Ward: A Dark Romance Read online

  Hutley bowed his head a second time. “No excuses needed, your grace. The staff understands Lady Larkin has been through a difficult time since the tragic death of her parents. Please accept our condolences, my lady. We are at your service.”

  What the hell was going on? I felt like I had tripped into some alternate universe. Part of me wanted to believe I was the victim of some elaborate hoax, but sex in the carriage with Richard was too painfully real for this to be some kind of a joke. I felt like I was truly losing my mind.

  “If your grace will permit, I will instruct Parker to run her ladyship a nice hot bath,” offered Mrs. Jennings as she followed Richard and me into the house.

  Although I don’t think you could call this massive mansion a house, maybe a palace?

  The entrance hall was truly spectacular and more than a little intimidating… I mean seriously, who lived like this?

  Around the parameter of the large hall from floor to ceiling was intricate white wood paneling with gilt leaf and scroll accents mimicking more of the roman style. A deep crimson damask with an embossed pattern covered the walls. The marble floor was a checker pattern of black and white polished tiles. Every few feet there was a portrait of some somber-looking dead lord and on every table surface there were large floral arrangements usually only found in the lobbies of very fancy hotels. There was even a painted mural on the ceiling of Satan in the form of a snake tempting Eve.

  Stationed by each door were several footmen dressed in the same livery as the guy who rode on the back of the carriage. I immediately recognized them as some of the stagehands from The Lady Protests. I wished I could remember their names! George? Larry? No… maybe Tom?

  The marble floor felt cold under my feet when Richard finally put me down. Holding my body close to his own, he put a crooked finger under my chin and raised my head. “Go with Mrs. Jennings. I expect you to behave properly as my ward or there will be consequences,” he warned.

  I started to open my mouth to protest but thought better of it.

  Protesting would only keep me by his side and right now I had been granted permission to escape and perhaps have a secret word with Sally. Maybe without Richard staring her down she’ll tell me what the hell was going on.

  As I turned to follow Sally… or Mrs. Jennings… climbing the impressive central staircase, I watched the servants bustle about bringing in trunks of what I assumed was luggage from the carriage and deferentially address Richard as they passed, and my resolve started to splinter.

  What if this was real?

  It was almost too elaborate, too perfectly coordinated not to be.

  What if Richard was right and I was just confused? Everyone else seemed to know who I was and that I belonged here. Could it be possible that my vivid memories of a different life were just dreams? Hallucinations brought on by grief?

  Was I really Richard’s ward? Subject to his complete authority?

  As I tried to wrap my mind around the possibility, I heard the faintest sound. So quick, for a moment I thought I had imagined it like I had all the rest. Then I looked in the direction of the music; one of the footmen was scrambling to pull something from his breeches pocket. I could see a glowing screen as I heard the opening strains of a ‘Blurred Lines’ ringtone. He was quickly surrounded by the other servants and whisked away through some hidden servant’s door.

  I turned to face Richard, accusation glowing in my eyes. By now I was several steps up the staircase and despite towering over him, he still somehow seemed taller and stronger than me. He was watching my reaction intently, his lips thinned in anger.

  “Do as you are told, Elizabeth.”

  I felt a tug on my upper arm; without taking my eyes off Richard, I stumbled up several more steps before I finally turned and allowed myself to be taken away.

  At least I knew one thing… I wasn’t losing my mind.

  The bedroom I was shown to was nothing like I had ever seen before. Decorated in light tones of apple green and cream, there were ornamental wood panels with carved flowers and birds along the walls. In the center of each panel were several small gilt-framed paintings of the English countryside. There was a gold-embroidered chaise lounge placed thoughtfully by a large window to catch the sunlight for reading and a beautiful dressing table with scroll-work legs and a large gold mirror flanked by candle brackets. The bed took up a large part of the room. Its four posters held up a heavy canopy of carved wood and silk. The coverlet was cream with green leaf work.

  The whole room glowed with soft candlelight.

