Would you not agree, Nana?” she asked her maid who did not reply. “This precious couple are—”

“Detrimental?” Calan offered.

“What? No, of course not, my lord.”

“Wicked? Shallow?” Cressida added, now grinning because she could not help it anymore. “Stupid, perhaps?”

“Why don’t we just settle with well-suited?” Calan finished.

Belinda scoffed with an incredulous smile as she shook her beautiful head. “Oh, goodness,” was all Belinda could manage before she lifted her chin and stiffly stormed out of the shop, her maid not far behind.

Cressida finally let out a laugh, bending low over the book in her hand, tears coming out the corners of her eyes. “That is the best moment of the day so far, my lord,” she told him when she finally recovered from her mirth. “Please remind me to thank you for it later.”

He chuckled as he reached out to wipe off the moisture from the corner of her eye. And then he stiffened. Cressida was quite disappointed to see the laughter in his eyes slowly disappear, but was intrigued when it was replaced by something intense, although she could not point out what for certain.

He cleared his throat and stepped away from her. “No wonder you find the Town frustrating. If I have to deal with another lady like that one, I’ll grab the first rope I can find and climb out the nearest hole.” And then he turned away to inspect the nearest shelf of books.

Cressida’s smile melted away as she watched his back in consideration. “Is it true?”

“What?”

“What she said. That you keep some dark secrets.” She meant to tease but immediately regretted her question when he turned to her with a hard look on his face.

“Yes.” He did not even deny it, did not offer an explanation either, but that one word brought a chill up her spine.

It rendered her speechless, staring at him, hoping he would say more or add that he was merely jesting. It did not happen. Keeping her gaze, his jaw set tight, he added, “And that’s why our little charade has to be perfect so we can go through with the wedding and you live your life away from me.”

VI. When a Lord Teaches a Lady a Thing or Two

If there was anything that Cressida did not want to leave behind, that would be her parents. Regardless of her mother’s ambitious desires for her to marry a lord and be accepted by the high and polite society, Cressida loved her mother. The woman only wanted the best for her. And she knew she would miss the woman dearly when the time came.

Cressida spent more time with her mother as the wedding date drew close. She tried to find joy in the thing she used to hate doing with her mother, such as calling on neighbors and friends for tea and gossips. And she was in her best behavior during such visits that her mother’s friends pointed out marriage might just be the best thing to happen to Cressida after all. “You just needed to find the man brave enough to overlook all your deficiencies,” said one of them in one of their visits.

Her mother later expressed her horror when they were finally alone in the carriage going home, but Cressida knew Lady Eloise was pleased people were seeing her in a better light recently. If only Cressida did not feel utterly exhausted with the charade, she might share her mother’s pleasure.

She was also dragged to fittings for new dresses, to which Cressida thought with regret was a waste of time because she was certain she had no use of too many dresses when she sets out on her adventure.

When she was not with her mother, she would spend her time with her father, Lord Amery, in his study, reading a book. Cressida had to admit with guilt that she had always loved and preferred the time with her father. She always liked how he would welcome her presence while he worked behind his desk, allowing her to just quietly read a book she liked, never judging if they suited her or not. Her mother once blamed the books for giving Cressida odd ideas, but her father always defended her—and the books.

She and her father would not talk much, but the silence was comfortable. And when they opened their mouths, they talked about his adventures in the other parts of the Town during his youth. She liked the story of how he climbed one of the steepest rock formations at the western part of the Town and nearly fell down to his death if not for a stranger who became his friend along his journey. One afternoon, merely a week before the wedding, she watched her father bent over his desk. She blinked, realizing that she never noticed his hair was turning grey. She fought the tears because she did not want him to suspect anything. And because she did not want to start regretting her decision.

Cressida also called on the very few friends she had, especially Mary Featherton.

Mary did not have a title, but her father was rich. Mr. Featherton made his wealth by owning two gentleman’s clubs where the society’s rich and famous gentlemen took refuge to gamble and drink with discretion. But because of her father’s nature of business, Mary was never considered a part of Cressida’s station.

Her friend had merely been to a few balls, and only because her father was invited, and also because Mr. Featherton always insisted that he be with the company of his daughter.

It also did not help Mary’s case that her mother had died at childbirth and Mr. Featherton never remarried. The respectable women of Willowfair frowned upon gentleman’s clubs, calling them expensive brothels but brothels all the same. And to raise a child—a girl—around such an environment was unacceptable, if not proper.

