“She says she has documents, sir,” the butler whispered, his eyes darting toward Grant.

Grant looked as though he might faint.

Antoinette began to pace, her silk skirt rustling loudly against the mahogany legs of the chairs.

“This is a disaster,” Antoinette muttered, her voice rising to a sharp pitch. “The neighbors will see her.”

“We don’t have neighbors for half a mile, Antoinette,” Conrad said, but his voice had lost its steady, calm authority.

I took one slow step backward, my heels silent on the thick carpet.

Nobody looked at me.

To them, I was still the quiet, obedient wife who did what she was told and spoke only when spoken to.

I took another step, reaching the threshold of the study.

The heavy oak doors were slightly ajar.

I slipped through the gap and into the dimly lit hallway.

The air in the foyer was cooler, smelling of rain and the expensive floor wax Antoinette insisted on using.

I did not look back.

I ran toward the back staircase, my heart pounding in my ears like a drum.