The Erotic Dark (19 page)

“She’s mine!” Preston snapped. His hands clenched into fists. “If I want to sleep with her, I will.”

“She is not yours,” Gabriel said coldly.

“I found her! I’m the one who’s known her for years.”

“That does not make her yours,” Kruin said. He was sitting in an oak chair near the window, his features set hard as he looked from Preston to Gabriel. “And allowing her into your bed was not part of the agreement.”

“What difference does it make?” Preston retorted. “She loves it there.”

“She does not,” Gabriel countered.

Preston glowered at him, fury lighting in his pale eyes. “Since when do you know so much about her? Since she sucked your cock?”

Gabriel’s mouth compressed. “Don’t be crude.”

“She’s ours to do with as we please,” Preston said angrily. “She knew that from the beginning. She’d be in prison if it weren’t for me. She came to me, remember? I didn’t seek her out.”

“But you’ve been chasing her for years,” Gabriel replied, feeling a rush of satisfaction when furious embarrassment flashed in the other man’s expression. Gabriel smiled slightly. “Took you long enough to finally get her.”

Color appeared on Preston’s high cheekbones as his body tensed. “She always wanted me. She just needed me to show her.”

“Yes, I can tell by the way she clearly hates you.”

“She fears me, she doesn’t hate me,” Preston spat. “How can she possibly hate me considering how aroused she becomes when I touch her? I know I’ve given her far more pleasure than you have.”

“Stop this,” Kruin said in disgust, his voice booming through the room. “Childish arguing has no place here. We each have our own views of our willing captive. However, no one is to consider her his personal property.” He leveled his black gaze meaningfully on Preston. “And no one is to believe he has more right to her than anyone else.”

Preston scowled. Gabriel sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. Although they had established certain roles within the household, both he and Preston were well aware that Kruin held the most powerful degree of fearful control over Lydia.

She always paled when he appeared, her large eyes darting to him as if she were waiting for him to bark out an order. For his part, Preston had the ability to shame her the most thoroughly, owing to their entwined histories and Lydia’s personal animosity toward him. With Preston, she frequently had an expression of suppressed anger and dislike.

She didn’t look at Gabriel like that. No, she often looked at him with a mixture of gentleness, humor, and often heated expectation. Although he doubted Kruin or Preston knew it, Gabriel suspected that of the three of them, Lydia sought to willingly give and receive both his physical and emotional pleasure.

And while he appreciated seeing her tremulous and helpless as much as the other two men, Gabriel was also beginning to enjoy the other aspects of her being. Perhaps more than he should.

“Leave Lydia to sleep in her own room,” Kruin said, striding toward the door with a shake of his head. “She still requires discipline, but the woman also needs a decent night’s sleep.”

Gabriel almost smiled. His gaze met Preston’s again after Kruin had left.

“All right,” Preston said irritably. “I won’t make her sleep with me anymore.”

“Good. And while you’re at it, I want to know when one of your little sessions with her is over.”

“Why do you want to know that?”

“Because I do.”

The two men locked angry eyes for an instant before Preston’s gaze broke away. He picked up his teacup with another scowl.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Go ahead and take care of her, Gabriel, but don’t let her forget her place.”

“I won’t.”

“You say you won’t, but she clearly likes you the best.” Preston’s eyes flickered with undiluted jealousy as he spoke. “That kind of affection can manipulate you the wrong way before you even realize it.”

“On the contrary,” Gabriel retorted as he headed for the door. “It might be the only thing keeping both her and me sane.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The watering can slipped from Lydia’s fingers as she stared at the tall, lanky stranger crossing the grounds. Fear gripped her nerves, her heart lodging somewhere in her throat. She took a step backward toward the mansion. The stranger started walking in her direction.

Lydia turned and fled, her sandals hitting the flagstones in a rhythm of panic as she headed for the house. Just as she reached the veranda, the door opened and Kruin stepped out.

A wave of relief crashed over Lydia as she hurried up the steps to him, wanting to throw herself into his strong arms. Kruin frowned at her apprehensive expression and reached out to steady her by the shoulders.

“Lydia, what is it?”

She took a deep breath, calmed slightly by the grip of his big hands. She pressed her palm against her chest to soothe her racing heartbeat and stepped closer to him to feel the protectiveness of his large physique.

“I just…there’s a man out there…I don’t know who he is.”

Kruin’s frown deepened as he looked toward the gardens. Then his expression cleared. “That’s one of the people Preston hired to decorate the gardens for the party.”

Lydia blinked. “He hired people?”

“Yes. Cleaning crews, cooks, gardeners, decorators. They’ve all been investigated, but if you’re concerned, you can remain in your room or the library until they leave. They won’t go upstairs. I’ll inform you when they’re gone.”

“Yes…I…I’d appreciate that.” Lydia was apprehensive enough about the imminent party guests. She didn’t want to have to face strangers if she didn’t have to.

“All right. They should be gone by late afternoon.”

Lydia wanted to kiss him for being understanding. Although it was a startling change from his coldness, she suspected he knew just how jarring it was to encounter people outside the boundaries of her haven.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “I want…thank you.”

Kruin nodded and slipped his hand to her back, urging her into the house. Lydia hurried inside and passed the kitchen, from which delicious smells were already emanating.

She spent the remainder of the morning reading in her room, pausing once when Gabriel brought her a sandwich and a glass of milk for lunch.

At around four in the afternoon, Kruin opened her door to inform her that everyone had left save for the cooks, and they had been instructed not to leave the kitchen.

Lydia realized the time must be approaching for the guests to arrive. Nerves twined through her belly as her fingers tightened on her book.

“Kruin, I really don’t want to attend tonight,” she admitted, hoping he still possessed his earlier sympathy.

