If there was anything that Cressida did not want to leave behind, that would be her parents. Regardless of her mother's ambitious desires for her to marry a lord and be accepted by the high and polite society, Cressida loved her mother. The woman only wanted the best for her. And she knew she would miss the woman dearly when the time came.

Cressida spent more time with her mother as the wedding date drew close. She tried to find joy in the thing she used to hate doing with her mother, such as calling on neighbors and friends for tea and gossips. And she was in her best behavior during such visits that her mother's friends pointed out marriage might just be the best thing to happen to Cressida after all. "You just needed to find the man brave enough to overlook all your deficiencies," said one of them in one of their visits.

Her mother later expressed her horror when they were finally alone in the carriage going home, but Cressida knew Lady Eloise was pleased people were seeing her in a better light recently. If only Cressida did not feel utterly exhausted with the charade, she might share her mother's pleasure.

She was also dragged to fittings for new dresses, to which Cressida thought with regret was a waste of time because she was certain she had no use of too many dresses when she sets out on her adventure.

When she was not with her mother, she would spend her time with her father, Lord Amery, in his study, reading a book. Cressida had to admit with guilt that she had always loved and preferred the time with her father. She always liked how he would welcome her presence while he worked behind his desk, allowing her to just quietly read a book she liked, never judging if they suited her or not. Her mother once blamed the books for giving Cressida odd ideas, but her father always defended her—and the books.

She and her father would not talk much, but the silence was comfortable. And when they opened their mouths, they talked about his adventures in the other parts of the Town during his youth. She liked the story of how he climbed one of the steepest rock formations at the western part of the Town and nearly fell down to his death if not for a stranger who became his friend along his journey. One afternoon, merely a week before the wedding, she watched her father bent over his desk. She blinked, realizing that she never noticed his hair was turning grey. She fought the tears because she did not want him to suspect anything. And because she did not want to start regretting her decision.

Cressida also called on the very few friends she had, especially Mary Featherton.

Mary did not have a title, but her father was rich. Mr. Featherton made his wealth by owning two gentleman's clubs where the society's rich and famous gentlemen took refuge to gamble and drink with discretion. But because of her father's nature of business, Mary was never considered a part of Cressida's station.

Her friend had merely been to a few balls, and only because her father was invited, and also because Mr. Featherton always insisted that he be with the company of his daughter.

It also did not help Mary's case that her mother had died at childbirth and Mr. Featherton never remarried. The respectable women of Willowfair frowned upon gentleman's clubs, calling them expensive brothels but brothels all the same. And to raise a child—a girl—around such an environment was unacceptable, if not proper.

Cressida met Mary when she attended Madam Pearson's. Mary would not have gained entrance to the school if the mamas had their way, but Mr. Featherton's wealth was too great to overlook. From day one, Cressida and Mary had been inseparable.

"I just wish you can have more time to find someone of your own choosing," Mary told her one afternoon.

Cressida sighed and shrugged. "It's already settled. The papers are sealed, I'm afraid."

"And I wish you did not have a fight with your mother when you invited me."

"My mother did not even notice you are on the list, Mary," she said, addressing her friend's concern.

Then she stole her friend a glance. Mary was beautiful. Too beautiful in fact that Cressida thought it was also one reason she could not get more invitations to attend the balls. Mary had the starkest black hair, large light brown eyes that were almost yellow, skin that was not pale like Cressida's and most of the women in the Town. She had a glow, as if she had her own private hole in her bedchambers. Her body was structured to near perfection except that she stooped when she was around other people, particularly women.

Her beauty was too great to overlook, and no gentleman really cared about her father's nature of business, anyway. Mary would have found a husband if she was given access to a Season. But fate was not always good to those who possessed more than the rest of the so-called gentries of the Town. Society would always make certain that standard and titles prevailed.

Mary gently set her light brown eyes on Cressida. "Are you certain you will be fine? Is he going to be good to you?"

Cressida nodded. "He's a good man. Could be too serious and aloof most of the time, but he's willing to help me."

"Help you?"

Cressida almost slapped herself. "Y-yes. Help me as his wife. You know, to tame my unstoppable tendencies and—"

Mary narrowed her eyes at her. "What are you not telling me, Cressy? I've known you for the longest time and I'm quite certain you're keeping something."

