by Ana Calin
A mighty awkward while later the man who went away returns with a simple dark-red strap dress, which the Marquis takes from him, then dismisses the entire team. I hear them whisper and murmur at the end of the aisle while I get dressed, the Marquis watching me from the gate of the cell.
His white hand covers mine possessively as I hook it around his elbow—at his invitation. Some of his men look puzzled when they see us, one of them raising a questioning eyebrow, as if he’s never expected such display despite our engagement. I recognize him as Stone Mask, one of the Marquis’s personal bodyguards.
I still wonder why he needs security. It’s not like anyone in Northville stands a chance against him, and I doubt even Jeremy with his steroid-pumped muscles would really pose a challenge. Then I think of Ivan Basarab, the Slayer. But then again, Basarab doesn’t dare take on the Marquis head-on either.
We walk up the stairs back to the ground floor, and soon we’re in front of the ballroom. The Marquis makes a show of our entrance, the pool of men in black suits behind us, our slow walk through the crowd attracting stares and whispers. My locks are now dishevelled, and my make-up surely patched and smeared, which makes me want to crawl away from sight, but the Marquis presents me like the trophy most worthy of having. Or maybe he’s humiliating me on purpose.
Jeremy looks hard at us from a distance, his eyes furious, his overdone muscles clearly tense under his suit. I glance at the Marquis and notice the two have locked glares. I realize Jeremy has been hidden in the dungeons, heard and maybe even saw what happened between the Marquis and me. The defiant grin on the Marquis’s face confirms, and I wish the earth would split and swallow me.
Nevertheless, what the Marquis does as he becomes ever more aware of my embarrassment is take me on a slow round of small talk with respectable families, one possessive hand on the small of my back, and pressing his cheek to mine often. He displays his supposed affection, while men measure me from head to toes, and women look daggers at me. Some people even prove unable to refrain from remarks such as, “Yours sure is a fiery love story,” –accompanied by lecherous ogling when they think the Marquis and I aren’t looking—or, “Now, here’s a couple that can’t keep their hands off each other.”
I don’t believe there’s anyone at the engagement ball that can’t tell the Marquis and I have unleashed our passion recently, and probably they also picture us ravishing each other in some hidden corner behind heavy velvet curtains. Luckily for me, the Marquis soon decides he’s shown off enough and ends my mandatory attendance.
“This was necessary,” he says through his teeth as we head to the exit, “because they saw you follow Simmons out earlier, which made me look bad. Real bad. But the show just now should have set matters straight.”
He leads me up the spiralling stairs to my chamber in the tower, and my heart drums wondering if he’ll take me again. Hoping he will.
The heavy black door that resembles the door to a medieval jail opens into the tower chamber with its few amenities. I walk in, but the Marquis doesn’t follow me inside. When I realize this, I turn to see him standing in the door, hand on the knob, looking at me as if he wants to eat me alive. We stare at each other for moments until he resolves to speak.
“Change of plans,” he says. “You’re no longer required to do . . . any of the things you were required to do before.”
Hope sparks in my chest. “You’ll no longer use me in your revenge?”
“I will. But in a different way.”
“Does this mean the engagement is off?” I whisper carefully.
He grins bitterly. “Wouldn’t you like that? But I’m afraid the engagement is still on.” An uncertain pause. “I still need it.”
“For what?”
“You’ll see. Meanwhile, I won’t hear of you being alone with a man again, or I’ll have him skinned and roasted like a rabbit.” He stares hard at me to make his point. I catch roots in the ground.
“And you will not leave this place unencumbered,” he concludes. “Anything you need, Zed and his boys are at your disposal.” He motions at Stone Mask just behind him, and for a moment there I’m actually glad the Marquis has finally attached a name to the expressionless, steely-eyed face. I don’t know what to say, my heart beating like a rock in my chest, but soon after the heavy door falls shut my brain springs to life with a shot of despair—How am I supposed to meet Jeremy tomorrow?
CHAPTER XIII
DANGEROUS PLANS
“Zed and the boys” keep lurking outside the door to my chamber. After at least twelve hours locked in the tower I recognize each of them by the way they stomp the landing. They must be around five.