Cressida met Mary when she attended Madam Pearson’s. Mary would not have gained entrance to the school if the mamas had their way, but Mr. Featherton’s wealth was too great to overlook. From day one, Cressida and Mary had been inseparable.

“I just wish you can have more time to find someone of your own choosing,” Mary told her one afternoon.

Cressida sighed and shrugged. “It’s already settled. The papers are sealed, I’m afraid.”

“And I wish you did not have a fight with your mother when you invited me.”

“My mother did not even notice you are on the list, Mary,” she said, addressing her friend’s concern.

Then she stole her friend a glance. Mary was beautiful. Too beautiful in fact that Cressida thought it was also one reason she could not get more invitations to attend the balls. Mary had the starkest black hair, large light brown eyes that were almost yellow, skin that was not pale like Cressida’s and most of the women in the Town. She had a glow, as if she had her own private hole in her bedchambers. Her body was structured to near perfection except that she stooped when she was around other people, particularly women.

Her beauty was too great to overlook, and no gentleman really cared about her father’s nature of business, anyway. Mary would have found a husband if she was given access to a Season. But fate was not always good to those who possessed more than the rest of the so-called gentries of the Town. Society would always make certain that standard and titles prevailed.

Mary gently set her light brown eyes on Cressida. “Are you certain you will be fine? Is he going to be good to you?”

Cressida nodded. “He’s a good man. Could be too serious and aloof most of the time, but he’s willing to help me.”

“Help you?”

Cressida almost slapped herself. “Y-yes. Help me as his wife. You know, to tame my unstoppable tendencies and—”

Mary narrowed her eyes at her. “What are you not telling me, Cressy? I’ve known you for the longest time and I’m quite certain you’re keeping something.”

“It’s nothing, fret not,” she answered, averting her friend’s gaze. “Oh, you’re writing something new, are you not? Is it another novel? Truly, Mary, you ought to find a publisher. Your works—ones I have read thus far—are amazing and—”

Mary’s eyes narrowed further. “Do not change the subject, Cressy.”

“Really, there’s nothing to tell.”

When Mary did not answer and continued to stare at her, Cressida finally sighed and closed her eyes, struggling to find the right words. She knew Mary could keep a secret. They had shared a lot of them in the past and nothing had been spilled.

Mary knew so many things after having lived her life in her father’s gentleman’s clubs. She had pressed Mary so many times in the past to reveal the secrets of affluent gentlemen members, but Mary never wavered. When she’s finally tired of Cressida’s incessant questions, Mary offered to give her a rare copy of The World Above if she promised to stop her questions about the club and its members, to which Cressida readily agreed upon.

However Mary acquired the copy of the book, she never told Cressida. Like many of the clubs’ secret, Mary was mum about it.

Surely, her friend could keep this one secret, too.

She opened her eyes and found Mary patiently waiting for her to speak. “I believe I should start by saying I’m leaving the Town. Forever.”

It took Mary a while to hear her words. And it took Cressida longer to convince her friend that she was not jesting.

“Are you certain?” Mary asked, face gentle after her initial shock.

“Yes. Definitely so. Easton is going to help me but please do not ask me how for it would mean exposing his secrets and I do not want to do that.”

Mary stayed quiet for a very long time before she asked again, “Is marrying each other truly that awful for the both of you? Many people learn to love their other half during marriage.”

“You know that’s not what I want. And he has no intention of keeping a wife at all. I want to be up there, Mary, so please do not stop me. I do not belong here.”

She held her breath as Mary just stared at her. Finally, her friend sighed. “Not as much as I.”

“But you have your novels, your amazing adventures in the clubs, your other friends in your father’s country estates. You have your writing. And you do not have to live among the high society. You’re not required to while I have to suffer them for the rest of my life if I stay here.”

Mary frowned. “I hope I did not give you that book. Mayhap it had given you false beliefs about things that may not actually exist!”

“ The World Above is by far the best book I’ve read. And I believe it speaks the truth.“

Her friend gently shook her head. “I truly pray you know what you’re doing. You could put yourself in grave danger. And so is Lord Easton! Oh, Cressy, you do not know what the Town can do and I mean the Leaders and the Guards! Trust me, Cressy, what you’re risking may not be worth the consequences.”

“My adventure is out there, Mary. I just know it.”