"It's nothing, fret not," she answered, averting her friend's gaze. "Oh, you're writing something new, are you not? Is it another novel? Truly, Mary, you ought to find a publisher. Your works—ones I have read thus far—are amazing and—"

Mary's eyes narrowed further. "Do not change the subject, Cressy."

"Really, there's nothing to tell."

When Mary did not answer and continued to stare at her, Cressida finally sighed and closed her eyes, struggling to find the right words. She knew Mary could keep a secret. They had shared a lot of them in the past and nothing had been spilled.

Mary knew so many things after having lived her life in her father's gentleman's clubs. She had pressed Mary so many times in the past to reveal the secrets of affluent gentlemen members, but Mary never wavered. When she's finally tired of Cressida's incessant questions, Mary offered to give her a rare copy of The World Above if she promised to stop her questions about the club and its members, to which Cressida readily agreed upon.

However Mary acquired the copy of the book, she never told Cressida. Like many of the clubs' secret, Mary was mum about it.

Surely, her friend could keep this one secret, too.

She opened her eyes and found Mary patiently waiting for her to speak. "I believe I should start by saying I'm leaving the Town. Forever."

It took Mary a while to hear her words. And it took Cressida longer to convince her friend that she was not jesting.

"Are you certain?" Mary asked, face gentle after her initial shock.

"Yes. Definitely so. Easton is going to help me but please do not ask me how for it would mean exposing his secrets and I do not want to do that."

Mary stayed quiet for a very long time before she asked again, "Is marrying each other truly that awful for the both of you? Many people learn to love their other half during marriage."

"You know that's not what I want. And he has no intention of keeping a wife at all. I want to be up there, Mary, so please do not stop me. I do not belong here."

She held her breath as Mary just stared at her. Finally, her friend sighed. "Not as much as I."

"But you have your novels, your amazing adventures in the clubs, your other friends in your father's country estates. You have your writing. And you do not have to live among the high society. You're not required to while I have to suffer them for the rest of my life if I stay here."

Mary frowned. "I hope I did not give you that book. Mayhap it had given you false beliefs about things that may not actually exist!"

"The World Above is by far the best book I've read. And I believe it speaks the truth."

Her friend gently shook her head. "I truly pray you know what you're doing. You could put yourself in grave danger. And so is Lord Easton! Oh, Cressy, you do not know what the Town can do and I mean the Leaders and the Guards! Trust me, Cressy, what you're risking may not be worth the consequences."

"My adventure is out there, Mary. I just know it."

Her friend stared at her for a long time. Cressida felt restless, fully aware of Mary's calculative mind.

She was apprehensive of Mary's reaction, but her friend's reply surprised her. "I'll miss you terribly, Cressy."

The acceptance from Mary's part was perhaps the nudge Cressida needed to actually realize the extent of what she was about to do—of the things she was willing to sacrifice for her grand adventure. Was it worth it to leave all these behind? Her mother, her father and Mary? Her wealth? The comfort that came along with it? The servants who did her bidding? She would not have them up there.

"Are you afraid?" Mary asked.

Cressida felt a shiver run up her spine and she nodded. "Yes."

Mary moistened her lips and sighed. "But not enough not to go."

Her tears finally escaped her then. "Not enough not to try."

They spilled more tears after that. Mary said nothing further, although Cressy knew that if her friend had her way, she would strap Cressida to her side to keep her in the Town, because Mary had always believed her to be too impetuous.

Wrapped in Mary's tight and warm embrace, she heard her friend say, "Live a full life up there, Cressy. And know that you will always have a friend down here. Constantly and forever."

*****

Cressida was sitting in the parlor, deep in thought. Tears pooled her eyes as she remembered her friend's words and she was wiping them off when the door opened and Calan came in.

"What are you doing here?" she asked with a frown.

"Why are you crying?"

"I'm not. Something caught in my eyes," she lied. "Who let you in?"

"Your footman." He walked to where she was sitting and sat down beside her.

"I do not have a chaperone. Meredith is away on an errand and—"

"I see that. But I am to be your husband in a few days. You really do not need one." He turned to her with a curious look while she did the same. His black hair was neatly brushed up, his face lighter and his blue eyes clearer. Was it just her, or had the lighting inside the parlor improved? Because Calan looked oddly fresher than she last saw him. "Were you crying because you're leaving?"

"Hush!" she said with panic in her eyes, looking over to the door he closed when he entered. "My mother is home!"

"Your mother was just leaving when I came through the door."