By noon I’m chewing on my fingernails, desperate for a way to get out and meet Jeremy. I sit on the end of the bed under the ragged canopy, patting my foot on a loose floor tile and fraying my own nerves. They say Necessity is the best teacher, so a minute before the clock on the wall strikes twelve, a solution lights up in my head.
I hurry to the wardrobe, throw the doors open and pick an outfit worthy of a lady—two-piece suit with fitted jacket and pencil skirt, creamy white. There’s hardly anything casual in there, and I suspect the choice of clothes is customized to suit my future husband’s tastes. My future husband. My heart flares at the thought.
The outfit enhances the difference between my waist and my hips. The skirt combined with stilettos make my legs seem long, and the golden bun I’ve learned from Mum to pull off fast makes me look even taller, but after I bang on the door and Zed answers I lose the illusion of being a grand presence. Zed is as tall as the Marquis, which places his face half a head above mine despite my stilettos. The steel look in his eyes is making me shift from one leg to the other and look for my words in my purse.
“Umm. Kieran said I should tell you if there was anything I needed. I need to see him.”
I’m still pretending to rummage inside the designer purse hanging from my forearm when I hear Zed speak for the first time.
“That name. You shouldn’t say it.” His voice is deep, no inflections. I look up at him, but keep my eyes on his cheek, not the steel bullets his irises seem to be.
“Why not?”
“Here he’s known as the Marquis de Vandenesse. And it should stay that way.”
“I’m not the only one who knows his name.”
“You’re the only one I hear use it.”
I nod at Zed and look down. “Very well then. Please take me to him.”
I expect more resistance, so I’m surprised when Zed doesn’t pose any. He removes himself from my way, motioning for me to walk ahead of him. His men, at their turn, walk before me without needing to be told, guiding me down the narrow spiral stairs that have yet to be cleared of cobweb. This place had once been Catherine Lancaster’s home, it’s older than the Queen’s jewels, and its walls seem to be crawling with insects and mould. I shudder in relief when we finally reach the ground floor and emerge into the wide reception hall.
The men keep around me, marching down the corridors and halls like a squad escorting a VIP, which annoys me more with each step. Truly “encumbering,” like the Marquis had put it, suffocating, since not for one second can I forget myself and act normal. I take Virgin Vivienne’s royal attitude, doing everything I can to create at least an illusion of dignity after they saw me hanging from chains in the dungeons, subject to the Marquis’s lust. I keep my back straighter than ever, my chin up.
But after one of the men knocks on the heavy double doors to the Marquis’s study, receives answer and pushes them open, I discover my fiancé in conversation with Pretty Lauren. I can’t control myself. Fury must show in my face.
“Well, well, well,” I say and stalk to them in an aggressive catwalk prance. “Isn’t this an interesting visit?”
I stop by the Marquis, looking straight into his black eyes that make my legs feel weak. Still, the anger gives me a weird kind of nerve. I curl an arm around his lower back, the fabric of his suit caressing my palm as I brush
over it, and raise my chin to invite him for a kiss. This can end badly, very badly, I realize. He doesn’t look like he intends to lower his handsome face and kiss me, which would make me look like an idiot to Lauren, but after a few seconds’ hesitation I realize it was just the stun. His lips press warm and soft on mine, making a buzz start in my lower belly, his bittersweet scent acting on me like a drug.
Dizzy and nervous, I peel my lips off his, staring up into his hypnotic eyes, hoping to read his feelings in them and forgetting why I just did what I did. Lauren clears her throat, thus reminding me of her presence and my reasons.
With narrowed eyes, I look at her sitting with her legs crossed and arms on the chair arms. She gives me a misty green glare, her make-up flawless, the dark red dress that matches her hair too short. A pair of high-heeled designer shoes seem to dangle from her white feet. Her skinny legs are naked to mid-thigh, her silk dress draped over her pointy-boned hips. She’s always been skinny but sexy, and jealousy would probably eat me alive for finding her with the Marquis if it weren’t busy eating at Lauren. The jealousy in her pretty greenish eyes is the exact kind of balm I need right now. I give her a satisfied smile.
