Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

LIZZIE

I kept my silence during that morning's daily instruction. As a reward for being so good last night, Richard allowed me to be unrestrained in the siege d'amour chair. Once I was lying naked, he held a small velvet bag over my stomach.

"Today we are going to play a fun little game," he said with a seductive smile.

My stomach flipped. As I stared back into his dark eyes, I once more wondered, was this love? Infatuation? Obsession? Stockholm syndrome? It was impossible to tell. My feelings were too complicated, too wrapped up both in the emotional and physical to be deciphered. I both loved and hated the man. Craved and reviled his touch. Needed and despised his approval. My mind hated his arrogant dominance over me, while my body yearned for his firm hand and his painful, all-consuming way of fucking.

I wouldn't call it making love.

I may or may not be in love with this monster of a man but what we did to each other's bodies was not love. That much was clear. It was obsession. Possession. Torture. But it wasn't lovemaking.

Richard upended the contents of the velvet bag onto my stomach. I watched as a sparkling rainbow of emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and diamonds cascaded onto my skin.

My mouth opened in wonder at the beautiful sight.

Richard then walked to the place between the stirrups where my legs were spread open.

"Now, the game is you have to keep very still while I taste this beautiful cunt of yours. You will only be allowed to keep the jewels that remain on your stomach. If you move and one drops, I take it back."

Gasping, I once more felt a surge of conflicted feelings for this complicated man.

The rest of the morning was spent with Richard coaxing wave after intoxicating wave of releases from my body. My bones felt like liquid by the time he allowed me to climb off the chair.

I didn't earn any of the jewels this time but didn't care.

I was left alone for the rest of the afternoon. I spent the entire time in the conservatory, hoping that perhaps my chaotic thoughts would crystalize more in the warm sunshine then they had in the cold dark night.

Finally, I had a plan to draw him out, to hopefully get some answers.

Before I could lose my nerve, I marshaled my courage and went to find Richard in his study.

It was a dark somber room and it was always locked no matter if he was inside or not.

I knocked on the heavy, wood-paneled door. "Richard? It's Elizabeth."

I could hear several shuffling noises and the opening and closing of a drawer. I immediately became suspicious that he was probably stashing modern things like a laptop and cell phone before someone entered. It made sense. The man was a billionaire with several multinational companies and yet he spent most of his time here with me. He would have to have some covert way to communicate to the outside world. The real world.

After a long pause, I heard a key turn in the lock.

Richard opened the door.

Once more I was struck by his handsome looks. He had a very aristocratic face that just screamed authority. The strong jaw and chiseled cheekbones and dark hooded eyes. There was also his height. At well over six feet tall he towered over me. Turning to the side, I slipped past him into the cool, dimly lit interior of the study. Unlike the other rooms that had large floor-to-ceiling windows to take advantage of the natural light since there was no electricity, this room's windows were all stained glass in dark plums, amber, and cobalt blue. As if someone wanted to block out both the light and prying eyes but was concerned shuttered curtains day in and day out would look odd.

The ceiling seemed lower than in the other public rooms of the house. There were plain oak panels painted a muted leaf green that complemented the rich, warm tones of the walnut furniture pieces like his desk, a few cabinets, and scattered chairs. There of course was a small fireplace, but also unlike the public rooms, this was more modest with a simple ivory marble mantel. Over it was a typical, nondescript English landscape painting, no doubt by some forgotten master. There was also the obligatory leather wing chair, which currently had a book lying on the seat as if I had interrupted his afternoon reading.

His desk dominated the room. It was massive. Large enough to fit stacks of files as well as a hand-painted globe on a brass stand and several brass hunting dog sculptures in various poses. There were none of the objects you would expect to see on the desk of a modern businessman, like a computer or phone. Candles in sconces and a few on small stands provided the only real light, which gave the study a closed-off, eerily quiet atmosphere.

While sitting at his desk, Richard had taken off his coat and rolled up his shirt cuffs. As he stood before me, he began to roll them back into place as he headed to the small coatrack in the corner to retrieve his jacket.

Of course , I thought with a wry tilt of my lips. No self-respecting Victorian gentleman would appear before a lady in his shirtsleeves. It was both terrifying and amusing how prim and proper the entire household was, everything according to exacting Victorian standards. The servants bowed and curtsied. Richard and I dressed for dinner every evening in our finest. The entire day's routine observed with clocklike precision from the time the upstairs maids were allowed into the bedrooms to change the linens, to teatime, to the moment the last candle was extinguished and the entire household was expected to retire.

