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“What about the dogs? You know how she feels about them.”
I glance at the four of them. Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death. Dramatic, I know. My brother named them. They’re five years old now. Pestilence is licking the last of the food remaining in all four bowls while the other three play with a toy.
“Leave them.”
Lois raises her eyebrows. “Are you sure?”
“She has to get used to them, and quite frankly, she invited herself, so I’m not inclined to make accommodations for her.”
“And Ms. De La Rosa… I set a place for the three of you in the dining room.”
“Ms. De La Rosa will be dining in her room. Miriam has already taken a tray up. You don’t need to worry about her.”
Lois studies me. “Miriam?”
“Is there a problem with Miriam?”
“It’s just they didn’t quite get along last time Ms. De La Rosa was our guest.”
“Hm. I guess they too will have to get used to each other.” I can just about picture how that’s going.
Lois doesn’t like Miriam, but not many of the staff seem to. I get it. And part of me wonders if I should have left her upstairs with Mercedes. If I should have done what I did because Mercedes’s pride will be wounded. But then I remember the ruined suit. A little humility may be good for her. I have no doubt she’ll survive.
Besides, other things are more important. Like where those scars came from.
I leave the kitchen and go to my study. This room has become my dark sanctuary with mahogany wood paneling, a black marble fireplace, and heavy, antique furnishings that date back over a hundred years. The smell of cigar smoke still clings to the walls from the time my grandfather, Carlisle Montgomery, used to occupy this space. I stop to take in the portrait of him. He’s alone in this one. In the living room is another with my grandfather, grandmother and my father painted when he was fifteen years old. He looks like me, my grandfather. Or I look like him. Exactly like him.
Shifting my gaze, I put the thought out of my head. I am not my grandfather.
I walk around the large desk, glancing out of the windows into the garden. Warm lights showcase the large swimming pool, the curving patio with its three separate seating areas, and pots and pots of flowering plants. Beyond it, a path curves toward the stables that house my horses. Past those stables, and not visible from the house, are the cottages once used by staff. Some still are, and some are empty. My mother lives in one. She moved out of the main house after my father’s death.
I sit down in the worn leather chair and lean back. It’s been six months since my grandfather’s death, but it’s still sometimes hard to grasp that he’s gone. That the house, its contents, the stables, the horses, and the grounds are all mine.
Theron’s dark eyes meet mine from the framed photo on the edge of the desk. Theron is my younger brother. He’s been gone for years. Left the night of his twenty-fifth birthday. He’ll be back soon enough, though, now that grandfather is gone. He has to return. I cut off his allowance, so he’ll show his face. And then we can have our reckoning.
But now isn’t the time to think of them.
My mind returns to the woman upstairs. To how she’d looked this morning when I’d walked into her room after my ride. How she cast her eyes down submissively only after staring open-mouthed as if she’d never seen a man bare-chested before. Although perhaps she hasn’t. The Society’s rules are strict for women, especially those of her standing.
Another image comes into focus then. The one that had me jerking off in the shower this morning. That of Mercedes facedown ass up. The one of her from behind with everything exposed to me.
A low rumble comes from my chest. I draw in a deep breath and adjust myself.
Self-control. She’ll test me. Just as I will test her.
I make myself think about the scars. Imagine what she endured when I remember her comment about pain not bothering her. No, I guess you learn to take it when you’re beaten so badly that you’re left that damaged. That broken. She has hidden them for years. I want to know what happened to her and when. They’re old, so I believe her that it wasn’t Santiago. And, truth be told, I am relieved. Santiago is a ruthless man, but he would never harm his sister. He loves her.
Was it Lorenzo De La Rosa, her father? Or Leandro, her brother. Two men who would have had access to her to beat her so brutally. Because this isn’t something she would have walked away from. Hell, she wouldn’t have been able to walk at all for days, if not weeks.
Lorenzo’s hard face floats into memory. He was a cruel man. I’ve heard some of the stories, the ones Santiago has shared. And even if I hadn’t, I’ve seen his form of discipline. Santiago and I grew up together. But he wouldn’t have laid a hand on his daughter, would he? Surely, he wouldn’t have beaten her badly enough to scar her?
I pick up one of the two phones on my desk and scroll through my contacts to dial Santiago. He picks up on the second ring.
“Judge. How are things?” I hear the concern in his voice. No matter what Mercedes thinks, he is worried about her.
“As well as can be expected.”
“Is she all right?”
