She appeared with Selix trailing behind her. Her eyes skittered over the dancing, mingling crowd, squinting against rubies and diamonds glinting in the low-hung chandeliers.
The large ballroom with its marble and four-story windows paled to nothing but brick and mortar as I drank her in.
If I didn’t have a soul connection with her and imprinted every nuance—if I hadn’t studied every twitch and mannerism—I might not have recognised her.
The mask.
It hid her eyes and forehead entirely, delivering her from woman to queen.
The time it took five nights ago to go through the one-of-a-kind designs thanks to my host’s wife’s fashion line was entirely worth it.
She was no longer anyone’s prisoner...she was no one’s princess.
The mask gleamed a deep, rich red to match her stunning blue and red dress, wings of the mask hid her cheekbones, flaring up to her hairline in a regal tiara. Red gemstones dangled beneath her eyes like blood tears while midnight feathers adorned the lacy crown.
Her gown swayed as she moved forward, her gaze seeking something, someone...me.
When I’d ordered the dress, I’d rolled my eyes at the name Bruised by Beauty. Yet another gimmick employed by a store to sell their underwhelming product.
How fucking wrong I was.
Pim looked as if she bloomed from a bruise. A pretty flower opened and still standing even after every petal had been damaged by plucking human fingers.
She looked draped in pain and blood; a queen of agony and everything she’d lived through.
I wanted to fucking bow to her. To take her hand in mine and kiss her knuckles with reverence. To pledge my loyalty, fealty, fortune, and heart.
And then she saw me.
And she transformed once again.
Her sin-red lips tilted into a nervous smile. Her green eyes glowed uncertain behind her mask, and her hair stole the candle light, absorbing it, glowing like liquid chocolate twirled and bound with a blue-black ribbon.
I’d never seen someone so beautiful or been so broken by it.
Instead of collapsing in homage, my legs moved toward her.
I couldn’t breathe as I cut through the crowd, moving ever closer, bound within her spell. When we met in the centre of the ballroom, the music switched to a heart twisting waltz and couples began to merge into one, swirling around us as if we’d stepped through time and entered a ball centuries earlier.
I had so much to say to her and no words worthy.
I had so much to feel and no heart capable of such things.
So I did the only thing I could.
I bowed with my arm tucked over my waist. I bowed right to her skirts and waited for the fluttering of her hand upon my head. The moment she touched me, I couldn’t stay apart any longer.
Sweeping my arm around her, I tucked her close. Grunting at the perfect sensation of her slim body encased in miles of satin pressing against mine, I swung her into a waltz.
I didn’t know how to dance.
I’d chosen music over footsteps, but my OCD, for once, served as a gift instead of a flaw. Every movie I’d ever watched and show I’d ever seen, I recalled the rhythm, the flow, and my feet fell effortlessly into beat.
And just like I’d been winded and awed by Pim, I was once again blown away by how my brain quieted better than any joint.
One, two, three.
One, two, three.
The waltz rhythm ran through my veins and ears and blood.
One, two, three.
One, two, three.
A perfect box, our feet moving in unison, every move in threes.
I shuddered at the relief of moving in sync instead of fighting to stay within restrictions. My brain stopped being so chaotic. I sighed as everything made rational, comprehensible sense.
My fingers wrapped tighter around her waist as I threw my all in to the dance and clutched her hard.
The softest moan fell from her lips, her mouth parted, eyes bright as stars. She moved with me, entirely river-smooth and willing to be my marionette. For me to guide her, teach her, take complete control.
I forgot about where we were or why we were here and let myself fall the final way. To finally admit there was no bottom when it came to falling in love. That each time I thought I’d reached the end, another crevice appeared to trip into.
How many times would I tumble for this woman?
And how many times could I say sorry?
Gathering her closer, my body hardened with how delicate she smiled, how beautiful she was, how strong. Rubbing my lips over her ear, I murmured, “I’m sorry for leaving you this afternoon.”
I started with the easier apology, my voice rough and ragged. The music was loud, but my whisper overrode it, delivering straight and true.
She jolted, then the smallest smile appeared. “I want to know why...if you’ll tell me.”
A chocolate curl came loose as I swung her into a spin. Tucking her back into my embrace, I reached up and brushed it behind her ear. My fingers tingled from her heated skin, nudging her mask a little, hinting that the girl I loved was beneath that crown and she’d chosen me despite how I’d acted.
“I’m a foolish, selfish son of a bitch.”
She shook her head, the rhythm of the waltz keeping me centred with its one, two, three.
“You’re many things but never that. I’ve never known someone as unselfish as you are.”
I chuckled darkly and didn’t reply. What argument could I deliver where I didn’t have to prove my faults while begging for forgiveness?
“I’m sorry for demanding your voice, little mouse.” I focused on her lips. They twitched at her family nickname—the same nickname I’d stolen just as I’d stolen her. The same name that complemented the one I’d shed so long ago in ways I couldn’t bear. “I’m sorry for pushing you before you were ready to be pushed. I’m sorry for expecting things you weren’t ready to give. I’m sorry for not finding you sooner. I’m sorry for demanding your thoughts. I’m sorry for believing I had access to your secrets. I’m sorry for not bringing you home from the start.” My head hung. “I’m sorry for so many things but most of all...I’m sorry for being like him.”