"She would not have allowed you here if that were true."

He shrugged. "It's true. She expressed her nonchalance to propriety when I told her the reason for my visit."

"Which is?"

"I'll get to that later."

Cressida frowned. "Is there something else you wish to discuss?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." He shifted in his seat to angle his body to face her. "What do you intend to do the moment you get up there? What shall be your source of income? How do you plan to address your basic needs?"

With a frown, she asked, "Why do you care, my lord?"

A flicker of annoyance crossed his eyes. "Because I'm a gentleman and I wish to be assured that you have plans."

"I'm capable of a lot of things, my lord. You need not fret."

"Do not tell me you haven't spared a moment on these things, Cressida. Or is it just true love that you wish to look for?" Her eyes rounded at the bite of mockery in his tone. "Because, my lady, that will not be enough. Your grumbling stomach will prove that fast enough."

"I know it will not be easy to find it, and I know I will need to deal with other things upon my arrival. And I know you're mocking me this very moment."

"Then tell me, my lady—" he sardonically said, leaning closer, "—what kind of love do you expect to find out there?

Cressida was riled up. He was mocking her again. He must think she was a fool to even desire to find love. "One that is true?"

"True?"

"One that does not involve a fancy white carriage and a prince. That sort of true. One that is real. And one without judgment."

He slowly nodded and leaned back. She scooted away from him. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"Your questions are making me uncomfortable, so kindly cease whatever you're doing. What I do up there is entirely my own business."

"Supposing you find a man and fall in love with him, do you suppose you will know what to do?" he asked as though she had not spoken at all. His voice was also getting stern, almost angry. Like how her father's voice sounded whenever he felt she was acting proud for the sake of pride, when in fact, she was simply ignorant and naïve.

"I will let my instincts lead me." Cressida turned her attention to the window. "Mother should not have left us alone this long. Where did you say she went?"

"Your instincts may be enough, but experience may be required," Calan continued, his eyes still on her.

He was provoking her. What is the matter with him today?

She rolled her eyes to the side to throw him a darting look, then haughtily looked away. "I am quite equipped with that as well." From the corner of her eyes, she saw him lean over with more interest. Suddenly, she was too aware of him.

Not bloody good.

"Really."

"Yes. Really."

"You mean to say then that you have been kissed before?"

Cressida's eyes widened. How dare he ask such question! "Really, Easton, should we be talking about this at all? I do not believe it's proper."

He gazed at her as if she was the last person he needed to tell him about being proper. "You know, up there, they do not truly care about propriety as much. Or so I heard."

"All for the better then! I shall be feeling quite at home upon arrival!" She threw him another darting look. "And I shall deal with that when I get there."

"Who kissed you?"

His question made her blink in surprise. "Who what?"

Brows arched, he nonchalantly expounded his words. "Who kissed you and gave you the experience?"

"Someone," she said with a wave of her hand. "A few. Why do you even ask?" She looked out the window and glared, as if the bloody glass panes could read her lie.

"Because I believe you should at least know how to properly kiss a man before you set out in search of your true love, my lady."

"You are mocking me again, Easton."

"I am offering you a lesson. Would you like to accept?"

"Lesson? On what? Kissing?" she asked with a scoff. "Do not be a bloody fool."

By now, he was so used to her expletives that he did not even bother to reprimand. "Guessing by your reaction, I have to believe you're lying about having been kissed. That or you do not trust yourself to kiss me."

She let out a scoff and shot to her feet in one fluid motion. She whirled around and glowered down at him. "Fine. If you truly think you are such an excellent teacher, show me. But I tell you, my lord, I have been kissed before and I am afraid you will only disappoint."

He rose to his feet, accepting the challenge. "I'll let you be the judge then."

Suddenly, Cressida realized he was standing too close. But she refused to back down. Proud for the sake of pride, indeed. There was no bloody way she would let him scare her off. But then, maybe she did not step back because she could not. Because his very nearness was pulling her even closer toward him.

He lightly laughed when she tilted her chin, brow arched and light brown eyes staring directly at him in challenge. His hands came up and lightly brushed both sides of her face, sending a tingling feeling straight to the tip of her fingers. Her breath caught in her throat when he leaned his head closer until his nose was almost touching hers, his warm breath a caress against her skin.

