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still holding the sheet in place, dug through the silk until the bite of her nails pierced her palm. “Why do you think he can steal my fear away?”
    “There is much scandal surrounding his family and his cold demeanor is his answer to the disdain of the world. But he is a duke, Mary.” She paused, letting the information sink in before adding, “And exceptionally wealthy. Such a man—”
    “Could protect me from my father,” Mary finished, a dull acceptance seeping into her heart. Edward had made her feel something she’d never felt before: powerful , herself.
    “If your father comes here, I will lose you within moments.” Yvonne allowed no kindness in her countenance to ease the painful truth. “But if you were to go to the Duke of Fairleigh as his mistress, he might be able to keep you hidden and, if it came to it, safe.”
    Once again, she would be putting herself into a man’s power. The world was such an unjust place. Could she never save herself? Could she only throw herself from one man’s whim to the next?
    Mary squeezed her eyes shut against the anger inside her. No matter how hard she wished it, this world didn’t belong to women and she did indeed need a man’s help. Edward’s help. “How can you be certain he’d wish to keep me?”
    “Because I have not seen him so curious about a woman in the years that I have known him.”
    “You will tell me what I must do?”
    “Of course.”
    “I don’t know if I can—” She grimaced, searching for words that would be acceptable to her ears. “Couple with him.”
    “When the time comes, I will ensure you will be able to. And he will not force you. He is not that kind of man. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
    “Fine, then.” Even as she spoke, Mary couldn’t quite hide her fear. He hadn’t hurt her. In fact, he had seemed fixated on assuring her she was safe. But he was still a man, and a stranger. And despite the unfamiliar feelings he had evoked, she cared for neither.
    But to keep herself away from that place . . . from her father, she would go to Edward. What choice had she?
    Still . . . she had to admit that even though she had no choice, there was something about him. Something that tempted her to get to know him better.
    Yvonne took her empty glass. “Good, then. I shall arrange it. I’m sure we can find you a pleasing frock somewhere. And in the meantime, let’s drink to the moon, eh? And to your protection.” She leaned forward, her eyes full of hope. “I am so glad you shall be safe.”
    Mary no longer trusted hope. It was a fool’s emotion and she was tired of being a fool, as her mother had been.
    Somewhere in the back of her memory, she could still hear her father shouting, Whore. Just like your mother. You shall be a whore.
    And she would be. How amusing that, of all people, it was her father who had made her one.

Chapter 4
    M rs. Palmer stood in a small room in the Duke of Duncliffe’s house, waiting. Waiting was something she didn’t do well. She was the mistress of her own establishment, the Palmer Asylum. When she spoke her workers jumped.
    And with every moment that passed, her fury grew.
    She understood a duke’s home was different. She supposed she was lucky to have been allowed through the front door and not forced up the back staircase.
    She stood by the fire, digging her nails into her palms. Waiting. The news she had was not good. It was, in fact, abhorrent. Her world of control had fallen apart in recent months. Two girls had escaped her grasp and Mary was the force of it all.
    She should have killed the girl months ago and put her in the ground with so many others that had tried to slip away.
    She dug her nails deeper into her skin to quell her anger.
    That damnable creature had assisted another girl, Eva, to escape, and then she herself had vanished. This might not have been such a catastrophe, except for the fact that her father was a ridiculously powerful man.
    She waited.
    Mrs. Palmer stared at the door,