“You know my backpack is on the ground outside, I have a bottle of water inside. Do you suppose…?”
Her guide took no more prompting to retrieve the backpack and have it resting in her lap a minute later.
“You want one?” Laney asked, pulling the Evian from inside.
“I have my own,” the fisherman said, patting his canteen.
The water tasted cool and refreshing. The afternoon heat seemed to be building, and at that moment, there was little breeze to cool the air. In fact, the air around her seemed as stifling as the erotic energy, which grew more potent the longer she stayed. Maybe it was memories pressing down from every angle, every view of the old house. And her own aching and unmet need; it seemed like years not months since she had any sexual satisfaction. Now, inside this place of dreams and fantasy and her brutal awakening to the seamier side of sex, the screams and the laughter of those torrid days were all around her once again, as if they’d remained locked inside this space and would continue to reverberate off the walls until the walls finally vanished.
If she could only have a moment alone.
But the fisherman was kneeling at her feet, inspecting her throbbing foot with warm and powerful hands.
He twisted the ankle.
“Ouch!”
“Hurt?”
“Yes, it hurts.”
“Sorry.” He tried again, moving the joint very slowly. “Just want to make sure it’s not broken.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s just a little strained.”
“But we’d better stay here a while and let it rest. That’s a nasty hike back to the boat with a bum ankle. I’m not sure I’m up to carrying a grown woman out of here.”
“I’m so sorry. I feel like such a klutz.”
He shrugged, smiling, then backed off.
“You think you’re okay here?” he asked. “I’m going to go back to the boat. There are some sandwiches and fruit in my cooler. I’m getting hungry.”
“I hate to be so much trouble.”
“Well, you did pay me five-hundred bucks. Might as well get your money’s worth. You sit tight, don’t move. We’ll put your leg up.” He dragged over a footstool and rested her leg on top. “I think I might have an ice-pack in the boat. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.” Alex Greenwood moved out quickly, leaving Laney the alone time she so desired.
Laney put her head back and rested, trying to quell her agitation. She remembered her mission—information about the Marquis. She had nothing so far, and if she left now the trip would have been a complete waste.
Finally opening her eyes, Laney looked about. It was one bit of luck to have been left in the library. With a lawyer’s keen eye for detail, she gazed around the room, her eyes searching for something. Although she had little hope of finding what she wanted, she had to try. She had only twenty minutes to herself—and had probably wasted the first five, so despite the bum ankle, she pulled herself up by her arms, and began to hop about on one foot, looking through the books that were strewn across the floor. With its appalling message emblazoned forever on her psyche, she’d recognize the thin black leather book in a heartbeat. As she searched, she kept looking out the library window where she had a full view of the path that led to the beach, and would see her guide on his return. She finally reached the far bookcase, where there were still a number of volumes sitting upright. Many were leather bound and cumbersome Encyclopedias from 1963, quite unlike the Marquis’ small missal. She pulled each aside and felt behind it, looking for something hidden there. She searched one shelf, then a second. She had to stretch a bit to reach, but suddenly her heart leapt with excitement as her hand reached back behind two heavy books and found something—definitely a hidden book. She tugged and finally stumbled back, wincing as she stepped on her bum ankle. But she was gladdened by her find.
This was not the black volume she hoped for, but her heart practically stopped the instant she read the title of the slim, burgundy leather book, Property of the Marquis.
Her heart began to beat rapidly.
Her eyes strayed to the bracelets on her wrists and the platinum one that was deliberately hidden by half a dozen bangles. The inscription: Property of the Marquis, exactly as it appeared on the book she held.
A moment later, she heard the sound of the fisherman whistling. One glance out the window and she saw him walking rapidly toward the house. She came down on her ankle again, as she started back toward the chair. “Yeeeouch!” she grimaced. She hopped the rest of the way with the book in hand and shoved it into her backpack. Then, after gently propping her foot on the stool, she took a deep breath. She looked up when she heard Alex’s footsteps coming into the house. Her eyes suddenly fixed on the bookcase from across the room, seeing the volumes of the Encyclopedia now in disarray. Would the fisherman notice? she wondered guiltily.