  In the center was a large copper tub filled with steaming, fragrant water.

  After scanning the room to make sure it was empty, I turned to face Sally.

  Taking a step toward her, I grabbed her hands and pleaded, “Richard’s not here. No one can hear us. Please, Sally. Tell me what’s going on. Why is everyone pretending we are in the Victorian age?”

  Pulling one of her hands free, she patted my shoulder. “Lady Elizabeth, you’ve had a dreadful shock from your parents’ death. A woman’s delicate mind cannot handle such grief. You are very fortunate his grace has taken you on as his ward.”

  Wrenching my other hand free, I secured Richard’s coat more firmly around my waist and turned in frustration to stare at the low flickering flames inside the fireplace.

  “You must be chilled. Let me stoke the fire for you,” offered Sally as she crossed to the marble mantel and grabbed a fire poker.

  As I watched her thin form bend over to concentrate on her task, my eyes drifted to a large heavy vase perched atop the mantel. Briefly I thought about sending it crashing down on her head and running out of the room, but I knew that would accomplish nothing. There was very little chance I would make it off the estate grounds before being captured.

  Just then, a younger woman walked in. She had on an upstairs maid’s costume. Noticing my eyes on her, she bowed her head and gave me a small curtsy. She looked vaguely familiar but I couldn’t quite place her. Perhaps from the stage crew? Props? Did it matter? From the unmistakable warning look Sally was sending her, I doubt she was going to tell me anything anyway.

  “Lily will take care of you now, Lady Elizabeth. I’m sure you will feel better after a long hot bath,” soothed Sally as she walked out of the room.

  Silently, I stood as Lily placed several towels on a metal stand and moved them close to the fire to warm. She then walked over to the vanity and selected a small glass vial. She removed the stopper, and I watched as a glistening stream of liquid poured down onto the still steaming bathwater. The room quickly filled with the scent of lavender.

  Turning to me, she once more bowed her head. “Your bath is ready, Lady Elizabeth.”

  There was no reason why I shouldn’t enjoy the bath. I would be lying to myself if I didn’t admit I desperately wanted to wash the feel of that awful asylum and the sticky sensation of Richard’s cum off me. Taking a tentative step toward the copper tub, I allowed Lily to remove the now hopelessly wrinkled opera coat from my shoulders as I raised one leg to step into the bath.

  Goosebumps rose on my pale skin as the tips of my cold toes touched the heated water. Ignoring the almost painful pricks as my body adjusted to the extreme change in temperature, I placed both feet in and grasped the sides as I lowered my body into the silky liquid. I couldn’t suppress a sigh of relief as the heat seeped deep into my muscles. Inhaling deeply, I let the fragrant scent calm me.

  Closing my eyes, I leaned back, letting the curved raised metal of the tub cradle my neck.

  “Shall I wash your hair?” asked Lily.

  Opening my eyes, I saw Lily standing next to the tub with a large pitcher in her hand. Nodding my assent, I sat forward and leaned my head back. Warm water cascaded over my head and shoulders to pour down my back. Through slitted eyes, I watched Lily pick up a coarse-looking bar of soap and lather it between her hands before returning to my hair. The spicy scent of lemon verbena mixed with the floral scent of the lavender bathwater.

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sp; Delicate fingers smoothed over my hair, grasping small handfuls and running down the length. Soon, the repetitive motion did even more to calm my ragged nerves. After pouring several pitchers of water over my head to rinse out my hair, Lily then picked up a large natural sponge. Once more she lathered it with the same bar of soap and gently lifted my wrist out of the water. Not meeting my eyes, she ran the sponge up and down my arm. Circling around the back of the tub, she pushed my wet hair over one shoulder and caressed my back with the sponge. As she stroked it downward, I would occasionally feel the brush of her hand on my skin.

