by Geneva Lee
“That’s very thoughtful of you.” The man remained an enigma. He despised the titled class and here he was overseeing the Stuart’s deer population.
“I enjoy the hunt. Too much time spent in chambers, I suppose. Shooting relieves the stress.”
“Even when you come home empty-handed?” I asked.
“I never come home empty-handed, Mr. Price.”
I glanced over at him without response, but his face betrayed nothing. It seemed I should take a closer look at Oliver Jacobson. We stood for a moment, regarding each other, and this time I was certain we were sizing one another up.
“Ready for lunch now?” I asked him. “Or some tea?”
My own hands were chilled to the bone from the cold dryness that had descended over Somerset this morning, but he shook his head.
“I think I’ll get cleaned up,” he said in a quiet voice. “I have blood on my hands after all.”
“Of course.” We didn’t speak again as he climbed into his Land Rover and drove away from Stuart Hall, but one question remained even as he vanished from view.
Just how much blood was on his hands?
Chapter 11
With Smith out hunting on the grounds, I decided against my afternoon ride. There would be a certain poetic fuckery if after everything that had happened, I died in a hunting accident. That left little else for me to do except try to avoid my mother. That was generally possible given the sheer size of the estate, but today I bumped into her at every turn.
At noon, she appeared in the library—a room I’d never seen her step foot in—and announced that Belinda had tea laid out in the kitchen.
It was the friendliest my mother had been to me since our arrival. We’d spent most of our time keeping opposite schedules. Now she was seeking me out to make certain I ate.
“Thank you.” I didn’t entirely succeed at keeping the suspicion out of my voice.
“Not everything is a conspiracy, Annabelle.” She sighed deeply, and for a split second, I saw myself in her, older and more tired, but I was there in the pale blonde hair and gentle blue eyes. “I do care if you eat. You’re looking thin.”
“I haven’t been feeling well,” I admitted.
“The accident?”
Amongst other things, I thought. Did she really expect me to talk about this with her? As a child, Belinda had cared for me when I was ill. She’d been the one who stayed up with me all night when I was sent home from boarding school with the chickenpox. I couldn’t remember my mum bringing me so much as a cup of water. A few thoughtful words weren’t likely to win me over now. “Yes.”
It was the simplest answer. She still didn’t know that there had been no accident, and since the news out of London had failed to mention my name, she hadn’t suspected there was more to the story.
“If you change your mind.” She waved as she disappeared down the corridor.
There was a real possibility that she was on drugs. It was one of the few explanations that made any sense.
All that I cared about was that she was back on schedule. I counted on my mother taking an afternoon nap each day so that I could use the telephone in her private salon. Smith usually holed himself back up in Father’s study, which was mercifully across the house. One of the benefits of growing up here—and there were very few that I could think of—was that I knew exactly where to go to avoid other people.
I didn’t like sneaking around behind his back, but it hardly seemed fair that he was in contact with people in London while I was cut off from my own life. Today he’d made it even easier by going out with Jacobson.
Dropping into her chair, I reached across her antique writing desk for the phone. I felt at home in this room, which was strange considering it belonged to my mum. Of course, since I’d spent much of my life actively deceiving her maybe it just came more naturally to sneak around here.
The first call I made was to Edward, but as was always the case, he didn’t answer. Either he’d yet to figure out the strange number ringing him was me or he’d changed his number. I wasn’t about to risk leaving a message either way. I should have grown accustomed to hearing his voice message, but my heart still fell into my stomach each time. I missed him, and more than ever I needed his particular brand of darkly humorous insight.
Being cooped up with my mother was doing serious damage to my sense of humor.
I considered calling Jane, but I didn’t. She would know the number, and though she probably knew exactly where I had gone, I didn’t want to risk confirming the fact.
But there was one person I could always count on to pick up.
“Lola Bishop,” she chirped as she answered the phone.
“You still don’t recognize this number?” I asked in a dry voice.
“I thought I was supposed to pretend I’d had no contact with you,” she shot back. “See how good I am at it? Even you forget that’s what I’m doing.”
Lola had proven herself as a business partner and a friend, but in the last few weeks she’d come to be the person I could count on. She also had all the information I needed to keep myself from going crazy.
“Bad news? Good news?” she prompted.
“Good news.” I didn’t choose it because I was an optimist. Rather I always got it out of the way, because at the moment even the best news did little to cheer me up. There was just too much going on for me to pretend otherwise.
I listened as she shared the subscription growth rate. Somehow we’d already managed to double our paid subscribers in advance of our first official mailing. Lola had managed to gain a considerable amount of press despite the snub from Trend.
“When will you be back?”
She asked every time. I loved that she still thought I might answer her differently.
“I don’t know. Please tell me there is more good news.”
“Edward set a date,” she informed me. “This spring.”
I sucked in a breath and fought to sound excited when I asked for the exact date. I hadn’t spoken to him in weeks. Would I miss his wedding as well?
“Did you talk to him?” I tried to sound casual as I asked but failed.