Everything was orderly and calm. Everyone knew their place in this world. Even me.

And why shouldn't it be this way? There was not the chaos of the modern world with its constant distractions and disruptions. There was no such thing as eating a sandwich out of a paper bag while you ran down a dank hallway to your next class. Or reacting to the latest friend drama because someone posted an unflattering picture of another friend out of spite. Or wondering how you were going to pay your student loans and rent month to month.

Still it was ironic that despite all the reserve and politeness of this Victorian world Richard had created that was true to the time itself, just below the surface seethed sexual tension, violence, and the very basest of man's human nature.

It was as much a commentary on the Victorian times as it still was in modern times, that Richard could dress me in silks and diamonds for dinner and engage in polite conversation all evening, never missing an opportunity to flatter or charm and yet, later that night, show up in my room with a belt in one hand and a jar of ointment in the other, telling me he was in the mood to mark my body while he fucked my harlot ass.

You wonder why I was slowly going insane?

It was because I actually loved it… all of it… every painful fucked-up moment and I hated myself for it, which was why I needed to escape.

Turning back to Richard, I gave him a sheepish smile. "I hope I'm not interrupting you?"

He smiled warmly back. "You are never an interruption, my dear."

I lowered my eyes and took a deep breath.

This needed to be my greatest performance yet.

Turning my back on him, I began to play with the buttons on my bodice. After coming up with my plan in the conservatory, I had rung for a maid to help me change into a gown that buttoned down the front, telling her I had wrinkled and stained my current one.

Flicking the first few buttons open at the collar, I began to weave my web. "I needed your comforting presence. I'm afraid the sun lulled me into a fitful sleep just now in the conservatory and I had another one of my dreams."

Richard's eyes sharpened.

When the level of pain you might feel and perhaps your very life depended on reading the moods of the person across from you, you got very, very good at picking up on the slightest inferences.

The barely perceptible straightening of his shoulders. The attentive shift of his eyes. The way he flipped a few files from one side of his desk to another so he looked nonchalant and slightly disinterested. The way he was perhaps unconsciously holding his breath till my next sentence.

My so-called dreams made him nervous.

I knew that now.

And I knew why.

I just needed to hear it from him.

"I've told you not to pay those dreams any attention. They are just your heated mind trying to play tricks on you," said Richard finally. As always, his voice calm and controlled.

"Yes, but this one was so vivid. I think it would help me if I talked about it," I implored with wide frightened eyes as I undid two more buttons at my throat.

Richard stroked my cheek as he had done a hundred, perhaps a thousand times. I could never be sure; the passing of days seemed to have no meaning here.

"In my dream, I was this great actress on stage receiving a standing ovation at the end of a play. I can remember thinking I didn't care because I wanted to get back to my dressing room. At first I didn't understand why but then in my dream I opened the door and you were standing there."

I risked a glance under my eyelashes. Richard was staring intently at me. There was the barest flush to his cheeks.

I unbuttoned several more buttons. Now the tops of my breasts and the edge of my corset could be seen through the parting of the delicate cream lace.

"You looked so handsome in your suit. I can remember feeling my heart flutter in my chest. You made me nervous but that good kind of excited nervous," I continued. "Then my dream became quite scandalous."

Richard's mouth tightened slightly. Looking down I saw his hand flex into a fist then open again.

"It was like the dream jumped ahead in time. I was standing with my back to you, like this."

I sidled up to Richard and turned my back. I knew the bustle of my skirt was brushing his cock and wished I could feel it through the thick fabric. His superior height would give him ample view of my bosom pushed up by the corset.

"Your arm was wrapped around me like this," I coaxed as I reached my right hand back to grasp his right arm and pull it around my small waist. "The dream felt so real. I felt like I was experiencing every emotion."

His warm hand splayed across my front, applying pressure to push me back against his body. Leaning in, he whispered huskily into my ear, "Like what?"

"Nervous. You're just so strong and powerful. Scared you'll kiss me. Scared you won't," I breathed, becoming affected by my own words.

Richard turned me in his arms just like he did that night so long ago in my dressing room. Grasping my face with his hands, he tilted my head back. His breath came in quick rasps against my lips.

"Do you have any idea how long I waited to taste you?" he growled before his head lowered to mine.