“And to what do we owe the pleasure?” I inquire sweetly, nestling my cheek at my fiancé’s chest. My fiancé. The idea and the feel of him make my heart flutter.
“Miss Lauren was just telling me about a property her father has for sale,” the Marquis answers in her place, his voice a ripple of chocolate to my senses. My lids feel a bit heavy, and I realize he’s unleashing his opium-like powers on me, but I make every effort to resist.
“Oh, and he sent his daughter to discuss the deal? I didn’t know you were real estate savvy, Lauren.”
The Marquis’s arm winds around my waist. Now we’re standing cradling each other’s lower backs, leaning on his desk. He doesn’t intervene to save Lauren from replying despite her glancing at him repeatedly before doing so, and seems to enjoy my defending his position as my man.
“Nice banquet yesterday, hopefully the wedding turns out just as good.” Lauren stands in one smooth move. She pulls nervously at the rim of her dress as if she’s embarrassed, and grabs her purse form the corner of the desk. For a moment I think she acts like a mistress who’d just been caught by the wife. I remember her envious stares last night, as well as her affair with Jeremy.
“You seem to have a weakness for my fiancés, but not all of them fall for red.” I measure her from head to toes with an attitude.
“Saphira,” the Marquis pulls the brakes, but I try my best not to let it intimidate me. My body wants to keep glued to his hard torso, but my mind tells me to act. I step away from him, if only to prove that I still have a will of my own. I turn to face him.
“I need to go to town,” I say in one breath. He shouldn’t have any reason to refuse, because I came up with a brilliant lie. “I need to see Vivienne for some floral arrangements for the wedding. Zed and his boys can escort me, if you feel more in control that way.” I intend to make the visit to Billy the Notary only a “convenient stop on the way.”
The Marquis must like my accepting the wedding, and even getting involved, since his beautiful marble lips draw in a smile like none I’ve seen on his face before.
“Wonderful then,” he says, and looks at Lauren with a sharpness that contrasts with the warm smile he’s just given me. “Miss Vivienne’s house is exactly where Miss Lauren was going right now, too.”
I freeze. I glance repeatedly from the Marquis to Lauren, and I realize this was a command she knows she has to follow. She is to act as his spy and, unlike the Marquis’s men, she can follow me even to the toilet. Whether she’s bound to him because they’re sleeping together, or because he agreed to buy her father’s property, I don’t know. But I know that jealousy is showing its big ugly snout again, and this time darn close.
CHAPTER XIV
JEALOUSY
Lauren and I descend the manor stairs side by side, each with her chin up and a sour attitude. I feel slightly superior because of my elegant two-piece outfit of a creamy white and the respect-inspiring golden bun that I managed to restrain my hair in, while Lauren looks a hooker in her short red dress and pumps too high for her skinny legs.
By the last step my stomach turns and twists as I think what must be happening in the Marquis’s men’s heads while they flank and tail us like a squad of bodyguards. They must be convinced the Marquis has cheated on me with her. Maybe he has. My heart shrinks with jealousy, but I manage to keep control.
We get into the black car waiting in front of the manor, the fountain with gargoyles that spit water in warmer seasons looming beyond it in the fog. The Marquis is a monster, a murderer, and I must break away from him, I tell myself. I must help Jeremy to bring him down, and free myself from his blackmail and his cruelty. I won’t be swayed by his inebriating power on my senses, or by his charm when I’m “sober”.
A short clapping sound rips me from my thoughts. I look to my side to see Lauren redoing her lipstick in a small round pocket-mirror, and I forget my determination, now replaced by hot jealousy again. I want to jump over our bags that occupy the seat between us, straddle her and tear her reddish hair, but instead I clamp my hands on my lap. My wrists hurt under the gloves that conceal the marks of last night’s cuffs.
“Repairing your mouth after a blow job?” I spit, glaring at Lauren.
“How I’d love to let you believe that.” She puckers her lips in the mirror, then smacks them. She claps the pocket mirror back shut and places it in her bag, in which she rummages as she speaks. “I could let you fret over it for at least a few hours, but I won’t risk the Marquis’s good feelings about me for short-lived satisfaction. He’d tell you the truth when you asked, and that would kill my chances.”
