"Don't call me that," Mason snarled as his hand clamped Alyssa's jaw. "You promised," Alyssa said, voice steady though her body trembled. "You said you'd respect my place in this house." Mason's thumb dug an inch deeper. "Your place is under my father. Under me." He pulled her chin so she met his face. "How does it feel to be my father's woman?" Alyssa spat. "You are a coward." Mason laughed without humor. "Call me what you like, little bride. Tonight I make it true." The door clicked. They both heard it and froze. "You don't have to do this," a small voice said from the threshold. Muriel stood there, nightcap askew, eyes wide. "Miss Alyssa—" Mason turned. A sudden smile cut his face. "Good. Witness." Alyssa twisted, trying to hide herself with the thin blanket. "Muriel, go—" "Not tonight," Muriel said, but she did not move closer. She looked like a child caught in an adult fight. Mason stepped forward with slow, deliberate calm. "You think this is about me? It's about what I can say tomorrow." Alyssa shoved him. Her shoulder hit his chest. "Get away." He grabbed her wrist. "You don't get to shout at me in my father's bed." She pulled her hand free and slapped him. The sound of skin on skin landed sharp and brief. Mason's face changed. He hadn't expected that. For a second the command in him flickered. "You will pay