The attacks.
The visitor outside our window.
His hand trembled slightly.
I don’t think the petition is their last plan.
A violent gust rattled the shutters.
For the first time, I understood why Gideon had insisted that I lock the bedroom door.
And I understood something else.
The wedding my father had arranged might never have been about securing me a husband.
It might have been about placing me inside a trap.
I decided to visit my father’s house before Vane could make another move.
Gideon objected.
So did Nell.
But I knew Silas Ashford better than either of them.
My father was cruel when he drank, defensive when questioned, and suspicious of anyone who spoke gently.
He was also a terrible liar when surprised.
I believed I could force him to reveal something.
I was wrong about the danger of trying.
The Ashford house looked smaller than I remembered.
Snow had gathered against the porch.
A broken shutter slapped against the wall.
Inside, the familiar smell of stale whiskey greeted me.
My father sat at the kitchen table.
Merrick stood near the stove.
Both became silent when I entered.
“Rosalie,” my father said.