Her friend stared at her for a long time. Cressida felt restless, fully aware of Mary’s calculative mind.

She was apprehensive of Mary’s reaction, but her friend’s reply surprised her. “I’ll miss you terribly, Cressy.”

The acceptance from Mary’s part was perhaps the nudge Cressida needed to actually realize the extent of what she was about to do—of the things she was willing to sacrifice for her grand adventure. Was it worth it to leave all these behind? Her mother, her father and Mary? Her wealth? The comfort that came along with it? The servants who did her bidding? She would not have them up there.

“Are you afraid?” Mary asked.

Cressida felt a shiver run up her spine and she nodded. “Yes.”

Mary moistened her lips and sighed. “But not enough not to go.”

Her tears finally escaped her then. “Not enough not to try.”

They spilled more tears after that. Mary said nothing further, although Cressy knew that if her friend had her way, she would strap Cressida to her side to keep her in the Town, because Mary had always believed her to be too impetuous.

Wrapped in Mary’s tight and warm embrace, she heard her friend say, “Live a full life up there, Cressy. And know that you will always have a friend down here. Constantly and forever.”

---

Cressida was sitting in the parlor, deep in thought. Tears pooled her eyes as she remembered her friend’s words and she was wiping them off when the door opened and Calan came in.

“What are you doing here?” she asked with a frown.

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m not. Something caught in my eyes,” she lied. “Who let you in?”

“Your footman.” He walked to where she was sitting and sat down beside her.

“I do not have a chaperone. Meredith is away on an errand and—”

“I see that. But I am to be your husband in a few days. You really do not need one.” He turned to her with a curious look while she did the same. His black hair was neatly brushed up, his face lighter and his blue eyes clearer. Was it just her, or had the lighting inside the parlor improved? Because Calan looked oddly fresher than she last saw him. “Were you crying because you’re leaving?”

“Hush!” she said with panic in her eyes, looking over to the door he closed when he entered. “My mother is home!”

“Your mother was just leaving when I came through the door.”

“She would not have allowed you here if that were true.”

He shrugged. “It’s true. She expressed her nonchalance to propriety when I told her the reason for my visit.”

“Which is?”

“I’ll get to that later.”

Cressida frowned. “Is there something else you wish to discuss?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” He shifted in his seat to angle his body to face her. “What do you intend to do the moment you get up there? What shall be your source of income? How do you plan to address your basic needs?”

With a frown, she asked, “Why do you care, my lord?”

A flicker of annoyance crossed his eyes. “Because I’m a gentleman and I wish to be assured that you have plans.”

“I’m capable of a lot of things, my lord. You need not fret.”

“Do not tell me you haven’t spared a moment on these things, Cressida. Or is it just true love that you wish to look for?” Her eyes rounded at the bite of mockery in his tone. “Because, my lady, that will not be enough. Your grumbling stomach will prove that fast enough.”

“I know it will not be easy to find it, and I know I will need to deal with other things upon my arrival. And I know you’re mocking me this very moment.”

“Then tell me, my lady—” he sardonically said, leaning closer, “—what kind of love do you expect to find out there?

Cressida was riled up. He was mocking her again. He must think she was a fool to even desire to find love. “One that is true?”

“True?”

“One that does not involve a fancy white carriage and a prince. That sort of true. One that is real. And one without judgment.”

He slowly nodded and leaned back. She scooted away from him. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“Your questions are making me uncomfortable, so kindly cease whatever you’re doing. What I do up there is entirely my own business.”

“Supposing you find a man and fall in love with him, do you suppose you will know what to do?” he asked as though she had not spoken at all. His voice was also getting stern, almost angry. Like how her father’s voice sounded whenever he felt she was acting proud for the sake of pride, when in fact, she was simply ignorant and naïve.

“I will let my instincts lead me.” Cressida turned her attention to the window. “Mother should not have left us alone this long. Where did you say she went?”

“Your instincts may be enough, but experience may be required,” Calan continued, his eyes still on her.

He was provoking her. What is the matter with him today?

She rolled her eyes to the side to throw him a darting look, then haughtily looked away. “I am quite equipped with that as well.” From the corner of her eyes, she saw him lean over with more interest. Suddenly, she was too aware of him.

Not bloody good.

“Really.”

“Yes. Really .”

“You mean to say then that you have been kissed before?”