She felt dreadfully chagrined. But was a little innocent search so bad? A little curiosity? Of course not. Laney wasn’t one to lie or steal or manufacture schemes to hide her intentions, now in one day, she’d done all that. And with her mysterious prize now stuffed into her backpack, she felt like a naughty child with a stolen cookie.
“You been good?” the fisherman entered the room, like he actually knew what she had done, although there was a big smile across his face. Forgetting the question, he set his knapsack on the floor and pulled out an ice pack that he carefully positioned on Laney’s ankle.
“Did I get the sore spot?”
“Yes, yes, that’s great. Thanks.” She could already feel the cold starting to numb the ache.
Then Alex pulled out two sandwiches, handed her one, then sat in a chair opposite hers to eat. Laney smiled. Nothing like food to quell ones nerves. She opened the baggie finding a delicious looking turkey sandwich on rye, with Swiss cheese, pickles, the works. The man certainly had good taste.
“Thanks, this looks a lot better than my granola bar.”
“I always travel prepared. A fisherman never knows what’s going to happen when he’s on his boat.”
They ate in silence, Laney’s concern over the stolen book all but forgotten, although her curiosity about the man turned into a simple question.
“So, how did you happen to be the caretaker of the island?”
“Well, that’s kind of mistaking my role. There is no caretaker anymore, not since Devane died.”
“I thought he owned the island,” she said.
“No.” He shook his head. “The owner is some guy who lives in Europe most of the time. I check the place about once a month, maybe more if I’m by here. But no one uses the place anymore except for the vandals, as you can see. This building hasn’t been safe for some time.” He looked up toward the ceiling as if he expected it to fall down any minute.
“So, have you been doing this long?”
“Just after old Archie died a couple years back I got a call. It puts some extra money in my pocket now and then. Although I kind of like the old place. Sometimes I sleep here when I need a place off the water and it’s too far back to port. But that’s not very often.”
“So, you must have known ‘old Archie,” Laney said.
Alex shrugged. “Not well. He’d come into port for food when he needed it, and we might pass the time of day, but that’s about it. You sound like you knew the man.”
“He was here when my friends and I were stranded here. He was very kind. Made it clear that we could use the house. He even helped get our boat back up and running.”
Nothing that the fisherman said gave Laney any further clue to his association with Archibald Devane or the Marquis. Maybe he was telling all there was to tell, although he could have been deliberately obscure. Whichever was the truth, she was nervous in his company, and thought perhaps that it was time to head out. As much as she wanted to find the Book of Pleasure, she couldn’t see an opportunity to further her search.
They’d finished their sandwiches and Alex ate an apple. Laney declined one for herself.
“So,” she said,
breaking the awkward silence, “maybe it’s time I tried this ankle. What do you think?” She started to rise from her chair.
“Give it a go,” he said, then he sat back and watched her gingerly move toward the bookcases.
Laney’s plan was a good ruse to give the bookcases a second look without being obvious, and she deliberately took her time. However, with the fisherman’s eyes on her, she worried that every move only incriminated her more completely.
“How’s it feel?” he finally asked.
“Pretty good,” she turned back smiling.
“You still thinking this would be a good place for your fashion shoot?” he asked.
“Maybe. When I get back, I’ll have to look at the pictures and see what I have before I can make a decision. But you’d be surprised how these old walls will photograph. It’s a special kind of ambience,” she gazed around appreciatively.
“I really wouldn’t know; it just seems like an old house to me.”