That was the main apology festering in my heart. The one thing I knew without question but wanted to ignore.
By stealing Pim, I’d become just like Alrik. I hadn’t abused her physically, but I had continued to abuse her with my demands.
Never again.
If she didn’t want to tell me a single thing about herself, fine.
If she wanted to build our life on shared experiences, so be it.
I would work on my stupid needs and never ask her to share herself with me again.
Because I loved her.
I couldn’t imagine letting her go. If I never saw her again or never knew the true Pim, then it was a price I was willing to pay.
The music built to a crescendo, and I used the pace to twirl and spin and throw her into a dip. She had no chance to reply, and my aching heart had more time to believe things could be repaired.
Then the song ended.
We slammed to a halt.
And our host for the evening officially welcomed us into his home.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
______________________________
Pimlico
“THANK YOU FOR attending tonight.”
A deep, brooding voice jerked my attention from Elder toward the dais at the front of the ballroom.
Stupidly, I thought the music had come from a CD or music player, but I couldn’t be further from the truth. A full orchestra sat on stage. Players relaxed and cleaned their instruments while the host smoothed his tux and prepared to deliver his speech.
Piano, violin, cello, and flutes.
The knowledge that Elder could pick up a cello and become part of them gave me goosebumps on top of the ones he’d already given me.
I hadn’t had time to reply. I wasn’t given the opportunity to cup hi
s cheek and eradicate the self-imposed hatred in his gaze.
Why on earth was he apologising? And what made him think he was like him?
He isn’t.
At all.
My mind ran riot; I had to find a reply that could fix Elder’s shame. We’d skirted around each other for too long. It was driving us insane instead of allowing us to grow closer. The loose paperwork and unfiled experiences of my short life didn’t have the necessary wisdom to repair us once and for all. I had no one to ask what was the best thing to do or say.
I only had myself and my confident then terrified then confident topsy-turvy thoughts.
“Welcome...” the host said in his dark baritone, cutting through my thoughts, demanding my full attention.
The ballroom quietened as hundreds of people focused on the man dressed in an impeccable tux. He wore a simple mask of plain black like a villain, similar to Elder’s ebony velvet mask, not wanting to be known. However, topaz eyes gleamed from the shadows, dancing over his family standing beside him.
A woman in the most incredible gown I’d ever seen—minus the one I wore—smiled encouragingly. She looked like a raven transforming into a swan with her white chiffon and black feathers scattered all over the skirts. Her mask was different to everyone’s and only covered one eye, cutting down her face to her chin in an intricate scrollwork of pearls.
But it was her necklace that set her apart.
Candlelight and chandeliers made it almost impossible to study the heavy diamond choker glittering around her throat. It cut her in half, almost overshadowing her beauty, if not for the royal way she held herself—taming it rather than wearing it.
I’d never thought as jewellery as becoming someone, but I had the strangest sensation that the necklace meant far more than just simple frosting for an elegant evening.
Tearing my eyes away, I looked at the two children standing well behaved in front of the host and hostess, holding hands. A boy who I guessed would look like his father with a matching black shroud over his eyes and a little girl who was the swanling born to the swan.
“Tonight is a significant occasion for us, and we’re honoured you could be here.” Our host, Jethro Hawk, flicked a glance at his wife. “This is the first time the ballroom has been used for happier festivities, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.” His throat worked as if such a simple sentence carried a private weight.
His wife reached out and took his hand. They stayed linked as he continued, “We invite you into our home and look forward to talking with you throughout the night. You are more than welcome to walk the grounds, visit the stables or orchard, or explore the many rooms at Hawksridge. While you are our guests, we do ask you respect the locked chambers and do not believe such gossip that has long since circulated our hall.”
A slight ripple of murmurs tracked around the room.
A feminine laugh rang out, guiding my attention to a woman dressed in a turquoise gown dripping with sapphires and a mask that gleamed opalescent with moonstone. She was just as stunning as the hostess; only she sat in a chair with wheels wrapped in gemstones and ribbon, holding the hand of a tall, dark-haired man who favoured a white tux over the usual black.
She laughed again, surprising the hall into silence. “Come now, brother. I think the gossip is far more entertaining than the truth, don’t you?” She smiled at the crowd. “Why else are so many here tonight but to hear the tale of debts turned marriage?”
“Here, here,” someone said, raising a glass as waiters and waitresses made their way through the masses handing out champagne. “We’ll happily listen to a bedtime tale or two.”
Everyone laughed apart from Elder and me.
It was as if everyone knew something about this family that we didn’t. Elder stiffened as his eyes locked on the host. Mr. Hawk’s back straightened at the joke, an odd look crossing his face. He stood buffeted by the laughter, and it wasn’t fun for him but painful.