Cressida’s eyes widened. How dare he ask such question! “Really, Easton, should we be talking about this at all? I do not believe it’s proper.”

He gazed at her as if she was the last person he needed to tell him about being proper. “You know, up there, they do not truly care about propriety as much. Or so I heard.”

“All for the better then! I shall be feeling quite at home upon arrival!” She threw him another darting look. “And I shall deal with that when I get there.”

“Who kissed you?”

His question made her blink in surprise. “Who what?”

Brows arched, he nonchalantly expounded his words. “Who kissed you and gave you the experience?”

“Someone,” she said with a wave of her hand. “A few. Why do you even ask?” She looked out the window and glared, as if the bloody glass panes could read her lie.

“Because I believe you should at least know how to properly kiss a man before you set out in search of your true love, my lady.”

“You are mocking me again, Easton.”

“I am offering you a lesson. Would you like to accept?”

“Lesson? On what? Kissing?” she asked with a scoff. “Do not be a bloody fool.”

By now, he was so used to her expletives that he did not even bother to reprimand. “Guessing by your reaction, I have to believe you’re lying about having been kissed. That or you do not trust yourself to kiss me.”

She let out a scoff and shot to her feet in one fluid motion. She whirled around and glowered down at him. “Fine. If you truly think you are such an excellent teacher, show me. But I tell you, my lord, I have been kissed before and I am afraid you will only disappoint.”

He rose to his feet, accepting the challenge. “I’ll let you be the judge then.”

Suddenly, Cressida realized he was standing too close. But she refused to back down. Proud for the sake of pride, indeed. There was no bloody way she would let him scare her off. But then, maybe she did not step back because she could not. Because his very nearness was pulling her even closer toward him.

He lightly laughed when she tilted her chin, brow arched and light brown eyes staring directly at him in challenge. His hands came up and lightly brushed both sides of her face, sending a tingling feeling straight to the tip of her fingers. Her breath caught in her throat when he leaned his head closer until his nose was almost touching hers, his warm breath a caress against her skin.

His palms finally settled against her face, skin warm and slightly rough, and she swallowed. “A kiss can mean a lot of things, Cressy,” he whispered, his upper lip tickling hers as he spoke that Cressida’s eyes almost fluttered close. “It’s a dance that both parties should take part in and enjoy.”

Ever so lightly, he planted his lips against hers. “It can be playful. It can be naughty.” The tip of his tongue tasted her lower lip. “And it can be like this,” he husked before his mouth suddenly came crushing against hers, pushing her head back into the cradle of his hands, holding her still for his onslaught. His lips were moist, urging hers to take and taste, to offer and match. When she did, when she finally moved her lips against his, she was lost.

She forgot that she was annoyed. As a matter of fact, she forgot to think altogether. There was no room for thoughts…just sensations. And good God, there were thousands of them crawling through her veins, her flesh. His lips were proving to be capable of draining her mind of any reservations, pulling her deeper into a chasm of bliss and uncertainty. Of adventure.

She heard his sharp intake of breath as one hand left her face and his arm wound around her, pressing her closer against him, while his other angled her head to fit his mouth perfectly. Her hands clung on to his coat, the kiss deeper, hungrier. He was too closely pressed against her, yet she wanted him closer. His tongue urged her lips to open and when Cressida parted them, he found her tongue for the dance he promised moments ago. And she was drowning into the abyss, unprepared yet willing.

Unclenching her hands, she let go of his shirt, palms flat on his chest, and before she knew it, one was on his shoulder and the other behind his neck, tousling his hair. Good Lord, the women were right. They were silky soft—no, better.

His hand became restless, running the length of her back, and the other came down from her face to trace the arch of her waist, and finally found her breast.

Before Cressida could react, she heard Calan’s deep groan and suddenly she felt alone.

He had stepped back with a curse. Their breaths were heavy, but both refused to meet each other’s gaze.

She was floating back to the surface, the chasm now a shallow grave. For that was exactly where she wanted to be at that moment. She wanted to be buried now because she had just been through a burning ritual.

Swallowing, Cressida struggled to find words that could immediately extinguish whatever they had built.

“Now that you know what a man could do to you, I hope you’ll learn how to stop when things get too far. Otherwise, you’ll be in trouble.”

Anything she must have felt during and shortly after the kiss was effectively vanquished by his words. She scoffed, her jaw dropping at the absurdity of his words. “You kissed me first!”

