Ravensdale's Defiant Captive

‘Come this way, Holly,’ Sophia said as she led the way to the next floor. ‘So, what do you think of the place so far?’

‘It’s okay, I guess.’ Holly didn’t see the point in getting too friendly with the natives. Sophia seemed nice enough but it would be a waste of energy striking up a friendship when in a matter of weeks—if not before—she’d be gone.

‘I had to twist Se?or Ravensdale’s arm to agree to having you here,’ Sophia said as they came to the first-floor landing. ‘It’s not that he doesn’t want to do his bit for charity. He’s incredibly generous and supports lots of causes. He just likes to be left alone to get on with his work.’

‘Has he got any lady friends?’ Holly asked.

Sophia’s expression closed down. ‘Se?or Ravensdale’s privacy is of paramount importance to him.’

‘Come on, there must be someone in his life,’ Holly said.

Sophia’s mouth tightened as if she were physically restraining herself from being indiscreet about her employer. ‘I value my job too much to reveal such personal information.’

Holly gave a lip shrug. ‘He sounds pretty boring, if you ask me. All work and no play.’

‘He’s a wonderful employer,’ Sophia said. ‘And a decent man with honour and sound principles. You’re very lucky I was able to talk him into having you stay here. It’s not something he would normally do.’

‘Lucky me.’

Sophia gave her a warning look. ‘I hope you’re not going to cause trouble for him.’

Who, me? Holly thought with another private smile. Julius Ravensdale’s loyal housekeeper thought he had sound principles, did she? How long before his honourable motives were exposed for what they were? She’d seen the way he’d run his gaze over her. He might be clever and sophisticated but he had the same needs as any man his age. He was healthy and fit and in the prime of his life. Why wouldn’t he take advantage of the situation? She wasn’t vain but she knew the power she had at her disposal. It was the only power she had. She didn’t have money or prestige or a pedigree. She had her body and she knew how to use it.

‘How’d you injure your wrist?’ Holly asked to fill the silence.

‘It’s just a bit of tendonitis,’ Sophia said. ‘I get it now and again. It will settle if I rest up. All part of getting old, I’m afraid.’

Holly followed the housekeeper to the third floor of the villa. The Persian carpet was as thick as velvet, the luxurious décor showing French and Italian influences. Gorgeous artworks decorated the walls, portraits and landscapes of various sizes, and marble busts and statues were positioned along the gallery-wide corridor. Chandeliers hung like crystal fountains above and the wall lights sparkled with the same top-quality glitter.

Holly had never been in such an opulent place. It was like a palace. A showcase of every fine thing a sophisticated and wealthy person could acquire. But there were no personal items scattered about. No family photographs or memorabilia. Not a thing out of place and everything in its place. It looked more like a museum than a home.

‘This is your room,’ Sophia said, opening a door to a suite a third of the way along the corridor. ‘It has its own bathroom and balcony.’

Balcony?

Holly stopped dead. Her heart tripped. Fear sent a shiver through the hairs of her scalp. The silk curtains at the French doors leading onto the balcony billowed with the afternoon breeze like the ball gown of a ghost.

How many times had she been dragged to the rickety balcony of her childhood? Locked out there in all types of weather. Forced to watch helplessly as her mother had been knocked around on the other side of the glass. Holly had learned not to react because when she had it had made her mother suffer all the more. Holly’s distress revved up her stepfather so she taught herself not to show it.

But she felt it.

Oh, dear God, she felt it now.

Her chest was tight, heavy. Every breath she took felt like she was trying to lift a bookcase. She couldn’t speak. Her throat was closed with a stranglehold of panic.

‘It’s breath-taking, isn’t it?’ Sophia said. ‘It’s only been recently renovated. You can probably still smell the fresh paint.’

A shudder passed through Holly’s body like an earthquake. Her legs went cold and then weak as if the ligaments had been severed with the swing of a sword. Beads of perspiration trickled down between her shoulder blades, as warm and as sticky as blood. Her stomach was a crowded fishbowl of nausea. Churning. Rising in a bloated tide to her blocked throat.