“Clara told me,” Lola reassured me. “Edward’s been missing in action lately.”
The few times I’d managed to get a look at online tabloids had told me as much. I didn’t know if he was lying low after the events at the Westminster Royal or if there was more to it.
“Speaking of, are you ready for the bad news?”
“Hit me.” She had no way of knowing that she'd already delivered a devastating piece of information.
“The police announced they are no longer holding Smith Price.”
“W-what?” I stammered. “They weren't holding him to begin with.” My brain couldn’t begin to process that statement.
“They claimed they had a suspect in custody in relation to the hotel murder,” she continued, “but now they’ve released his name.”
And claimed to have let him go. None of it was true. But it explained how we’d managed to stay here without incident for so long. Someone had lied to protect us, but our luck had run out.
If I’d thought I’d accepted the terror of my situation before, now I knew I hadn’t. I’d been looking over my shoulder for weeks, but now just as I was beginning to relax, I learned that I’d been protected by a false claim. If Hammond had believed that Smith was in custody, he would be looking for him now.
“And there’s a new envelope from the law office,” she finished. “A bunch of various amendments to the original suit.”
“Read them over,” I instructed her. Dealing with my mother’s lawsuit wasn’t on the top of my priority list, but it wasn’t going away on its own. It was laughable to consider that we were living in the same house and she was still having papers delivered to my office in London. However, I appreciated the distraction.
And the gold medal of passive-aggression goes to Mary Stuart.
I listened as she rattled off the particulars of the
newest settlement proposals. So that was how she planned to use my presence here to her advantage. She’d smoke me out by offering to settle the case out of court. Given that I couldn’t return to London, I didn’t have many other options. Not that she knew that, but it seemed she had guessed.
That’s why she’d been so artificially friendly this morning: she’d been gloating.
“It’s mental,” Lola announced when she reached the end. “I thought my mother was manipulative. Yours takes it to a professional level. What do you want me to do about it?”
“I assume John has seen these?”
“He sent them over,” she confirmed.
“I don’t suppose he had any suggestions.” It was wishful thinking at its best.
“He only told me that you need to contact him. He can’t make a move without your approval.”
“Of course, he can’t. He can’t do anything without the approval of a woman in this family,” I snapped. Guilt settled over me immediately. “That was bitchy.”
“You have a right to be bitchy. This is a cocked up situation.”
“You’re too sweet,” I told her. “I’ll see if I can—”
The call cut short as Smith announced his presence by ripping the phone cord from the wall.
“Do you have any idea how stupid it is to call her?” he roared, tossing the ruined cord to the floor.
I shrank against the wall, shaking my head. There had been very few times that I had seen him this angry, and in most of those instances his fury was directed at someone else. I didn’t particularly like being at the center of his rage. It radiated from him, rolling off his body in hot bursts of power that crackled in the air between us. But despite how formidable he looked, I wasn’t going to back down.
“I have a life, Smith. Just because we left London…”
“We left London to ensure you kept living that life!”
“So I’m supposed to just sit here and wait while my business falls apart?” A tiny alarm went off in my head as I screamed. He had my best interests at heart. I knew that, but I couldn’t seem to care. “We’ve been gone for weeks. No one knows where we are. Not even Lola.”
“Don’t you see that if anyone suspects that she knows where you are, you’re putting her in danger? This is bigger than you missing your emails!” His words thundered around me, practically shaking the room.
I hadn’t considered that I might be dragging her into this. Smith grew silent, his gaze fixed warily on me.
“I want my life back,” I admitted to him in a small voice. I wanted to leave here. I wanted my friends. I wanted everything I had worked so hard to build.
I wanted normal.
We both knew there was no normal where it concerned us. I’d opted out of the possibility when I’d chosen to get involved with him. I hadn’t known exactly what I was getting into then, but I’d had chances to walk away. Smith had given me outs and I’d refused each one.
“Did you know that they lied about having a suspect in custody?” I asked him.
His lips pressed into a thin line but he nodded.
“And do you know that they claim you were that suspect?” He didn’t have to answer, and I didn’t have to ask if he had heard about his own “release.”
While I’d barely been allowed to check on my website, he had been keeping up with every bit of gossip in Britain.
“I’m going to return to London. I’ll notify you when it’s safe for you to follow.” His voice was flat and the arrogant gleam that usually sparkled in his eyes had been extinguished.
He’d been defeated, and I’d been the one to do it.
“You can’t go back.” The thought made my head swim. “They’ll kill you or…”
And then I understood what he was really planning. Smith had no intention of being our ambassador. His plan wasn’t to scope the situation out back home.
“You can’t,” I whispered.
“There’s only one way this ends.”
“Not that way.” I refused to accept it. All the frustration and fury I’d felt began to melt away, exposing the vulnerability at my core. “We do this together.”
“I love how lies sound coming from your lips.”
“I don’t lie to you,” I said in a soft voice. I’d kept secrets. I kept one now. But I never tried to deceive him—I never wanted to.