  I had never been touched by another woman like this. Without really thinking about it, my hand moved between my legs. Pressing my fingers between my lips, I pushed against my clit. It still felt sore and bruised from Richard’s rough fucking not an hour earlier. With each delicate brush of Lily’s hands, I thought of his hard touch. The slightly callused feel of his hands as they ran up my thighs before brutally pulling them open. The harsh brush of his stubbled jaw against my neck and shoulder. The sound of his labored breathing as he thrust into me.

  One finger dipped inside. I bit my lip at the sting of pain. The memory of the force of his cock as it hammered into my body came back to me. Lily’s hands continued to stroke my skin as I pushed my finger in deeper, relishing the pinch of pain.

  I was getting off from the taboo feel of Lily’s hands and the memory of Richard’s cock.

  Lily’s hands dipped beneath the surface of the water, reaching for my wrist. Startled and embarrassed at the idea she would know my hand was pressed between my legs, I flung my arm up, splashing her dress.

  “I’m so sorry!”

  “There is nothing to be sorry about, my lady.”

  As she washed my other arm, I tried to focus my thoughts.

  What the hell was wrong with me?

  Waking up in a strange place?

  Allowing a man to fuck me inside a carriage… a carriage!

  Now masturbating in front of another woman.

  None of this made sense. None of this was like me.

  Maybe this was all just the side effects of whatever drug someone must have slipped into my martini. Perhaps this was all just some twisted dream or hallucination?

  After suffering through the intimacy of Lily washing my legs, I finally got out of the tub. She scoffed at the idea of my drying myself so I stood impatiently while she gently patted me dry with a towel warmed by the fire. She then held up a gorgeous fur-lined robe for me to put my arms into. Immediately I was wrapped in the absolute luxury of soft fur and velvet before being escorted to a low chaise placed before the fire. As Lily perched on the edge of the chaise, brushing my hair, another servant entered with a massive silver tray.

  Placed on a table before me, the tray was laden with colorful pastries, scones, and crystal dishes of clotted cream and preserves. The servant poured out one cup of fragrant tea before giving me a curtsy and leaving the room.

  “I’ll leave you to rest and enjoy your tea, my lady.”

  Collecting the sodden towels, Lily quietly left the room.

  Popping a bite of lemon poppy seed cake into my mouth, I picked up the fine china cup and moaned as I swallowed a hot, stringent gulp of black tea. I had eaten one full scone slathered in cream and rhubarb preserves and another poppy seed cake before it even occurred to me to wonder if any of the food was poisoned.

  As ludicrous as it sounded, I was too tired and hungry to care at that moment.

  With a full stomach, I curled deeper into my fur-lined robe as I stretched my legs out onto the chaise. Flipping my hair over the arm to let the curls dry by the fire, I let the warmth of the room lull me to sleep.

  My last thought before drifting into oblivion was perhaps living in the Victorian era was not so bad after all.

  Chapter 8

  Lizzie

  I was wearing my costume but it wasn’t my costume.

  I had hoped after a bath, some food, and a little sleep that perhaps I would gain some clarity. That maybe whatever drug I had been slipped last night would finally wear off, but everything was just as confusing as before.

  After awaking from my nap, Mary from the costume department entered. She insisted on being called by her last name, Parker, and wouldn’t stop saying that she was my lady’s maid and she had no idea what play I was talking about.

  Placing my hands over my ears, I screamed, “Stop saying that. You’re lying! You’re all lying!”

  “Perhaps I should get Duke Winterbourne,” she said as she took a few steps away from me.

  “No! Don’t do that! Please, don’t tell Richard.”

  Mary shook her head. “I’ve distressed you somehow and his grace was very explicit that you are to remain calm after your… after your unfortunate grief episode.”

  I couldn’t have her running to Richard. Not until I figured out what was going on.

  Forcing myself to smile, I said, “I’m fine. Really. I’ll be good. I promise.”

  After that, I stood still while Mary dressed me. It was hard not to think back on all the times we laughed and joked over Starbucks caramel macchiato drinks as she helped me dress for the play each night.

  How could all those memories not be real?

