Richard’s mouth curved up at one corner. “A gun didn’t stop me, my love. Do you really think a dull letter opener would prevent me from fucking you right here, right now, if I wanted to?”
I knew what I must have looked like in that moment. My tangled curls a wild mess around my shoulders and down my back. My dress half-hanging off my body and dragging on the floor as I clutched a tarnished makeshift knife to my breast. My gaze, wide with fright, shifting from left to right as I tried to anticipate his next pounce.
I looked as crazy as I felt… as crazy as he had made me.
Richard reached for the brass candlestick phone on his desk. Lifting the trumpet-shaped receiver to his ear, he pressed down on the switch hook a few times before speaking into the mouth receiver. I knew that phone connected to the butler’s pantry in the servants’ quarters.
Keeping his dark sapphire eyes trained on me, he said, “Good morning, Hutley. Please have the driver bring round the car. Ms. Larkin wishes to be taken to her home in London,” instructed Richard calmly, as if he were ordering extra toast with his breakfast tray.
Just like that? He would let me go? It didn’t seem possible, not after the lengths to which he’d gone to entrap me.
Neither of us said a word, just stared into the void between us.
Then we heard the crunch of gravel as the car pulled up to the entrance, which was just outside to the right of the study.
Glancing over my shoulder, I backed up to the door, reaching behind me for the knob as I tried to keep my wary gaze trained on Richard, somehow feeling this was a test, a trap that would snap closed on me the moment I crossed over the threshold.
Placing his hands in his pockets, as if trying to appear nonchalant and unthreatening, Richard slowly followed me out of the study and into the enormous entrance hall.
Keeping my eyes trained on Richard and one arm stretched behind me, I stumbled my way to the front double doors. Two footmen appeared out of nowhere to swing the heavy wooden doors open. Neither expressed the slightest shock at seeing their master stalk a half-dressed woman brandishing a letter opener like a weapon out of the house, although after what they had witnessed and been paid to ignore these last few months, it was small wonder.
The driver held the back passenger side door open. Refusing to drop the letter opener, I clambered into the spacious back seat. The car door slammed shut. Then the driver hustled around to the right side and climbed in. The engine roared to life as the car pulled out of the drive.
Twisting around, I looked through the back window to see puffs of dust and little bits of gravel kicked up by the tires scatter over Richard’s polished knee-high riding boots.
The aristocratic Duke of Winterbourne stood unnaturally still as the car took me further and further away from him.
I was finally free.
Richard
Waiting till I could no longer see her pale, gamine face through the back window of the car, I crossed over to the bushes just below the study windows and retrieved my phone. Dusting off the bits of dirt and shattered glass, thankful the screen had not cracked, I brought up the contact I sought and pressed send.
Without preamble, I spoke the moment they answered the phone. “She’s heading your way. I don’t have to remind you what is at stake if you don’t obey me.” Without waiting for a reply, knowing I had made my point, I hung up.
Time for a new game.
Chapter 2
Lizzie
I didn’t stop watching out the back window till we were on the M40 out of Staffordshire. Finally, I leaned back into the plush leather cushions and stared at the passing landscape. Bright green hilltops, rolling fields of barley and oats lined with dark leafy trees, and piles of rocks and slate boundary markers passed before my sightless eyes.
I felt… numb.
You would think my mind would be a chaotic mess of memories, emotions, and recriminations. Instead, it was unfocused and almost calm.
As if I had been drained of all emotion. Leaving Richard had emptied my world of oxygen and light. I was a rag doll with no bones and a frozen gaze.
It wasn’t until we crossed into the outskirts of London hours later that I stirred once more to life. Paying close attention to every turn the driver made as he wound his way through the crowded streets. I knew this could still be a trap. Part of me expected Richard to have secretly instructed the driver to take me back to the asylum.
I couldn’t wrap my mind around the idea he had simply let me walk out the door… not my Richard.
My Richard.
Was he still mine?
Had he ever been?
I knew I was his… mind, body, and soul… but I could not claim the same about him.
He remained as much of an enigma to me as the first moment I had met him—and something shrouded even that in mists and mystery, as if there were a dense cloud over my memories of our time together.
Outside there was a cacophony of noise as clamoring crowds of people scurried about, running in and out of featureless grey buildings. It was strange how I had gotten used to the peace of the English countryside. I had filled my days with reading, drawing, and horseback riding instead of endless chatter, internet scrolling, and stress. Covering my ears, I pressed my hands against my head and rocked back and forth trying to block out all the horns, shouts, and sounds of modern life.
The car slowed. We were near the British museum. I was almost home to the tiny little flat I shared with Jane. I wasn’t sure if I could trust Jane, but I had no choice; she was my only friend in London. Our shared flat, my only home.
Then the driver turned right instead of left.
Alarmed, I leaned forward and banged on the tinted glass divider that separated me from the driver. The window rolled smoothly down.
“Where are we going?”
“Miss?”
“Where are we going?” I shouted in a panic; leaning over, I tried the door handle.
It was locked.
“Unlock this door,” I demanded as I continued to yank on the handle.
“Miss, I can’t, we’re still moving.”
“Where are you taking me?” I shouted once more.
“My instructions were to take you to your home.”
“My home is off Fleet Street.”
“Those weren’t my instructions.”
Icy fear gripped me. I knew it. I knew Richard wouldn’t just let me go. This was just another one of his games. A way to torture me by letting me think I was safe once I reached London. This was just his way of showing me I wasn’t safe anywhere, not from him.
The car stopped before a tall, imposing building with a neo-Egyptian, art deco vibe.
A dull thrum echoed over the silent interior of the car as the doors unlocked.
The driver got out of the car and swiftly opened the door for me. Hitching up my now hopelessly wrinkled taffeta skirts, I stepped out.
Gesturing toward the series of black tinted doors that made up the front facade of the building, the driver said, “Your friend is waiting for you in flat 8C on the eighth floor.”
My friend?
Jane?
Or was it Richard?
I hesitated, strangely not wanting to leave the familiarity of the car. This must be what a captive felt like when they were first coaxed away from their cage. The barred interior might have been horrific, but at least it was familiar. A sick, twisted comfort as opposed to the unknown.