Laney continued her walk around the library, testing her foot, while casually browsing the shelves. She stopped suddenly, having spotted a book that urged a close look. Letting her idle curiosity lead, she moved a little closer to her find and absently ran her hand along several volumes. She picked up a couple, browsed through them and put them back, then in the same manner, she picked up the black leather-bound book that was the object of her interest. Her whole body shuddered, fear and trepidation settling in her gut, as if she felt an energy emanating from the book itself. Her excitement swelled. She turned the book over, feeling her heart beat a little faster, then she opened the cover, seeing the name she hoped to find. She tried hard not to let her exhilaration show as she read those familiar words. Meanwhile, the fisherman watched her closely, waiting for her to speak, his silence almost challenging her to report what she had found. But after thumbing through a few pages, Laney put the book back on the shelf, regretting that she hadn’t seen it earlier when she’d taken the diary.
“Anything interesting?” Alex asked.
Though still quaking from her discovery, Laney turned, remaining poised, “You wonder why these books have been left here. They might actually be valuable.”
“Well, in fact, they were due to be boxed up and shipped out.”
“Really? Something you’re going to do?”
“Nope, not me. But no one’s showed up so far.”
Still hiding her present distress, she smiled and carefully moved on. As she moved away from the Marquis’ book, she could feel the power of it tugging her back, wanting her, begging her to take it. If only the fisherman would leave the room again so she could be alone. If only. She’d stuff it alongside the other and pray that no one would ever know.
The room seemed to warm now; there was no breeze and Laney’s breathing felt ragged and edgy. Her nerves overwrought. Her skin clammy with sweat. She wanted to escape the heat and the suffocating feeling that closed in all around her, but she couldn’t leave. She needed to stay—stay with the book, her book, her prize. It belonged to her, her mind insanely rattled on.
But there was the fisherman, with his eyes still fixated on her—he probably couldn’t care less if she took the book, but she didn’t dare ask. She was too afraid. He might ask questions she would be afraid to answer, uncover her lie, climb even deeper inside her than he already was. She was practically convinced that he knew something more about the island than he’d shared so far.
Laney gazed back at him, smiling chagrinned and self-conscious. So restless and so scared, she knew it was time to get away from this damning place. It knew her secrets, her lies, the trickery so out of character for a woman whose life had always been about uncovering truth. She couldn’t stay here any longer and maintain the façade. Like the walls of the crumbling house, her front was falling into disarray. The fisherman’s eyes kept seeking her out as if they knew the truth and were just waiting for her confession. He wouldn’t leave her alone. She suddenly turned back to face him, and was about to suggest they leave, but before she could speak, she saw his eyes light on her left hand.
“That’s an interesting bracelet you’re wearing, Ms. Priestly,” he said.
Laney bristled. The blood froze inside her veins and she stood motionless for several seconds.
“You mean…” Her hand finally went to the platinum band, covering it, as she felt its heat make her entire body throb.
“Yeah, that one,” he said. “I assume you know what it means.”
Although they were still a good ten feet apart, she could feel a powerful force radiating from his body. She cocked her head as if she didn’t quite understand what he wanted.
“Am I wrong, or doesn’t that bracelet belong to the Marquis?”
She didn’t know what to say.
“There’s an inscription right on the edge?” he went on.
“Yes, there is an inscription.”
“That’s what I thought. If I recall correctly, there are certain rules about that kind of bracelet that the woman who wears it is required to follow.”
He didn’t seem like a fisherman anymore. His voice had deepened, and his demeanor had altered, if ever so slightly. He’d climbed out from behind the ‘humble fisherman’ façade he’d worn all day. This was real, not her imagination. The terrible throbbing between her legs that began the moment she set foot on her guide’s boat, which had increased as she stepped on the island, swelled now, so that she was practically panting. Her sexual need rose up so strong that it practically slapped her in the face. Dammit! This was not the time to be horny!
“Yes,” she said quietly, “I’m aware of those rules, but it’s really not something …”
Before she could finish, he went on, “So, I’m guessing that you’re not here about a fashion photo shoot at all, are you?”
The color rose on her cheeks, “No, no, I’m not. You have me there.” She tried to smile. “I’m not a fashion photographer…anymore than it appears you are the ignorant fisherman.”
