Page 47 of Promise of Punishment

“It was started in 1897 and finished in 1899.”

“Gilded Age then.” Mom almost took a job cleaning a Gilded Age hotel in Rhode Island, Sea House, but turned it down because she worried we’d be too exposed. I exit through the door and video more of the garden and lake.

The black Lord follows, and I sense him watching me. “Do you like stuff like this?”

“Not really.”

“Can I see the tennis court?”

He nods at the garden house. “It’s around back on the right.”

I smile and record some broken, empty ceramic pots on my way. A set of stairs with an iron railing curves up to a grass-and-dirt tennis court. Trees surround it on all sides except for one that offers a view of the Hudson.

“Wow.” I walk to the edge of the court for a better look. A cool breeze catches my hood, blowing it off my head, the wind swirling my hair behind me. I record the view and zoom in, aware of the Lord watching me from the top of the stairs.

“You still love this,” he murmurs with surprise and awe.

“What?” I glance at him, the dark Lord of the ruined gardens.

“I said, you love this. Why?”

How to explain. I spin and take it all in, glimpsing part of the pond from this viewpoint, and consider my answer in a way I never have before. “Besides its haunting beauty, there are no rules here. No restrictions. No order. It’s freedom.”

“It’s neglected. Forgotten.”

“Being forgotten can be a good thing,” I say more to myself, my thoughts on my dad. If only he’d forget me.

Wes

The sorrow in her voice grips me. I have to ask, “In what way?”

Her white masked face turns toward me, lingering as she decides whether to share this secret. “Being forgotten can mean you’re safe.” She stares back at the river.

My shoulders harden to cement, and my fists clench. “Safe from who?”

Goddammit. I should have pretended to be the Scottish Lord. I didn’t know she’d open up to me. If I’d pretended to be him, like I’d planned, I could use this to get her to open up more when we’re together. This garden was going to be my gift to her to get her to forgive me.

I planned to take her here next weekend when I returned from London, but I spotted her in the back hallway, racing toward the pool house, knowing exactly where she was going. The west wing.

Instead of heading to my car out front, I took a shortcut and got there first, where I waited. My plan was to scare her off, but the disappointment in her eyes had me offering the garden today. I could have pretended to be him, the Scottish Lord, but I didn’t want to. I wanted it to be the real me who showed her this place—as real as I can be with her. Now everything is screwed up because she’s bonding with the British Lord and not the one she’s consented to be with.

“Fable?” I step closer to her from behind as she stares over the colorful trees to the river. “Is someone after you?” Is that why she changes jobs and moves so often?

She turns her head and looks at me with alarm, as if she forgot who she was with. A fake sugary smile tilts her lips. “Of course not. I’m fine.”

She is far from fine. That smile is her tell. I’ve seen her use it, and now I know it’s to hide a lie. I want to take her with me and keep her at my side until I know what’s going on. Short of kidnapping her, keeping her blindfolded, and locked in my London flat, there is no way I can do that.

She’s safe here. I can have the security team watch her, without her knowledge, and hire more to protect the property. No one will get to her while I’m gone. When I get back, she and I are going to have a talk. She might hate me afterward, but I’d rather she hate me than get hurt in any way.

“Thank you for this.” She swivels to me, staring up at my face.

She can’t see any of my features, unlike last night when I had her in my arms in the hallway, and her gaze dropped to my mouth, driving me to haul us into the nearby darker corridor. She shouldn’t be able to tell who I am. We haven’t been this close since the night she rescued me six years ago, when my face was still swollen. Even in Lachlan’s hallway, she was several feet away. If she studies online images of me, she shouldn’t be able to connect the dots by my mouth either. Still, it made me nervous.

Right now, I’m covered completely. The hair at my neck, more brown than dark blonde, is visible, but that’s it, and I’m not the only Lord with light hair.

There is no way she could connect me to this place, and no reason she would assume I come here. She knows nothing about me, which bothers me considerably because of how much I know about her.

I check the time on my Rolex. The jet is set to leave in an hour. I won’t make it and need to call and let the pilot know I’m running late.