His palms finally settled against her face, skin warm and slightly rough, and she swallowed. "A kiss can mean a lot of things, Cressy," he whispered, his upper lip tickling hers as he spoke that Cressida's eyes almost fluttered close. "It's a dance that both parties should take part in and enjoy."

Ever so lightly, he planted his lips against hers. "It can be playful. It can be naughty." The tip of his tongue tasted her lower lip. "And it can be like this," he husked before his mouth suddenly came crushing against hers, pushing her head back into the cradle of his hands, holding her still for his onslaught. His lips were moist, urging hers to take and taste, to offer and match. When she did, when she finally moved her lips against his, she was lost.

She forgot that she was annoyed. As a matter of fact, she forgot to think altogether. There was no room for thoughts...just sensations. And good God, there were thousands of them crawling through her veins, her flesh. His lips were proving to be capable of draining her mind of any reservations, pulling her deeper into a chasm of bliss and uncertainty. Of adventure.

She heard his sharp intake of breath as one hand left her face and his arm wound around her, pressing her closer against him, while his other angled her head to fit his mouth perfectly. Her hands clung on to his coat, the kiss deeper, hungrier. He was too closely pressed against her, yet she wanted him closer. His tongue urged her lips to open and when Cressida parted them, he found her tongue for the dance he promised moments ago. And she was drowning into the abyss, unprepared yet willing.

Unclenching her hands, she let go of his shirt, palms flat on his chest, and before she knew it, one was on his shoulder and the other behind his neck, tousling his hair. Good Lord, the women were right. They were silky soft—no, better.

His hand became restless, running the length of her back, and the other came down from her face to trace the arch of her waist, and finally found her breast.

Before Cressida could react, she heard Calan's deep groan and suddenly she felt alone.

He had stepped back with a curse. Their breaths were heavy, but both refused to meet each other's gaze.

She was floating back to the surface, the chasm now a shallow grave. For that was exactly where she wanted to be at that moment. She wanted to be buried now because she had just been through a burning ritual.

Swallowing, Cressida struggled to find words that could immediately extinguish whatever they had built.

"Now that you know what a man could do to you, I hope you'll learn how to stop when things get too far. Otherwise, you'll be in trouble."

Anything she must have felt during and shortly after the kiss was effectively vanquished by his words. She scoffed, her jaw dropping at the absurdity of his words. "You kissed me first!"

"Intending to provide you a lesson," he added, his deep blue eyes hard on her. Was he angry that the kiss turned out to be...good?

Of course, Cressida had to admit that it was good, despite her lack of reference.

Was that his intent, then? To prove that all other kisses she had in the past were incomparable to his? Or did he want to show her something she had been missing?

"And it's only safe to assume that you're easily carried away." He walked to the window as he spoke. "Any man up there can offer you the same, even better, of the sample I just gave you, Cressida. But not all of them can be trusted. Not all of them can match the kind of devotion you'll be looking for." He turned to face her, his face hard with intent. His gaze told her to listen and take his words to heart. "Up there, you will no longer be a lady with a title. No one will care about that. You best to be careful with what you give them unless you're quite certain they can give it back with equal measure."

He was serious. And he was looking at her as if he was worried.

But why would he care? She stuck her chin out and met his gaze. "I'll keep that in mind, my lord. After all, you tried your best to provide an example when we both clearly know you did not want to." She arched her brow in challenge. "Or was it your true intention? To seduce me? Whatever for? You're not having a change of heart, are you, my lord?"

He opened his mouth but he did not say a word. He simply stared at her, his gaze telling her she was insane.

Wryly, he reached inside his black coat. Withdrawing his hand, he revealed a small velvet box. "I almost forgot. This is for you."

She frowned, aware of what it was. "You need not bother with—"

"We may not be married for long, but we still have a wedding to attend. And it's entirely, if not really, rare nowadays for a bride to not have a ring on her finger." He did not even open the box, just handed it to her.

Although she wanted to see the ring, she dared not open it. "Is it an Everard?" she asked.

"Of course," he mockingly replied. "Only the best for my future wife."

She just nodded and said, "I will give it back to you before I go. An Everard jewelry does not come cheap, after all."

He was shaking his head before she even finished. "I have no use for it. You can bring it with you. I care not what you do with it." He started for the door. "I have to go. The next we meet is on our wedding."

And he was gone.

Cressida sighed and opened the box.

Indeed, a gold band adorned with small Everard diamonds. Simple, elegant, and expensive.

Nothing like her.