  Mary pulled a cobalt blue silk and satin reception dress out of the wardrobe. I recognized it immediately as the dress I wore in act one of the play. The problem was as she pulled the silk paneer overskirt over my hips and secured it to the bustle, I realized the dress was finer than my costume and felt new, as opposed to a dress worn for decades by countless actresses.

  The bodice had the same deep square neckline ornamented with a matching cobalt silk bow over cream-embroidered lace. Although unlike my costume, which clearly had stiff, machine-made lace, there was no denying the delicate work of handmade Irish lace.

  After sitting for another hour in front of the vanity while she teased my hair into a dramatic chignon, I finally stood before the polished glass mirror. It was if I was staring at a dream. I looked every inch the Victorian lady.

  When you become an actress, it’s partially because you want to live in an imaginary world. You want it to be real. You want to wear the dramatic dress with sweeping train and come running out of the castle into the knight’s arms. Unfortunately, you are not fully prepared for the dress reeking like moth balls and body odor. For the castle entrance to just be the door to the backstage lot with the details filled in by computers later. Or for the knight’s costume to be made of such thin aluminum you’re told to only pretend embrace or you’ll dent it.

  I was not a fool, I knew all of it would be fake props when I got into acting, but I couldn’t help wishing everything was just a little more realistic… a little more in keeping with the fantasy.

  And now my wish had been granted.

  Everything felt… real… authentic… yet it wasn’t.

  This was the dream, not the reality.

  Wasn’t it?

  As I approached the large pair of polished wooden doors, two footmen who were standing at attention on either side immediately leaned over to open them wide.

  Crossing the threshold, I took a tentative step into the massive dining room. The room was dominated by a magnificent table of veneered satinwood. In the center was an ornate silver urn filled with orange blossoms and fruit flanked by two tall silver candelabra ablaze with candles. The table easily sat over fifty people. At the far end, I could only get a glimpse of two place settings.

  Heading in that direction, I finally saw the elegant display of crystal, silver, and china placed over a runner of lace.

  In the center of the plate was a single perfect white rose. I reached out to caress one soft petal, needing to feel the silky texture to be assured it was real.

  “I see you have found my small token.”

  Turning with a start, I placed a hand over my chest to somehow calm my beating heart as Richard approached me.

  As always, all the oxygen seemed to leave the moment he stepped into a r
oom. He was dressed in similar black attire but this time his silk waistcoat had been changed out for a cobalt blue one, identical to the silk of my dress.

  Unable to move, I trembled in place as he came closer. I was now used to the possessive way he placed a single finger under my chin, forcing my gaze to his own.

  Leaning forward, he placed a chaste kiss on my cheek. I half expected his touch to scald my skin; instead it felt cool and almost impersonal.

  “Turn around.”

  It angered me to think it didn’t even occur to me to disobey. Turning on my heel, I felt a frisson of primal fear as my back was momentarily turned to him. A heightened sense of awareness of his nearness.

  “Slowly,” he commanded, his voice dark and low.

  I turned more slowly for him. A doll on display. Perversely, I hoped he liked how I looked in my dress.

  As I once more met his gaze, I didn’t see appreciation, the typical male expression when looking upon a beautiful woman. I saw something deeper and far more dangerous. I saw the dark light of obsession glow from his obsidian eyes. The type of deep satisfaction that only came from attaining a highly prized possession.

  “Perfection,” he intoned. The single word sent a chill down my spine.

  Is that what was happening here? Had I somehow become his new possession? His prize?

  Grasping the back of the nearest chair, he pulled it away from the table and turned an expectant eye on me. When I didn’t move, he raised one eyebrow in disapproval.

  “Elizabeth… sit,” he said sternly.

  Reaching for the folds of my dress, I shifted the fabric around the seat of the chair and gingerly perched on the edge as he pushed it beneath me. Richard took a seat to my left at the head of the table.

  I needed answers to questions I was too afraid to boldly ask. I would have to play this by his rules.

  The game of cat and mouse had begun.

  Before we could speak, Jack, still dressed as a butler, entered with a glass decanter of wine.