CHAPTER 74: CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR

"Thief!" Marissa shouted, her voice a sharp, sudden scream of pure, unthinking outrage.

The thief was running, disappearing into the midday crowd, clutching her reticule.

"Catch that thief! Stop him!" she screamed, her voice high with desperation.

She ran. She gathered her heavy lskirts and ran, pursuing the thief, her own heart hammering in her chest.

The thief, with panicked eyes, was fast. He ducked and weaved through the shocked, angry crowd, knocking aside a merchant’s fruit cart, sending apples and oranges rolling across the cobblestones.

"Stop him! Thief!" Marissa shouted, her breath burning in her lungs, her heavy, noble-woman’s clothes a terrible, tangling burden.

The thief, looking back over his shoulder at her, wasn’t watching where he was going. He rounded a corner at a full, desperate sprint and collided, hard, with a woman who was walking calmly, as if out for a simple stroll.

The impact was brutal. The thief, small and light, was sent sprawling onto the ground. The woman, though she stumbled back a step, remained on her feet. And the reticule, the small silk purse, was knocked from the thief’s grasp, flying through the air and landing on the stones between them.

A cry went up from the passersby, who now saw the thief on the ground and the purse lying free. "Stop! It’s a thief! Grab him!"

The thief saw the crowd begin to turn, to converge on him. He saw Marissa, her face a mask of cold fury, bearing down on him. He saw her reticule lying on the ground. He made his choice. He scrambled to his feet, abandoning his prize, and bolted, diving into a narrow, dark alley, disappearing like a rat into a hole.

Marissa stopped, her chest heaving, her side on fire. She stared at the alley where he had vanished. He was gone. But her reticule...

She stumbled forward and snatched it up from the ground. Her fingers, trembling with adrenaline, tore at the drawstrings. She plunged her hand inside. The coins... and there, at the bottom, cool, smooth, and solid... the token. It was still there.

A wave of relief so profound it almost made her knees buckle washed over her. She had her authority. She was safe.

And then, she remembered. The book.

Her blood ran cold again. She spun around, her eyes scanning the dirty street where she had been standing, where she had dropped it. It was gone.

"No," she whispered, her heart sinking like a stone. All that, for nothing. I lost it. I lost the evidence.

"This belongs to you too, right?"

The voice was soft, calm, and musical. Marissa turned. The woman the thief had collided with, the woman who had, in her own way, saved the day, was standing there. She was dressed in a simple but very elegant, modest, green gown, her dark hair pinned up perfectly.

And in her hand, held out as if it were a simple, lost glove, was the small, black, leather-bound ledger.

Marissa stared at it, her mind unable to process the second, impossible wave of relief. She had been so focused on the thief, on the reticule, that she had forgotten this woman.

"Yes," Marissa breathed, her voice a rough, shaky whisper. "Yes, it’s mine. Thank you. Thank you so much." She took the book from the woman’s outstretched hand, her fingers closing around it as if it were life itself.

The woman smiled, a slow, gentle, and deeply kind smile. She curtsied. "You are the Grand Duchess, right?" she asked, her voice soft.

Marissa, still trying to catch her breath, nodded. "Yes, I am. Thank you, once again. You... you truly helped me. I am in your debt."

The woman’s smile widened, and her eyes, which were a deep, captivating shade of amber, seemed to fill with a sudden, real emotion. "No, Your Grace," she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "It is I who am in your debt."

She curtsied again, lower this time. "I am Senna. Senna Hutton." She saw the flicker of recognition in Marissa’s eyes and nodded. "If not for Your Grace’s help, for your antidote, I would have been dead already. My life, such as it is, is yours."

Marissa stared. This... this was Senna. This was Derek’s mistress. The woman whose life she had traded for her wedding. She was not what Marissa had expected. In the dim, chaotic light of the courtyard that day, she had looked like a broken, gaudy performer. Here, in the sunlight, she was beautiful, yes, but more than that, she seemed... delicate. Refined.

"No wonder you looked familiar," Marissa said, her mind racing. Ashlyn was a snake. Carlos was a brute. And this woman... this woman was a new, unknown, and very complicated piece on the board. "So you are Lady Senna."

Senna smiled, a small, almost shy expression. She gestured down the street, to a large, elegant, and surprisingly tasteful building with a sign carved in the shape of a beautiful, golden bird. It was by far the cleanest, most expensive-looking building on the entire street.

"That is my establishment," Senna said. "The Golden Swan." She looked at Marissa, her gaze direct and full of a sincere, heartfelt gratitude. "The street is not safe, as you have just seen. Would you grace us with your presence, Your Grace? Please, let me offer you a cup of tea. It is the least I can do. I... I want to thank you, properly, for saving my life."

Marissa looked at her. Her every instinct, honed by a lifetime of betrayal, screamed: TRAP. This is a trap. This is too perfect. The "accidental" collision, the "saved" ledger, the "chance" meeting. It was all too neat. It felt, in a strange, unsettling way, just like one of Ashlyn’s plots.

But then she looked at Senna’s eyes. They were not cold and calculating, like Ashlyn’s. They were warm, open, and... grateful. And this was an opportunity. This was Derek’s most closely guarded secret, the woman he had risked his own wedding for. To have this woman in her debt, to see her, to understand her... that was a weapon far more powerful than any ledger.

Marissa’s face, which had been tight with suspicion, relaxed into a small, polite smile. She gave a single, slow, deliberate nod.

"Mmm," she said.

Senna’s face lit up with what looked like pure joy. "This way, Your Grace," she said, gesturing with her hand. "It is not far. You will be safe there."

Marissa pulled her cloak tight. She had the token. She had the ledger. And now, she was walking, willingly, into the private sanctuary of her husband’s mistress.

In a dark, filthy alley, just around the corner, the rat-faced thief was breathing hard, but he was smiling. He was counting a small, heavy pouch of gold coins that had just been placed in his hand.

Senna’s personal maid, the same one who had served her in the private room, stood before him, her face impassive.

"It is done," the thief said, his voice a low, rough growl. "Just as she said. I grabbed the purse, ran, collided with her, dropped it, and ran again. A perfect show."

"You did well," the maid said, her voice as cold and flat as a stone. "You have your money. Now, get out of the city. If you are ever seen here again, if you ever speak one word of this to anyone, your ’bad luck’ will not be as simple as a collision in the street. You will be found at the bottom of the river. Do you understand?"

The thief’s smile vanished. He nodded quickly, his eyes wide with a new, very real fear. He paled, clutched his gold, and disappeared into the shadows, a ghost that had never existed.