The force of his kiss pushed me back against the desk. Lifting me by the waist, Richard placed me on the desk's surface and began grasping and clawing at the fabric of my skirts as he pushed them high.

Delving my fingers into his hair, I licked along the column of his throat before scraping my teeth against his earlobe. Breathing harshly, I whispered, "Was I worth the wait?"

A low guttural sound emanated from deep inside his chest as he reached up to tear the delicate lace of my bodice, forcing the fabric off my shoulders and down my arms. I pulled my hands free as he inhaled the lavender scent of my skin before licking the space between my breasts. "God, yes."

Wrapping my arms around his waist, I pulled him closer as his hand found the slit in my pantalets. My head fell back on a moan as I felt the familiar guilty pull of his touch on my body. Desperately, I tried to remain focused.

Remember the plan.

Sliding my fingers along the waistband of his trousers, I pressed the palm of my hand against the rigid shaft of his cock. In all of our time together, I had never been so bold with him. "Why didn't you fuck me that night in the theater, Richard? I wanted you so bad. I didn't give a damn about that stupid play or the cast party. All of London could have burned at our feet."

With one hand, he pushed two fingers inside my already aroused body. The other he used to start undoing his trousers. "Fuck, I wanted to, Elizabeth. I wanted nothing more than to push you against that dressing room wall and shove my cock deep inside you."

"Did you know in that moment I was fantasizing about you doing just that? Ripping that beautiful Vampire's Wife gown you had just given me right off my body in your desperation to touch me."

Richard groaned as he once more captured my mouth. As his tongue plunged inside to take possession, he ground his hips between my thighs.

"When you didn't, I became so frightened that you didn't want me or were somehow disappointed." I stilled. Holding my breath.

Not noticing, Richard kissed my neck. "You've been mine from the first moment I laid eyes on you… but I had to stick to the plan."

"What plan, Richard?"

He froze. I could physically feel the very moment he realized what I had done. The sudden tension in his shoulders. The shallow breaths as he once more tried to master his control.

He had broken character.

The cardinal rule in the theater was to never, ever, no matter what happened, break character, otherwise the entire illusion disappeared like a wisp of smoke.

Gone was the Victorian Duke of Winterbourne.

Before me now was Mr. Richard Payne.

His hand flew up to grab me by the throat. I screamed and clawed at his hand.

"You think you are so clever, Elizabeth?"

"Please, Richard! You're hurting me!"

"It won't be the first time… or the last. You think I'm the only one playing this sick game of ours? You think this is the first time you've caught me in the lie?" he growled.

My elation over finally having confirmation that I wasn't crazy ebbed. No. No. I mustn't listen to him. I was right! I was right! This wasn't real! I was not crazy. He just confirmed that our time in the theater happened, which meant I was not his ward trapped in the Victorian era. It was all a lie.

His hand shifted to my hair. Pulling me by my own curls, Richard dragged me off the desk and across the room. Shrieking, I tried to dislodge his fists to no avail. My breasts spilled out over the top of my corset, exposing me to the licentious gazes of the servants as Richard marched me past them up the stairs.

"Stop! Stop! It's over. Let me go!"

Richard pushed me across the threshold of my bedroom. I turned and tried to run but he once more grabbed me by the hair. Turning me around, his hand dug into my face and jaw as he forced me to look at him. "It's over when I say it's over. And trust me, baby, you love this game just as much as I do, that's why you keep coming back for more abuse at my hand. You're just as obsessed as I."

I tried to shake my head as my eyes widened in horror. No. He was lying to me again. Trying to get me off balance. Trying to get me to once more question my reality. "You're lying!" I yelled.

Shoving me backward onto the bed, Richard ruthlessly wrenched my skirts up and pushed his hand between my kicking legs. After thrusting several fingers inside me, he pulled free and straddled my hips. Grabbing my face, he squeezed his fingers into my cheeks, forcing my mouth open. He then shoved his fingers inside, gagging me.

"Taste it. Taste your own arousal. You're a harlot in heat, Elizabeth. You can cry foul all you want but you like my rough touch. Crave it. Need it," he growled through clenched teeth. "Love it. Love me."

I began to choke on my cries.

Richard got off me and walked toward the door. I pushed my body upright to see what he would do next.

"You'll stay in here and think about what you have done… what you have selfishly ruined between us."

"Are you going to let me go?" I pleaded.

"Never."

He slammed the door shut. The last thing I heard was the key turning before my own racking sobs filled my ears.