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“Then what is it? You feel bad for leaving me hanging?”
“I do wish you wouldn't describe it that way. Believe me, it's best for both of us that I let him get away with it. Unless you feel like being part of a scandal. It was for your protection.”
She gulps, eyes still moving this way and that. There's a panic in them I don't particularly enjoy seeing. “We have nothing to worry about,” I insist. “You're safe now.”
“You dressed me? You took my clothes off and dressed me?” By the time she's finished the question, her voice is shrill with panic.
“Rest assured, that's not how I operate. I changed you into something more comfortable. That's it.”
“Thank you.” She doesn't sound particularly grateful, but I'll also chalk that up to confusion. If there's any hope of building a life together, I need to learn to be forgiving, a skill I've never exactly mastered.
Her long, tapered fingers toy with the edge of the blanket covering her legs. “So you brought me here? That was the game plan?”
“I would’ve told you I'd come to rescue you, but you kept running away. Why did you do that?”
“Rescuing me? From what?”
My disbelieving laughter does nothing to smooth the worry lines between her brows. “From what? What do you think? Your life. Your old life. That's in the past now.”
“So... I'm sorry, I'm trying to understand.” She's breathing fast, chest heaving, her face going red. Did I use too much chloroform? Instantly, I reach for the wastebasket and draw it close just in case. This is too much for her. But I don't know how to take it slow.
I saw what I wanted, and I took it. End of story.
“I'll explain it to you,” I murmur, speaking slowly. Anything, so long as she calms down. “You're going to live here now, with me. You don't ever have to worry about anything ever again. Not some stupid, pointless job where you'll be unappreciated and at the mercy of men like that pig at the hotel. No scrambling around, no debasing yourself to make ends meet. The world is yours. There's so much I want to give you.”
Who am I? I hadn't planned that little speech—if I had, it wouldn't have been so awkward and stilted. But it came from truth.
“And I don't get a choice?”
“Why would you choose otherwise?”
“That's not the point. You don't bring somebody to your house—unconscious, by the way—and expect them to be grateful when they tell you your life isn't your own anymore. I mean, what, am I your sex slave now?” Her chest heaves in silent sobs. As if the idea is the worst she can imagine.
I can't help but recoil from the ugliness her words suggest. “Why would you say that? That's beneath you. Both of us, really.”
Her body sags, her eyes closing for a moment before slowly opening. “I'm sorry. I'm dizzy, and I don't feel well. I'm thirsty, too.” She touches her hand to her slim, flushed throat. “Can I have some water?”
“Of course. You stay right there. I don't want you hurting yourself if you feel faint.” I push the chair back from the bed and stand, then go to the door. “You'll see after a little rest and a little more time.”
Does she hear me? I don't know.
But I would bet against it since she flies by me in a blur of cream-colored satin the instant I opened the door. The gown billows behind her while she pinwheels her arms, feet flying over the wood floor, head swinging back and forth while she searches for a way out.
A part of me wants to let her go, to see if she honestly believes she'll get away in nothing but a satin nightgown and bare feet. She has no idea where we are or that we're surrounded by woods in all directions for at least a mile.
No, that would be cruel, and I’m not a cruel man.
But it isn't only kindness that leaves me grabbing her before she reaches the top of the stairs, sliding an arm around her waist and lifting her off her feet with all the effort it takes to lift a feather.
How dare she?
“No! No, please! Let me go!” Her shrieks echo through the otherwise empty house, shrieks tinged with terror she has no business feeling.
“After all the trouble I've gone through, and this is how you thank me?”
“Please!” Shrieks turn to sobs by the time we reach the end of the hall again, where I place her on her feet beside the bed. Instantly she turns, fists pounding my chest.
It’s almost cute how she thinks she’ll hurt me when I hardly feel it. I take hold of her fists, which leaves her kicking my shins instead. I might even be proud of her if it was anyone but me she was fighting. The little wildcat.
