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CHAPTER ELEVEN

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Dear Rose,

Something urgent came up and thus, I was forced to travel. I do not intend to be away for very long, but I hope you remain comfortable in the meantime.

Jeffery Hendrix.

Chara read the missive for the umpteenth time that morning, before refolding it twice and placing it on the coffee table before her.

The note had been handed to her by Spencer. At first, she had been shocked to find the servant at her door after several days of failing to even glimpse him, but before she could say anything, he shoved the note into her hands and walked away.

Dumbfounded, she stared after him until he disappeared down the stairs, before closing the door behind her and slowly unfolding the piece of paper.

She read the note in silence. Simple words scribbled on a sheet of paper with every stroke of ink, an obvious proof of Jeffery's professional penmanship.

Words, not a dagger or a knife. But they felt just like that; a knife plunged into the deepest part of her heart and twisted, leaving her bleeding almost to death.

She knew she shouldn't read more meaning into his missive, but when it read 'something urgent came up and thus I was forced to travel,' she saw 'I must get away from you urgently for I can no longer stand to be around you.' And when it read 'I do not intend to be away for very long,' she saw 'I must stay away for the rest of our temporary marriage of convenience.'

It was for the best—she scolded, rising to her feet and stumbling to the window, where she pushed the curtains aside. They both needed to put some distance between them, if only so that she could regain some common sense and rid her heart of the foolish notion that they could one day end up together. Still, Jeffery was the only man who saw beyond her outward appearance; the only man who ever desired her in that way. She saw the way he looked at her, the passion in his eyes as he pulled her into his bed that evening. What was even worse was the fact that she heard his breathless whisper, right before he claimed her as his wife:

"You arouse the wildest passion in me, my dear." His words still reverberated in her ears every time, warming her skin with a longing she knew would never be satisfied again. She knew Jeffery would never take her in his arms again—she realized that the evening after, when he walked away from her at dinner. But the note on the coffee table before her seemed to put a final nail in the coffin of their marriage.

Reaching up, she shoved the tear that stubbornly fell down her cheek aside; there had never been a marriage in the first place. Not only did Jeffery intend for things to be temporary, he intended for things to be temporary between himself and Rose Cartridge, not Chara. She wasn't Rose, the daughter of a baron, she was Chara, the daughter of a dead merchant; she was a slave.

Closing the curtains, she leaned back against the windowpane and closed her eyes. Jeffery had intended for their marriage to last for a meager nine months, and she had been here for nearly three months. In a matter of time, she would be set free to take charge of her life. She would sail to a distant land and start all over again, she thought, even if she knew it would be difficult to forget Jeffery, or their evening of passion.

Releasing a shaky breath, she straightened and made her way down the stairs to the dining room. She ate her breakfast alone, barely tasting the meal. Once she was done, she turned to make her way back to her room, but when she reached the foot of the stairs, she decided against it; she was tired of being stuck in her bedchamber. Perhaps now that Jeffery was away, she could finally take a tour of the house?

Turning from the stairs, she made her way down a small hallway and stopped before a closed door. Jeffery's study. She had been here once, the day she walked in on a conversation with Jeffery and his father. She reached for the doorknob and twisted it; a frown claimed her face when she found it locked. She tried again, but the door didn't budge.

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