He frowned, dispelling her hopes like water down a drain. “You intend to be uncooperative?”

“No, of course not, but I—” Lydia’s voice died when Preston entered the room with a large box in his arms.

He gave her a smile and placed the box on her bed. “Hello, my dear. I have something for you to wear this evening. We thought you might enjoy dressing up.”

Deciding her desire not to attend the party far outreached her fear of punishment, Lydia appealed to Preston. “I was just telling Kruin that I’d rather not be there tonight.”

Preston’s eyebrows rose in mild surprise, as if he had expected this very conversation. “Don’t be silly, Lydia. I’ve been planning this for weeks. Of course you’ll attend. I chose your costume myself.”

Lydia rubbed the back of her neck, which was becoming increasingly taut with anxiety. “Isn’t this dangerous?”

“Darling, there’s no need to worry. Didn’t Gabriel explain everything? We’re all entirely safe. I promise. Ask Kruin.”

Kruin nodded at her in reassurance, but the sheer immediacy of the party had brought forth a renewed rush of fear in Lydia. She started to protest again, but her attention was captured by the costume Preston was removing from the box. She had thought he would insist she wear something embarrassingly provocative, but the amount of material he was extracting looked enough to cover her completely.

Somewhat intrigued, Lydia placed her book on a table and rose to approach him. “What is it?”

“An eighteenth-century gown in the French style,” Preston replied grandly, spreading the gown onto the bed with a sweep of his arms. Two delicately embroidered panels decorated the front of pale blue silk taffeta skirt and bodice. Heavy, creamy lace edged the hem and cuffs. “Complete with corset, shoes, and petticoat.”

“It’s beautiful.” Lydia touched the thick silk with admiration, thinking perhaps the evening wouldn’t be so frightening after all.

“And your mask, of course.” Preston removed a white eye-mask decorated with yellow and blue feathers to match the flowers sprinkled over the panels of the gown. “Trust me, love, once you’re dressed you won’t worry one iota about our guests discovering anything. Not that they would anyway. Frankly, they should be more concerned about people discovering them. Have you showered?”

Lydia blinked with surprise. “Yes, of course.”

“Good.” Preston gestured to her loose dress. “Strip, please.”

“You want me to dress now?”

“Yes. You’ll need a couple of hours to become accustomed to your dress, I think. Plus we’re all eager to see you in it.”

Lydia glanced apprehensively at Kruin, who settled into a chair near the door. She unbuttoned her dress, thinking she should probably be relieved that neither he nor Preston seemed inclined to punish her for her reluctance.

She let her dress fall to the floor. Preston helped her put on silk stockings that reached above her knees, fastening them with garters. Then he bade her to turn around and slipped a heavily boned, silk corset over her shoulders.

Lydia winced when he began tightening the laces, cinching her firmly at the waist and ribcage.

“Preston, not so tight.”

“Darling, the dress won’t fit properly if it’s not tight enough. It was meant to force women to retain an erect posture. You’ll get used to it in a few minutes. It’s meant to be worn over a shift, but we’ll forgo that this evening.”

After pulling the laces tighter, he helped her on with the petticoat, panniers, another petticoat, and then the dress, all of which weighed Lydia down like a heavy cloud.

She stared at herself in the mirror, stunned by how the multitude of clothing had altered her appearance. Preston moved around her, fastening the back of the gown and the richly decorated stomacher to the corset and bodice. He slipped his fingers into the bodice, adjusting Lydia’s breasts so they bloomed halfway out of the neckline.

Lydia grimaced, thinking that if the neckline weren’t edged with lace, her nipples would even be visible.

“Is that necessary?” she asked.

“It’s authentic,” Preston replied. “The corset of the time pushed breasts into a position called ‘rising moons.’” He smiled and gave her breasts a quick squeeze. “Most appropriate, don’t you think?”

“If you say so,” Lydia muttered.

“I was thinking of giving you one of those powdered wigs, but you have lovely hair as it is,” Preston said, stroking his hand through her hair. “I’d like you to put it up, though. And there’s a box of cosmetics for you to use.” He patted her bottom. “I want the rest of you to match your costume, do you understand?”

Lydia nodded. She sat down at the dressing table and began arranging her hair into a French twist. Both Kruin and Preston left her alone, and she spent the next couple of hours alternately pacing the floor and adjusting her costume.

She wished she could loosen the corset laces, which were making it difficult to breathe. She fiddled with the lace on the bodice, reapplied her lipstick, pinned back a stray curl of hair. By the time she had finished yet another series of embellishments, she heard several unfamiliar voices coming from the foyer.

Nerves clenched in her stomach again. She gave herself a final glance in the mirror, rather pleased with her reflection.

The dress flowed over her body like the plumage of some exotic bird, with two, long pleats in the back draping behind her in a kind of train. Her features were strikingly accentuated by the artful application of cosmetics. She was not even inclined to pull the bodice up to hide her full cleavage, which seemed entirely appropriate for the costume. She turned to pick up the feathered mask just as Gabriel entered the room.

Lydia’s breath stopped somewhere in her chest. He was wearing a pirate’s costume with well-fitted, black trousers, a billowy white shirt, and black boots. The entire ensemble magnified his authority and depleted his innate gentleness. Lydia was momentarily unnerved until he smiled at her.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

“Thank you. So do you.”

Gabriel took the mask from her hands and placed it over her eyes, tying the ribbons behind her head. “I don’t agree with Preston about many things, but he did choose the right costume for you.”

“I thought he’d come up with something far more provocative,” Lydia admitted. “That would have made this evening all the more difficult.” She gave him a hesitant look. “I wanted to thank you for what you did. Telling Preston I want to sleep alone.”