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Jocelyn sat in one of Reggie’s leather chairs in front of his desk, watching intently as the exchange between her husband and Helena commenced. She might as well have not been in the room for the way the two were so keenly focused on each other; it was just like her most intense moments with Reg. Except for one brisk punishment of Alex the first night she met the Kozaks, Jocelyn had never seen Reggie’s severe command from an observer’s point of view. It was enough to make her shiver, all that cold poured out on one poor girl. It was enough to make her reconsider encouraging this solution. Better perhaps she’d just paddled the girl’s bottom herself, and hope the simpler treatment would do some good. But now it was too late to stop this confrontation, and all she could do was passively watch.
“Do you know how close you are to losing your job?” Reggie spoke to the trembling young woman directly. He was sitting at his desk, she was standing before him, mesmerized by the sight of his harsh but handsome face.
“No, sir,” she replied.
“If it weren’t for the good will of my wife, you’d have been gone that godawful week she was on vacation.”
“I’m so sorry,” Helena said. “I just seem to keep messing up.”
“Is it messing up or is it deliberate?” Reggie asked.
“Oh, sir, please, it’s not deliberate.”
“I wonder,” he said. He rose from his seat and strode toward the cabinet on the far side of the room. Opening the doors, straps, paddle, whips and canes rattled against the mahogany door.
Jocelyn watched the girl shudder; it matched her own response to the implements dangling ominously inside the interior of the ancient cabinet.
“Is it a fascination, Helena?” he asked.
“Sir?”
“Does this intrigue you?”
“Oh my, sir.” A blush crept up her neck to her cheeks.
“You come across as a whining, sniveling child, but I suspect there’s much more vamp in you than you let on. Perhaps a conniving one at that.”
“Sir, please,” she tried a touch of protest in her reply.
“You know what intrigues me, Helena?”
“What is that, Mr. Harold?”
“Honesty.”
The young woman bit her lip, which just added to the pitiful expression that she performed so well.
“You’ve been playing with my private things, these implements in the cabinet.”
“I…” she was fumbling for the right words.
“I know the truth, Helena, I want you to tell me in your own words.”
She gulped, waiting a long time to speak. “Yes, sir, I have,” she finally admitted.
“And what do you do with these things when you draw them out?” He pulled out a short leather whip and fondled it in his hand, the foot long lengths of cord moving ever so slowly against the palm of his hand.
Unable to take her eyes off the whips, she blushed once more, her clear olive complexion flushed with a red hue that announced her embarrassment clearly.
“The truth, Helena.” Reggie spoke coldly, with every ounce of firm conviction of a prosecuting attorney grilling a guilty defendant.
The young maid could fall down in a heap of tears or answer honestly, there were no other choices—especially since her fear froze her in her place. Running off was not an option when her feet could never carry her.
“I like to touch them,” she said timidly.