“I know, beautiful.” He brushed his thumb over my lips. “You’re lying to yourself.”
“No.” The heat of tears smarted my eyes and I blinked rapidly. “Together. We said a vow.”
“A vow is only words.”
My hands lashed out, shoving him backwards.
“Who’s lying now?” I demanded. “You don’t mean that, and fuck you for pretending otherwise.”
He caught my wrist before I could push him again. Twisting my arm, he forced my body to his. “If you won’t let me protect you, I will take whatever action I deem necessary to ensure your safety. You are my only concern.”
I knew then how far he was willing to go—what he was willing to sacrifice. My breath caught in my throat as he pressed his forehead to mine.
“You are infuriating,” he sighed.
The warm sweetness of his breath sent goose bumps rippling over my skin.
“Punish me.” It was an offering. Not only to soothe the savageness I’d provoked in him, but to calm my own overwhelming anxiety. I needed him to take control. I needed to find the quiet, blank space I’d only found in the back of his hand.
“I won’t punish you.” He tipped my chin up and smiled sadly. “But I will free you if you wish.”
“Free me.” I breathed the entreaty.
“Go to the bedroom. Undress. Wait.”
I didn’t argue with him. I didn’t care that we weren’t alone in this house. I could think of only one thing: liberation.
And I knew it only came at his hands.
Chapter 12
Smith took his sweet time coming back to me. Long enough that I considered touching myself just to see how he would react. I could almost imagine the look on his face if he came in to find me spread on the bed with my hand between my legs. It was a tempting proposition because it would piss him off.
And tonight I didn’t want my husband. I didn’t want a lover.
I wanted a brute.
I wanted all the primal, alpha male that he had to offer, and I knew from experience that he had a lot of that to offer me.
I’d been pushing his buttons for days, trying to hit the right one. After what had happened in London, he’d been different with me. Everything was a test, and I was terrified that I was somehow lacking. He’d seen me vulnerable and now he was constantly trying my fragility. Did he want me to break?
When he finally reappeared, I was still in the same spot with my hands folded in my lap.
Perhaps he wasn’t testing me, after all. Maybe I was just testing myself.
"I had to go out to the stable," he explained as he produced a length of rough rope. He held it out for me to see. "Wild things can't always be tamed, beautiful. But they can be restrained."
I squirmed on the edge of the bed. There would be nothing as comfortable as a mattress in my future and I was grateful. I wanted to feel it. I wanted it to bite and sting and hurt. Because that pain would wipe away my fear and guilt and all the doubts that crippled me. In that moment I'd be able to forget my mistakes.
"You want me to be hard on you." He circled me. "I suppose it's a good thing no one else stays in this part of the house. You're going to scream and beg, and I'm not going to stop until you're writhing at my feet."
I swallowed even as my mouth went dry. "Yes, Sir."
He knew what I needed and why I needed it. Somehow he knew it even better than I did.
"Go to the fireplace," he ordered.
As soon as I was near the marble hearth, he motioned for me to turn around.
"Can you stand the heat, beautiful?"
The embers had died down, leaving only the smoldering remains of
the fire the maid had lit the evening before when I retired to bed. The only fire I felt was the one kindling inside my core. It licked up my center and settled in my belly.
"Normally I would use something soft to do this." He slid the rope into a knot, yanking it across my skin. It scraped, burning a path in its wake. "But we don't have that luxury, and that's not really what you want, is it?"
I shook my head. It took all of my concentration not to back against him. I wanted to feel his body on mine—his heat, his flesh. But this wasn't about what I wanted. This was about what he wanted to give me.
To my surprise, the rope snaked around my torso and I looked down in fascination as he crossed it between my breasts. He'd captured them, forcing the bindings tightly enough that they plumped into swollen, painful globes, heavy from blood that had nowhere to go. My nipples hardened into severe points. One touch and I would be screaming. I wasn't sure if it would be from pain or from pleasure.
The idea made me wet.
“You’re already excited, beautiful.” He paused to run his hand over my pussy. “What a waste.”
I bit my lip. He was going to make me wait for it, if he released me at all. We both knew he could take me to a place where thought gave way to sensation. In that space, there were no checklists or phone calls or worries, there was nothing but a visceral clarity of simply being.
"Hands.”
I crossed my wrists, offering them to him. Smith separated my hands and he began to loop rope around one.
He paused and flipped my hair over my shoulder, leaning down to kiss behind my ear. “How flexible are you, beautiful?”
The question weakened me. I wanted to dissolve to the floor if only to allow him to shape me. To him I was clay to be used and formed to meet his needs. Smith’s hand shot out and steadied me. Without meaning to, I’d begun to actually do it.
“It gets easier, doesn’t it? Handing your body over to me. It comes so naturally to you—the need to please me.” Reaching up, he caught my chin, wrenching my face up to meet his smoldering eyes. His thumb smeared my lower lip. I opened my mouth in welcome, but he shook his head. “Good girls get to suck.”