s certain they were gone, she let herself limp, the pain she'd been suppressing flooding back into her ankle with a vengeance. She hissed through

rip of silk. As she worked, she conducted a more thorough search of his clothes. She found nothing to identify him-only a well-made dagger strapped to his calf a

stentatious and grim. A timid-looking maidservant scurried to the door, carrying a wooden box. Inside was

d barely force it in, the velvet straining at the seams. She bit down on the pain and laced it as loosely as she dared. It would have to do. She dragged the unconscious man to a small, hidden cellar she'd remembered, every step sendi

g carriage without a backward glance. Only once she was seated, hidden behind the curta

t to access the original Elenore's memories, sharpening them into weapons. S

uke Julian Wells, and her stepmother, Cordelia, were seated on a large settee, faces grim. Her half-siblings, Reginald and Lillian, stoo

d his hand on the table. "You have t

ace handkerchief. "Oh, Elenore, my dear child. How could you do somethin

added, voice dripping with sanctimony. "Duke Hawtho

their accusing faces to an empty armchair, each step measured and deliberate, refusing to limp despite the dagger of p

Their accusations faltered, dying in the face of her utter indifference. Juli

ucer with a soft, deliberate click. The sound drew every eye. She fina

ou are speaking to." They stared, confused. A small, chilling smile touched her lips. "Are you speaking to Elenore We

ratic precedence, her marriage had elevated her. As the wife of a more powerful Duke, her rank was now higher than a

She stared at her stepdaughter as if seeing her for the first time. With a single question, Elenore had dismantled their entire tribunal. She