Enthralled (The Enslaved Duet 1)

He’d done that damage to me, directly and indirectly.

“It is. I hope one day to explain it all to you, but that day is not today, and it is not soon. Now, get up and go directly to your room. I want you to stay there while I deal with the bastard currently occupying my dungeon. Unless you want to watch?”

I thought it about it as I bit into my lower lip. There was no denying something would be satisfying about watching a man hurt for his transgressions against me. But I didn’t think I wanted to be the kind of glutton who indulged in such a thing.

“I’ll go upstairs.”

“Good girl,” he said with a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

He pulled my chin forward to press a kiss on my mouth, then stood us both up easily.

“Oh good, you’re organizing yourselves,” a voice said from the entryway to the left wing of the house.

Noel stood there in something more formal than a tuxedo, his silver threaded golden hair pushed away from his face with pomade.

I made a noise in my throat and ducked slightly behind Alexander because I was tired of being undressed in front of fully clothed men.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Alexander demanded, crossing his arms over his chest and bracing his feet like a military man.

“The Order is coming.”

Something dark permeated the room, and the light from the small windows at the top of the two-story space suddenly went out. Logically, I knew that the ever-present English clouds had covered the weak late autumn sun, but the omen felt too powerful to rationalize.

“And who the fuck invited them?” Alexander asked even though the answer was obvious.

Noel smiled sedately. “They inquired after the girl, as is their right. You hadn’t done so; therefore, I gave them an update.”

“An update that clearly required them to check up on us.”

His father shrugged. “I am not the man in power. Take it up with Sherwood.”

“Oh,” Alexander said darkly. “I will. You and I will also be having words. Ashcroft arrived early and assaulted Cosima.”

“Cosima?” He frowned, looking so much like a confused older man that I felt the urge to go to him. “Oh, you mean Ruthie? What a terrible misunderstanding.”

“There was no misunderstanding,” Alexander ground out, his fist clenched at his sides. “You are the orchestrator of this madness, and it is you who should have to the bear the mark of it. Not Cosima.”

Finally, an expression that was not calm or solicitous crossed Noel’s face. It slithered beneath his skin, not quite there, a snake in the grass hoping to move by undetected. Reflexively, I recoiled. The man I’d spent my afternoons with had been wise, kind, and old enough to bring comfort to me because such a man didn’t view young women like me as anything but delicate young ladies.

That look did not say all that had been conveyed that day.

“Do not call her by that name,” he ordered Alexander. “She is Ruthie now.”

I’d never seen anyone order Alexander, and true to my expectations, he took it as the insult it was.

“I will decide what to call her as she is my slave, Father. You forget yourself. Perhaps your senility is impairing your judgment.”

“Perhaps your cock is impairing yours,” Noel snapped, the tendons in his neck straining. “Do you forget the reason we do the things we must? Is it so easy to forget your own mother?”

The silence that stretched between them was dense and toxic like the aftermath of an atomic bomb. The two men stared at each other unmoving for so long that I began to feel uncomfortable.

“Go upstairs,” Alexander bit out, clearly addressing me. “Go upstairs and ready yourself to be presented as my slave tonight.”

My cold feet were fleet against the marble, and I was halfway up the stairs before Alexander called out, “Oh, and topolina, if you don’t follow my every instruction without hesitation, you will be who next sits in the Iron Chair.”

I could hear the low murmur of male voices punctuated by the clamour of cutlery on fine china and the clink of crystal glasses filled over full with wine. My heart was in my throat as I waited outside the servant’s door to the dining hall, my hands twisted like tangled twine in my angst.

Mrs. White had attended me as soon as I’d stepped through the doors to my bedchamber. I’d been bathed, buffed, and lotioned, combed, dried, and curled, then stuffed like a doll into a ridiculous frilled white frock that would have been better fit for a child since it barely covered my ass or breasts.

Finally, she’d secured a large pendant around my throat, the heavy carved ivory resting in the hollow of my neck. It depicted a red flower and a design that resembled a keyhole, as if the bloom was the key to unchaining some ancient sect’s secrets. Combined with the dress, it made me look occultist, like a sacrificial virgin offered up to some mythological sea monster.