“Intending to provide you a lesson,” he added, his deep blue eyes hard on her. Was he angry that the kiss turned out to be…good?

Of course, Cressida had to admit that it was good, despite her lack of reference.

Was that his intent, then? To prove that all other kisses she had in the past were incomparable to his? Or did he want to show her something she had been missing?

“And it’s only safe to assume that you’re easily carried away.” He walked to the window as he spoke. “Any man up there can offer you the same, even better, of the sample I just gave you, Cressida. But not all of them can be trusted. Not all of them can match the kind of devotion you’ll be looking for.” He turned to face her, his face hard with intent. His gaze told her to listen and take his words to heart. “Up there, you will no longer be a lady with a title. No one will care about that. You best to be careful with what you give them unless you’re quite certain they can give it back with equal measure.”

He was serious. And he was looking at her as if he was worried.

But why would he care? She stuck her chin out and met his gaze. “I’ll keep that in mind, my lord. After all, you tried your best to provide an example when we both clearly know you did not want to.” She arched her brow in challenge. “Or was it your true intention? To seduce me? Whatever for? You’re not having a change of heart, are you, my lord?”

He opened his mouth but he did not say a word. He simply stared at her, his gaze telling her she was insane.

Wryly, he reached inside his black coat. Withdrawing his hand, he revealed a small velvet box. “I almost forgot. This is for you.”

She frowned, aware of what it was. “You need not bother with—”

“We may not be married for long, but we still have a wedding to attend. And it’s entirely, if not really, rare nowadays for a bride to not have a ring on her finger.” He did not even open the box, just handed it to her.

Although she wanted to see the ring, she dared not open it. “Is it an Everard?” she asked.

“Of course,” he mockingly replied. “Only the best for my future wife.”

She just nodded and said, “I will give it back to you before I go. An Everard jewelry does not come cheap, after all.”

He was shaking his head before she even finished. “I have no use for it. You can bring it with you. I care not what you do with it.” He started for the door. “I have to go. The next we meet is on our wedding.”

And he was gone.

Cressida sighed and opened the box.

Indeed, a gold band adorned with small Everard diamonds. Simple, elegant, and expensive.

Nothing like her.

VII. A Wedding and Goodbyes

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VIII. The Ride to Easton

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IX. Bloody Bandits!

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X. Lady Easton

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XI. A Whistle and More

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XII. The Passage

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XIII. Depart, She Must

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XIV. She

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XV. Farewell

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XVI. The World Up There

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XVII. Lady Bernadette Graham of Apartment 302

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XVIII. Once Upon a Coffee Date

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XIX. A Funeral

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XX. A Wedding

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XXI. Letters of Love

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XXII. Date Night

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XXIII. A Bloody Night

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XXIV. Bedtime Tale

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XXV. A Strange New World

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XXVI. Depart, He Must

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XXVII. Treasure

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XXVIII. Chasing Dreams

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XXIX. Secret Calls

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XXX. When Thy Lady Speaks

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XXXI. Marital Concerns

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XXXII. Something Close to Bliss

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XXXIII. Passage Guards

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XXXIV. The Mentor

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XXXV. Love, Freedom and Everything Not

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XXXVI. The Worst Scandal of All

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XXXVII. A Short Letter of Farewell

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Special Chapter

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Acknowledgements

This part of the book, and everything before and after, would forever be nonexistent if not for the fools who are still searching for a world belowground hoping to find much greater fools like the Haverstons. This is for my Gossipmongers. Yes, you –you who dare to dream of fantasies within the bedlam of our realities. You who dare because you experience words instead of reading them, because you see beyond the veil of dreams and possibilities. And like Cressy, I hope you enjoy the chase for your treasures, in whatever guise they may be, however trivial or grand. Because to dream is one step closer to reality.

I will forever cherish you, my dear readers, for you are all treasures.

  ![](https://img.wattpad.com/d976c9492a07ca75af9f474cdffec9cdbe74faf5/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f30477365543359573871527970413d3d2d3232353932383137382e313661643836323830633237626337303430353136343139393132362e706e67)

Also by J.D. Ruiz

  ![](https://img.wattpad.com/1e28263770dccd6351ca45e5560538e84600656e/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f6c465653545973506a5156724e513d3d2d3232353933343230312e313661643834626664613661313530633734333138353933323638302e706e67)