Celia nearly vomited, overcome by fear and loathing and terror that Bryan would rape her as he had before.

“You want to keep this all a secret from your fine husband, don’t you? Don’t want all of London knowing you cuckolded him with the servants. That he married a whore.” Bryan sneered, seeing her pale features and delighting in them. “You’ll do whatever I say if ya want the bastard marquess to stand with his head higher than everyone else.”

“Sebastian and Ivy will arrive in London any day now,” Gabriel said over the meal they shared in the enormous dining room. “With Alan and Sara just behind them, no doubt. And if I don’t miss my guess, I imagine your brother and mine will appear at some point to assess for themselves how we’ve both taken to marriage.”

Celia smiled wanly while taking a sip of her wine. “It will be lovely to see them.”

Gabriel’s brow creased with a small frown. “The opening of the season no doubt requires much of our time. I know you are accepting far too many of the invitations you have received. I won’t have you exhaust yourself by attending these events, Celia. Not for my sake.”

Celia waved a hand in dismissal of his concerns. “I’m always a little weary at the beginning of the Season. It’s just how things are.”

She knew Gabriel was growing suspicious of her behavior over the past four days. Ever since she’d left Bryan in the hayloft with her agreement to do as he demanded, she’d been unwell. Nightmares plagued her, returning with such vengeance that Gabriel swore it was all his fault. If he hadn’t coerced her into being blindfolded while taking a crop to her backside, she would not be suffering these nightly terrors now, he claimed.

Gabriel reached over, taking her hand in his and squeezing it tight. “I cannot bear to see you like this, Celia. If my presence here is causing this turmoil, then I shall remove myself at once. I will find a townhouse to rent, or perhaps stay in a hotel until you are once again comfortable being with me.”

Celia stood up so quickly, the heavy dining room chair tumbled over. “For God’s sake, Gabriel! This melancholy of mine is not your fault, and don’t you dare leave me when every nuance of your future relies on the ton accepting you as the Marquess of Rosenthorne. You will not jeopardize this. I won’t allow it.”

Gabriel’s eyes darkened, dangerous glints of gold lighting their depths as he stared at his wife quivering before him. “You will sit down, Celia. You are becoming overwrought, and I won’t have you upsetting yourself in this manner. Sit down. Now.”

He nodded at one of the footmen. The servant stepped forward, quickly righting Celia’s chair so she could sink back into it before retreating to his place along the wall just out of earshot.