His voice quietened the ballroom with strained command. “Tonight, there are much better things to entertain ourselves with than listening to stories. We have business to attend to, after all.” He warmed to his speech. “Diamonds that are currently for sale with clarity and colour certifications are on display in the drawing room. A Mr. Elder Prest is here to discuss yacht orders with those nautically inclined. I, myself, am available to talk to anyone wishing to purchase a well-bred polo pony or two, and I believe a Mr. Sullivan Sinclair is here to help with any luxury island travel you may wish to book at his many locations.”
With a curt bow, Jethro Hawk said, “For now, enjoy the music and champagne. Make the most of your night, everyone.” The second he’d finished, he pointed to the orchestra who struck up music immediately. Squeezing his wife’s hand, he guided his family off the dais and vanished from the ballroom through one of the many doors.
Elder’s hand landed on my lower back.
I shuddered at his touch; slightly amazed that I was capable of lust so quick and powerful, I became instantly wet for him.
Turning to face him, I prepared to tell him things I didn’t believe in but assurances he needed to hear. I wanted to grant him my forgiveness for all the things he apologised for—not because I believed he had anything to be sorry for but to hopefully grant him a smidgen of peace.
His onyx eyes burned into mine, full of complex love and hate, desire and regret, his voice just as tangled. “Let’s find somewhere quiet. I need to talk to you.”
I took his hand and nodded.
* * * * *
We didn’t get far.
The moment we stepped from the ballroom and avoided perfume, tulle, and finery, we found ourselves practically bumping into our hosts.
Mr. and Mrs Hawk stood in corridor shadows, her hand on her husband’s cheek, his forehead touching hers. Their children were nowhere to be found, and my skin flushed for the intimate moment we’d stumbled upon.
“Focus on me and only me,” his wife murmured. “I told you this was a bad idea, Jet.”
He groaned under his breath. “I’m sick of the fucking whispers, Nila. You know as well as I do this should stop them for good. Kes and Emma don’t need this shit growing up.”
“They’ll be fine. They know the truth. What does it matter what the gossip mills are still saying—” Mrs Hawk noticed us. Pulling back, she dropped her touch from her husband’s cheek and smiled brightly, friendly, entirely professional in her role as hostess. “Ah, hello. Out for an explore already? The drinks have just started circulating.”
Jethro Hawk blinked, shook his head slightly, then hid his strained look with one of smooth elegance. “Ah, Mr. Prest.” He came forward, his hand outstretched. “Pleasure to meet you in the flesh.”
Elder tightened his fingers around mine as he reached with his other to complete niceties. He bowed his head respectfully. “Same, Mr. Hawk. Thank you for the invitation.”
“Jethro, please.” He smiled tightly. “We’re lucky enough to mingle in the same circles of wealth and decadence. I intend to make acquaintances with all of them now that I’m in charge of my family’s estate.” Turning to me, his smile warmed. “And you must be Pimlico. The plus one.”
I nodded. “I am.”
“Do you have a last name?”
Elder tensed. “She has both a first and a last name, but for now it’s just Pim.”
Jethro studied us as if Elder had given up a lot more than just my name. He opened his mouth to reply, but two children streaked up ahead, miniature ballgown and tux flying as they bolted through the labyrinth of corridors, squealing in joy.
Jethro’s face softened with absolute affection.
The same newfound agony that’d hit me in the police station found me again.
I gasped at the yearning in my heart—the way it held out its arms for something I never wanted and now would give anything to deserve.
I’d never had anything against children before—not that I’d been around many. They were just tiny humans who belonged to other peo
ple. Even seeing the love Jethro held for his offspring didn’t make my heart patter with hunger.
But that was because I wasn’t in love with Jethro Hawk.
I was in love with Elder Prest, and I made the mistake of glancing at him thanks to the vice-clench of his fingers around mine at the sound of children’s laughter.
His face turned white, his eyes black as pitch. One look and I knew where his thoughts had gone: to his younger brother who burned. To his cousins he wasn’t allowed to contact. To his family he’d stocked an entire yacht with gifts for.
Elder came across so solitary—sailing the seas, content as long as he was away from land. Only his aloneness ate giant holes in him, infecting me, making me wish I could snap my fingers and give him everything he was missing.
The newness inside blinked into an all-encompassing craving. And this time...it was even worse. A crippling. A maiming. A terrible, horrible knowledge that if I could have such an awakening to wanting children...imagine how awful it would be for a man who put family above everything.
I wanted to join us together. I suddenly desperately, torturedly needed to merge and give him a child of his own.
That thought shocked me stupid.
I wanted children.
Elder wanted children.
I can never give him children.
I could never give him back the family who’d ostracized him, and I was too damaged to give him a new one—one that belonged entirely to him.
My heart wept even while my eyes remained dry.
Conversation carried on around me, but I lost track.
All I could think about was how irrevocably I’d just changed and how quickly it had happened. How swift I’d gone from singular to plural. How Elder was mine now, through and through. And I didn’t deserve him because I could never give him what he ultimately needed.
My love would never be enough.
I’ll never be enough.
Oh, God...
The pain of it.
The unfairness—
“And you? Are you enjoying Hawksridge Hall?”
The question wriggled its way inside my mind, interrupting my steamrolling thoughts. I tried to latch onto it, but I was dragged back down again.
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