The Marquis’s good feelings. Her chances. I pray my cheeks haven’t turned red.
“You hope to get him between your legs. But I doubt your triumph will last any longer than it did with Jeremy.”
“Who says the triumph with Jeremy didn’t last?” She grins, then lights a long slim cigarette and cracks the window. The draught pulls out most of the smoke, but it still reaches me and stings my eyes. She knows I’m sensitive to it, the bitch. By the time we come to our destination I’ll be looking like a poltergeist with red-rimmed golden eyes.
“Are you still seeing him?” I spit.
“Jealous?”
“Curious.”
She takes a drag of her cigarette, her cheeks hollowing, the skin stretching on her sharp jaw line.
“Curiosity killed the cat,” she says.
“That it did.” I look away through the window. It’s foggy and grey outside. The seeming indifference sets Lauren on fire, as I expected.
“I saw you leaving after Jeremy last night. Vivienne tried to keep your fiancé’s men off your heels, but Zed here—” she throws one curt knock on the black glass that separates us from the driver’s side of the car where Zed and the driver sit— “is hard to fool.”
I bite my lower lip and refrain from responding. I know she wants to know what happened, so I decide to let her boil in her own juice.
“Why would you still want Jeremy, Saphira?” she inquires, annoyed by my silence. “He’s no match for the Marquis in looks or wealth. Is the power of first love that great?” She mocks, but beyond that I know she’s dying to know. I take the opportunity to hurt her, hoping it will cause at least a tenth of the pain she once caused me.
“I don’t give a shit about Jeremy, Lauren, you can have him. Catching him in bed with you installed automatic nausea at the thought of sex with him. I didn’t follow Jeremy out of the hall, I went down to the dungeons. Remember the catacombs you used to play in with the boys back when we were younger? I always wanted to do it in there. Well, the Marquis fulfilled my fantasy last night, he cuffed me to the wall and banged me. He made me come so hard.”
“He’s in love with you, Saphira, there’s no arguing that,” she interrupts and throws me a kill
er glare. The statement falls like a rock on my head.
“I can’t say I didn’t try to seduce him,” she continues. “I think you can tell. But he has the resilience of a man with a fresh crush. Still, infatuation doesn’t last an eternity, Saphira, and when it fades, I’ll be there to take advantage.”
That last sentence is a declaration of war, but I’m so stunned by her words that I can’t speak, and almost miss the turn where I can ask for a stop at Billy the Notary’s. In the last moment, I jerk to the separating black glass and knock hard, my mouth still open and my eyes blinking, trying to gather myself. The glass lowers and Zed’s profile appears, as stony and expressionless as ever, offering me his ear to speak in like in an intercom. I can see the small headphone and the curled transparent wire that links it to whatever security-man gadgets are hidden under his black suit.
“Please stop at Billy the Notary’s. It’s on our route, and I might as well set in motion the formalities for the upcoming change of my name.”
The strategy works. Zed gives a curt nod and motions the driver to pull over. Revelling in the idea that the Marquis might have a crush on me, I forget to expect that Lauren would want to come along, so I’m surprised when she does.
I fall behind and let Lauren lead the way up the creaky stairs to Billy’s office. The building is old and mouldy, but its Victorian charm nonetheless intact. I watch Lauren’s bottom move under her red silk dress, and realize she must be freezing with only a leather jacket over her torso. It’s January, in the end. Girls go to unimaginable lengths to be attractive, but Lauren has always been a sexy cat-girl, so her reasons for acting desperate escape me.
We grew up together. She, Vivienne and I used to be best friends. Jeanie, Jeremy’s little sister, was yet a toddler watching with her small hands and nose pressed to the window while the rest of us played in the yard, and ventured at the cliffs and in the forest beyond the manor with the fields. Catching Lauren in bed with Jeremy two years ago, a month before he and I were supposed to get married, broke me beyond repair. So Lauren’s manifesting more hatred and grudge than me has been a challenge to common sense and to my logic. But now that it becomes clear she’d have a go at any man who shows interest in me makes me wonder if there’s not more to it than plain meanness.