He sneered. “Ignorant, no, but I am a fisherman—it’s been my livelihood for some time. That doesn’t mean that I don’t know about what goes on in this house. I can guess what might have happened while you were here and why you have returned. And the bracelet? I know how dangerous it could be for you to be found wearing it in the presence of those who have knowledge of what it symbolizes.”
“You’ve known this since we started out today?”
“I knew yesterday when you hired me. I recognized it right off.” He grinned. “So, maybe you should tell me the real reason why you’re here.”
“Are you a member of the Marquis circle?” she asked.
“You answer my questions first. Why are you here?”
It made sense to drop the act and tell the truth, but she still felt reluctant, as if he had no right to know about her private life. But what did it matter now that he recognized the bracelet? Of course, the bracelet would give her away. She trembled nervously as she explained, “My husband and four of our friends were stranded here three years ago. While we were here, we became acquainted with Mr. Devane and the purpose of the island…as…as a sort of kinky sexual resort.” She blushed briefly and continued. “It felt a little strange at first, but after getting used to the idea, we found ourselves enjoying the freedom the island offered us to explore what we might not have had the opportunity to in our regular lives. When we returned home, my husband was in contact with the Marquis—how he found him, I have no idea. Then some time later, about a year ago, he was given the bracelet to present to me. I know very little about how all this took place; the mystery was intended to seduce me, which it obviously did. Unfortunately, a few months later, Erik died in a plane crash and we were unable to let the reality of what we’d done play out.”
“I’m so sorry about your husband.”
“Yes, well…thank you.”
“But you still wear the bracelet.”
“I do. I haven’t been able to remove it—oh, I suppose I could have it cut off, but I don�
��t want to, not yet.”
“Why’s that?”
“It means something to me…”
He shook his head questioningly. “I don’t get it. If it means something to you, what about the rules associated with wearing the bracelet…or have you forgotten them?”
“I know the rules,” she came right back defensively. “Erik outlined the demands that wearing this bracelet required of me, and I agreed to them. They changed my entire attitude. But there was so much I never had a chance to experience. Erik died before I could be properly initiated—I don’t even know what initiated means. Now I’m left with the bracelet weighing me down like an albatross, and I’m clueless where to turn for answers. That is why I came here. Answers.” By the time she finished, she was glad for every word she’d said. It cleared the air between them. If she’d been paying attention at all, she would have known that Alex had questioned her motives since the trek began. He had never believed her reason for chartering the boat, but she’d been spending so much time putting on the show that she hadn’t noticed.
“So, do you have the answers you want?” he asked.
“No. None,” she had to admit. “I expected to speak with Archibald Devane, but that’s obviously impossible with him dead. Short of you being as knowledgeable about this bracelet as he would have been, this has been a waste of my time.”
“I know a few things about that bracelet, Ms. Priestly. Certainly not as much as Devane could have shared with you. I know that the women who wear the bracelet are supposed to wear skirts, no panties, so they are easily accessible—available for sex whenever a master wants to use them.” He stared at her shorts almost accusingly. “So, what happened to the rules?”
Her lies had put the pair in different positions now. The man suddenly seemed as obscure and demanding as the sexual masters she’d known on the island. Something authoritative in his behavior, which hadn’t been obvious before, reminded her of Erik in his most dominant moments. Her arousal had hardly abated, her pussy throbbed with urgent longing, and the aroma of her arousal rose up as a fresh reminder of what this trip was really about. The island, the house, the bracelet and its demands—was about sex and sexual savagery, darkness and debauchery. And now, suddenly, she realized that Alex Greenwood wasn’t just a fisherman; a man for hire for an afternoon. He was a vitally sexual being. Is sex what he wanted, what he expected of her now, what he had planned all along? It was a chilling but not unwelcome thought.
The Marquis' Book of Pleasure & Property of the Marquis Page 19