The Possessive Lord's Contract Wife

After their talk ended, Camille returned to her guard and horse, ready to leave.

As the guard offered his hand to help her mount, Camille stared at him, her mind lingering on Damien’s words.

Could she truly trust this man?

"I must remind you that what occurred now isn’t to be said to my husband. I will be the one to share it with him when I find the right time. Should I hear that you spoke to him, then you will never be able to find work here," Camille said, and without waiting for a response, she mounted the horse.

She had always viewed herself as equal to Hayden, and over the years she had built up a group of loyal servants. She was quite certain she could trust those she had pulled over to her side, but after Hayden’s behaviour, she wondered if spies lurked among them.

Camille peered at Damien, watching how he stood with a smile, as though pleased with himself.

She knew what he was doing and hated the doubts he left her with.

’I can’t trust him’, Camille thought bitterly.

And at the same time, she realised she couldn’t trust Hayden either. Too many secrets clung to both men, but what terrified her most was sleeping in the same bed as one of them.

Guiding her horse back to the mansion, Camille’s thoughts circled Hayden’s possible involvement in her brother’s death.

’Where was he that day?’ she wondered.

Had Hayden been hiding from her since then?

Had she been boring him for so long?

"Why did he return just in time?" Camille muttered under her breath.

She thought of what had been shared during the time she had wandered away to cry and mourn. She had been too much of a mess to listen to what was said about the incident, so Hayden had done all the speaking.

Clutching the reins tightly, Camille tried to recall.

What had Hayden said he was doing that morning?

Closing her eyes, she hated that she couldn’t shake the feeling Damien had stirred inside her. If not for Hayden’s recent behaviour, there would have been no doubts.

Opening her eyes, she looked back, curious if Damien was still standing where she had left him, but he was already returning to his horse.

He had succeeded with his plans, and she imagined he was satisfied.

The ride back to her mansion was a quiet one.

Camille spent the journey convincing herself that she could trust Hayden, since he had no reason to go after her brother, as they had been close.

Yet her trust wavered.

Doing something out of the ordinary, Camille fetched a bottle of wine and hid herself in her chamber until Hayden returned home.

Hours later, Hayden entered the bedchamber, puzzled by the darkness. He took the sight of Camille sitting alone as another attempt to gain pity.

"Is this the new low you shall take to get my attention? Sitting in darkness while the sun is still out? I imagine the servants thought you odd for requesting they close the drapes," Hayden said.

"I was thinking about my brother and his wife," Camille replied, touching the portrait placed on her lap. "Of how good it would be to have them here right now. I miss them."

Hayden removed his coat and walked further into the chamber. "You must stop dwelling on the dead-"

"That dead is my brother and his wife. You should be careful how you speak about them, as they matter more to me than gold itself," Camille said, gripping the frame in her hand.

She was close to throwing it at him for his disrespect.

Hayden sighed. "I didn’t mean it in that regard. You must stop being so sensitive."

"And you must be careful with how you speak before it is misinterpreted. No matter how you feel about Damien, you cannot disrespect my brother. Did you even care for him?" Camille asked, doubting all she knew.

"Of course I did. He was a respectable man," Hayden answered. "You only get like this nearing the anniversary of his death, so what has brought this on? Are you tempted to speak with Damien or Jane?"

"I can think of my brother’s death when I want to. It is a day I remember all too well. I had been sitting with the children when you returned just before the news came. Where were you that day, Hayden?" Camille pressed, waiting for a lie.

"It seems you don’t remember it all too well since I was home with you-"

"No, you weren’t," Camille interjected. "I remember that day because it haunts me, just like my mother’s death. I know you came at the right moment to hold me. So, were you bored of me since then?"

"I was here with you," Hayden remained adamant.

"No, you were not, and you will not succeed in convincing me. You were out of our home, and back then I didn’t question it. If you were hiding away then, why can’t you say it?" Camille pressed, her voice trembling with anger.

Hayden slowly approached her. "Aren’t you the one who likes to keep our marriage perfect? If I share that I was away, it would only open the door for more questions."

"Why would it open the door? It would merely be you speaking the truth about your whereabouts. No one would think anything of it," Camille said, her trust in him slipping away. "What are my interests, Hayden?"

Hayden laughed at her questions. "What is this? A game?"

"Think of it as such if it will offer you some comfort. What are my interests? What do you notice about me?" Camille inquired, waiting for a good answer.

"I know that you appear to be losing your sanity, and I know that you have no interest in focusing on our children. Is there more you wish to hear?" Hayden asked, hoping this was the end.

"You have not told me about my interest. What do I like, Hayden? That is all I want to know. Truly," Camille promised, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"I hope it is so. I used to think that you liked caring for the children and attending balls. Looking after the household-"

"I asked what my interests are. Not what my duties are as your wife. Do you even have the slightest idea what I like, or have you been away for so long that you never noticed?" Camille asked, realising they had never truly talked.

"You see me just as you see the other ladies in town, don’t you? Just one piece of the puzzle," Camille said, her chest aching from the truth.

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