“I’ll keep her entertained.”
With a sharp nod, he walks off, and I hit the button for the second floor. The doors open on the familiar doll room, one I’ve come to dread after yesterday, but the deep and hearty laughter I hear is a good sign.
I follow the sound to the most luxurious bedroom I’ve ever laid eyes on. Dark, rich wood furniture with gold trimming, paintings of cherubs and goddesses on the walls and ceilings, with lush greenery dotted about the wide open space. Perhaps the only room brimming with life in this place.
A man stands alongside Laura, where she sits in a wheelchair, allowing him to listen to her heart through the stethoscope.
“Steady as a metronome.” He tugs the ear-tips out and drapes the instrument over his neck. “Except for that slight flutter when I touched your hand.”
With a demure smile, she pretends to push him away. “Oh, stop, you old flirt.” Her gaze lands on me in the doorway, and she waves me over. “Michael, this is my babysitter, Isabelle.”
“Isadora, actually.” I stretch my hand out to him, and when he bends to kiss it, I clear my throat. The desire to pull my hand away twitches my muscles. “I’m her companion.”
“Lucky girl. I’ve wanted to be her companion for many years. Stubborn woman still turns me down.”
A gust of laughter flies out of Laura, and she sets her hand to her chest. “You are shameless, Michael.”
“You must be the doctor?”
Frowning, he tips his head. “What gave you that impression?”
Another burst of laughter, this time from the two of them in unison, leaves me feeling small and stupid.
“I’m only playing with you darling, yes. I’m her longtime physician and friend of the family. Dr. Powell.” He glances down at his watch and huffs. “And I’m afraid if I don’t cut this right now, I’m going to be late for my next appointment.”
“You’re cheating on me?” The flirtatious trill to Laura’s voice is painful to listen to, or maybe I’m just not accustomed to this kind of play. No one flirted with Aunt Midge--not even the fishermen who’re out at sea for months. Not that she’s an unattractive woman. I’m guessing, in her heyday, she was probably quite a catch, but she never tolerated that kind of behavior from the men.
“You know I’m solely devoted to you, Lady Blackthorne.” As he did with me, he bends forward and kisses the back of her hand. “Until we meet again.”
“I’ll be sure to wear something … decent next time.” The raspberry shade of lipstick is smudged in the corner of her lips, and a rose color blush is scattered too low on her pale cheeks, as if she rushed to apply it. “No more unexpected visits.”
“I promise. And I’ve given the new formulation to Nell. I sent her out to pick up the script for you this morning.”
“Excellent.”
I give a tight-lipped smile as he passes, and once he’s out of the room, I notice the sparkle in her eyes has immediately dulled. “I’d like to take you down to the piano room. To play for a bit. Would you like that?”
“I don’t know.” She crosses her hands in her lap and looks away from me. “I may as well go back to bed.”
“No Chopin, then?”
“You know Chopin?” From the corner of her eye, she gives me a onceover. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Well, I guess you’ll have to come with me to find out, won’t you?”
A harsh breath escapes through her nose, and she rolls her eyes. “If you insist. And then after, I’d like you to put me to bed.”
Taking the handles of her wheelchair, I inwardly groan at the thought of another long and boring afternoon spent counting her dolls.
Chapter 11
Lucian
In the mirror’s reflection, I straighten my tie, while Rand runs a wooden suit brush over my shoulders and down my back.
“Are they refusing to reschedule this?” I ask, tugging the cuffs of my sleeves.
“I’m afraid we’ve put it off too long, Master. They’ve grown impatient.”
In the tray of jewelry that’s on the table beside the full-length mirror, I fish through the few rings, including my discarded wedding band, for a silver oxidized, moth signet ring. The skull on its thorax signifies the Death’s Head species.
I slide it onto my pinky finger and curl my hand to a fist. “It seems they always grow impatient where money is concerned.”
“You know as well as I do, it isn’t money that draws them. They want assurance that you’re prepared to take over your father’s position in this organization.”
“And what do I have to do to prove that? What haven’t I already done to prove that over and over to them?”
“Your absence makes them nervous.”
“Does grieving count for nothing these days?”
“After two years?” He drops his gaze at the question. “Forgive me, Master.”
It’s no secret that I harbored little love for my father while he was alive, or that I’ve done my best to avoid as many of his business affairs as possible. Rand is also well aware that I don’t care for someone challenging my authority on the matter, either.
“I’ve provided the funding. The connections.” All the promises my father insisted I deliver, up until the bastard took his last breath.
“It’s your presence. Or, and I mean no disrespect, lack thereof.”
Groaning, I step away from the mirror and clip on a set of cufflinks. “Is it my face they wish to stare at? Then, perhaps we should do away with the masks. That’ll be my first order of business.”
“Lucian …” Rand’s voice carries the weary exhaustion of a man who’s had to wrangle two generations of Blackthorns. “They meet once every quarter. It’s always been about strengthening your alliances.”
“Is that what it is? So, we’ve moved away from the carnival fuck-show to something more respectable, is that it?”
With a huff, Rand shifts his gaze. “While I don’t agree with your father’s decisions to invite female subjects to mingle at these gatherings, I do think there is some validity in them.”
“You’re saying you support the purpose behind this group?”
One thing about Rand is he’s never one to respond impulsively, so when he stares off for a moment, I know he’s chewing on the question. “If it’s mutually beneficial to both parties, I see no harm in it. It’s no different than these BDSM sex clubs, and bear in mind, these subjects seek out the group, not the other way around.”
“Do you think I sought out the group, when I was thrown into that hellhole institute for weeks?”
“Of course not. But respectfully, Sir, you were a bit reckless in your … pursuits. Your father felt an intervention was in order.”
“An intervention? Is that what he called it?” There’s no point arguing with Rand over what happened to me. He doesn’t know the details of my time there, the punishments I personally suffered at their hands, and never will. “I saw a man beaten to within an inch of his life because the amount of money he requested warranted it, according to the group. The difference between BDSM sex clubs and Schadenfreude comes down to desire. If given the money without the punishment, none of them would choose the torture.”