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“I know.” She claws at my hand as she tries to pry my fingers off her throat. I squeeze a little harder, just enough to warn her to stop. Her hands drop to her sides. “Please, Rory, I’m begging you. Don’t hurt me.”
Disgusted with her, with myself, I loosen my grip and shove her away.
“You reek of desperation,” I spit at her. “Go to your room and don’t come out until you grow a backbone.”
She doesn’t need to be told twice. Whirling around, she picks up her skirts and stumbles from the room. I stare at the door for a moment, my breathing ragged. Then I go and pour myself a whisky, a large one. I down it in a single gulp. That was not the way I intended to start my marriage. I drop onto the chair behind my desk and scrub a hand across my face. What the fuck have I just done?
CHAPTEREIGHT
Eleanor
When I finally stop crying, I fall asleep. I must be exhausted, because when I open my eyes again, the first thing that strikes me is that the room is dark. The curtains are drawn. They weren’t before.
Did someone come to check on me? I like to think Rory might have enough of a conscience to worry that he hurt me, but who knows?
Without a watch or my cellphone, I have no idea what time it is. I get up from the bed and go to open the curtains. There’s still some light in the sky, so I’m guessing it’s not too late.
Leaning against the window frame, I look out over the magnificent gardens and try to make sense of all that’s happened today. Sorcha advised me to try to make Rory happy, and I really thought that was what I was doing when I got down on my knees for him. He reacted with such rage and disappointment that it startled me. I guess the way to win him over is not with easy submission.
I replay all that he said to me today. It’s clear his hand was forced when he married me, but he wanted to do it all the same. The problem, I think, is that he’s a man who likes control. He wanted to set his own agenda and my being at the club the other night ruined whatever plans he had to seduce me.
As I recall the venom when he said I reeked of desperation, I actually flinch. I don’t know what he expected. In this situation, how could I be anything but desperate? He told me not to show face until I’ve grown a backbone. I realize what he wants. He doesn’t like timid women. He was interested in me before, when I refused him.
Standing up for myself is the way to gain his respect and, eventually, his trust. He prefers strong women, yet he also wants me to obey and punish me when I step out of line. It’s sort of bewildering.
That brings me to my second point of confusion. I enjoyed being spanked. I even kind of like that my ass is still sore, that it chafes when the fabric of my dress rubs against it. Rory’s punishment hurt and I was humiliated, but I was also aroused. That’s so twisted, I’m not sure I can even begin to untangle it.
Unraveling the mysteries of my desires is going to have to wait. My stomach rumbles and I need to eat. I reach around to try to unbutton my dress, but it’s impossible, so I just straighten out the corset and leave it on. Not bothering to put my shoes back on, I go to the door. Shit. What if it’s locked? I guess I’ll have to try shouting until Rory comes to me.
I turn the handle and the door opens. Almost tiptoeing, I head downstairs into the gorgeous hallway. Taking the corridor to the left, I walk slowly along, peering through open doors. This house is vast, and it’s immaculately decorated. I wonder which of the Donovan women was responsible for this. Maybe they all had a hand in it. I definitely see touches of Libby’s girly style in the squishy sofas and pink cushions in one of the sitting rooms.
There’s art on the walls that probably costs more than I’ll earn in a lifetime. I guess crime does pay. Maybe I’m being unfair. The Donovans own several successful, legitimate businesses as well. The thought occurs to me that I need to stop thinking of them as a separate entity. I’m one of them now, whether I like it or not.
When I eventually reach the kitchen, I’m not surprised to discover it’s enormous. It has a huge island in the center with a marble top. There’s a stove with eight burners. The clock on the oven tells me it’s seven thirty. Hmm, I thought it was a bit later than that.
I look in the huge, American-style refrigerator and find it packed with veggies and other good things. The pantry is also fully stocked. I could make almost anything I wanted, but right now I’m craving something spicy.
When I come across a tub of Thai curry paste, I decide that’s what I’ll make. I find a bowl and soak some jasmine rice while I start to chop up the vegetables. Assuming Rory will like this, since there are several Asian ingredients in the pantry, I make enough for two.
I’ve got the rice cooking and the veggies frying when Rory comes into the room. He sits at one of the high stools at the island and watches me as I move from the stove to the refrigerator, my skirt swishing around my ankles.
“Why are you still wearing that?” he asks me.
I grab the open tin of coconut milk I found and sniff to make sure it’s still okay before heading back to the stove.
“The buttons are fiddly and I couldn’t reach them. I didn’t want to risk damaging the dress.”
Rory scrunches his nose up. “But you’re cooking in it.”
I look down and see some green splatters on the skirt. Shit. Why didn’t I think to find an apron, or wrap a towel around my waist?
“Guess I didn’t think that through,” I say lightly.
“Whatever it is you’re making, it smells good.”
“Thai green curry. I haven’t put any meat in it. I hope that’s okay.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “You made some for me?”
