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In my ‘other’ mind, however, I feel so close to the thing I lost when I’m with her that I want to keep her here forever, to never lose that connection. I’m torn between killing her and keeping her, ruining her, and preserving her.
Bloody hell. Groaning, I pull my naked body from my bed and head to the bath to scrub away that woman’s touch. Yesterday must have been Friday. I’ve lost track of the days since Olivia’s arrival. On Friday nights, I’m usually too busy to head into a brothel to get my needs met and at the end of a heavy day, I would require a woman in my bed. As such, Lucian has been instructed to send a woman to my room at a certain hour. She must have climbed into the bed with me while I was asleep last night. I must have a word with him about that. Things have changed around here. Why would I require a whore when I already have one at my beck and call?
I shiver from the cold water I pour over my head. Olivia’s face appears to me. That look of horror before she ran out of the room the night before last. I avoided her all day, yesterday, because I think I might feel bad. I’ve been wondering if I hurt her and how she felt about last night. I’ve even contemplated asking Gloria if she’s said anything. Even the idea of displaying that lack of confidence to my staff chills me.
Those feelings have no place here: regret, guilt, affection, none of it. Any affection I experience for her is met too quickly with the reminder of my father’s voice. It rings loudly in my head, mocking me for being too emotional. Too easily swept up in a woman’s charms and lacking the manliness to give her what she needs. Having to convince a woman to view me as a man with the only thing I have going for me, my family’s fortune, which of course she’ll use and squander to her delight. She may even use it to facilitate her cheating because I’m not enough. I’m not manly enough. And I’ll be too stupid to see it until it’s too late.
He was right with Agatha, though I never knew for certain if it was my money she was after. But what else could it have been? She did to me exactly what my father said a woman would. I will never be caught slacking again.
Growling, I rise to my feet. Water splashes from my naked body onto the wooden floors. My soaking hair is slicked back against my shoulders. I reach for my white towel, vigorously drying myself before stepping into my shirt and trousers. Soft morning light streams through the windows, and my stomach growls for breakfast. As soon as I open my bedroom door, I run into Carlson who has his fist readied for a knock.
“Sir.” He bows slightly. “Miran has come back from Colderidge.”
I nod. “Have him join me for breakfast,” I say, hurrying alongside Carlson.
Miran is my right-hand man. He gets the technical stuff done. And since he’s here, it must mean that he wants to discuss preparations for the upcoming banquet. It’s a family event that I’m forced to attend. My aunt has been insistent on being a part of my life. She tries far too hard to make me part of the family, again. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do. And in some ways, I resent her for only having my brother living with her. On the other hand, there will be some important people at that banquet, which means prospective business. More business isn’t a bad thing. Investments, land, commerce—it benefits me to attend.
But I’m more excited to hear what he has to tell me about Townes. Miran lives in Colderidge, which makes him a great extra pair of eyes. Walking into the breakfast room, I smile at the unassuming man. He’s small and skinny. A little older. He seems harmless, but the man has spent many years in the army and somehow, he made it out alive, without visible wounds. He still has all his limbs intact and is only missing his back teeth.
“Miran,” I shout with my arms spread wide. “How’s the banquet coming? I assume you’re here for my input?”
“Everything is good so far. I just want to run an idea by you about the layout of men spread across the outside of your family’s house,” he says.
With a reputation like mine, I’m not a likable man. When I go to events, I like to make sure I’m protected. He talks about ideas of where some men could hide, out of sight and others, in plain sight, as guards, coachmen, and banquet attendees. He nods at my input, and we formulate a plan before we eat breakfast. He sits on the opposite side of the smaller table. Towers of pastry separate us along with various protein choices, beer, tea, and coffee.
“Any news on Townes?” I ask, while cutting into my brioche.
Miran’s fork, holding a piece of plum cake, clatters on his plate. He clears his throat. “Right. About that. We haven’t been able to locate Townes.”
The brioche crumbles in my hand as I raise my head to look at him. “Why, perchance, wouldn’t you lead with that?!”
The table shakes with my rage. As if I give a damn about the banquet. My blood boils to a rippling peak as I call for the only person who must know where he went. “Olivia!!!!”
Chapter Sixteen
Olivia
Womenmightnothavethe same rights men do. The world outside these walls might be crazy, but I stand a better chance out there than I do in here. At least out there, I have the luxury of boredom. Although, that luxury only comes after my father stole money from Adam Molotov. Oh, Father. Why? Surely, he must have known his reputation. I don’t hate him for stealing. Apart from living in Lhyrenia for some time where an honest living could be made from fishing, we’ve lived in the slums.
In the slums, which stink of the contents of the residents’ chamber pots tossed out the windows of rickety old buildings, rammed packed with the poor. Stealing becomes a survival choice. The men steal, and the children, dirty from head to toe, are trained to steal. It’s something I never engaged in but witnessed as a part of the norm. I never thought my father had engaged in such things. Naively, I believed that one of his inventions was finally successful. But learning he stole doesn’t change my love for him. I just wish he hadn’t stolen so much money from a criminal.
I don’t have a luxurious life to go back to, but I can find my father, and we can travel anywhere. As long as we’re not robbed of our freedom. I can’t do as Gloria and the other servants suggested and surrender to that beastly creature, doing all that he’s asked and hoping he doesn’t kill me in the end. That’s not acceptable to me.
I’ve tied ten long silks together, knotted, and pulled on them to test their strength. I don’t weigh an awful lot, so they should support me. Now, where should I tie this silk rope? My hands are shaking, and even the soles of my feet are sweating as I hurry about the room, tugging on objects to check their sturdiness. My scalp and my forehead are on fire. My heartbeat is too fast for my lungs to catch up. My chest tightens, and my breathing grows short.
“Oh, please. Please don’t let anyone come into the room. Please don’t let anyone catch me,” I mutter to myself as the mist of sweat turns into droplets, rushing down my spine.
I dart my eyes around the room. Ah! Of course. The bedpost against the wall. It’s only about three feet from the window. Quickly, my eyes flicker between the knot I’m tying and the door. I pull on the knot as hard as I can. Neither the bed nor the post moves. The knot remains intact. I think I’ve got it! Marching to the window, I inspect the grounds once more before dangling my makeshift rope from it.
Blast! It’s not long enough. That’s fine. There are more silks in the drawer. My escape is near and though I panic, I smile as my hopes build to a delightful crescendo. In a rush, I pull the silk from the windows and rush to the drawers for more, when there’s a knock on the door. Bloody… nut cheese! I press my lips together to keep from exploding.
“Just a minute,” I yell, shakily untying the silk knot from the bedpost. Kicking the evidence under the bed, I run to the door. When I pull it open, I stagger backwards. A man I’ve never seen before stands there. He’s about my height, a few shades darker than my usual olive-toned skin, with silky black and grey hair that shimmers a little on top of his head. What does he want?
“Olivia Primrose?” he asks.
“Yes?” I ask, studying him warily.
He smiles and nods as if relieved with himself. Did he knock on several other doors before coming to this one?
