To Disappear (10 page)

‘Always remember how fortunate you are to be here,’ Gabriel advised. ‘And be grateful for Preston’s intervention. You have no idea of the lengths he’s gone to in order to ensure your anonymity and safety here.’

Without another word he rose from the bed and left the room, closing the door behind him, his sudden departure confusing and unsettling Lydia.

When she padded cautiously downstairs some time later, her bottom still burning from the leather lashing, she found both the solarium and the drawing room empty.

She had dozed off when Gabriel left her and she subsequently overslept, and as they took breakfast at precisely seven and now it was ten minutes to eleven, the dining room was empty too.

Lydia went through the porch to the gardens, stepping onto the soft grass. Although her weary mind still couldn’t process the utter confusion of pain and pleasure she had endured last night, she had slept deeply enough to replenish both her poise and spirit.

She filled her lungs with fresh air as she searched the gardens and stables, but she found no sign of the three men. Bewildered and slightly alarmed, she returned to the house and peeked into the kitchen.

It was a vast, airy room with long wooden worktops, a sparkling steel range and refrigerator, and a polished tile floor. One door led to what Lydia assumed was the basement, and another led back out to the gardens. Copper pots and dried herbs hung from the ceiling, infusing the air with the spicy scents of rosemary, sage and thyme.

Her belly rumbled with hunger, so she selected a juicy peach from a bowl of fruit before she left the kitchen and went to the library. She had never been in the library before, but the moment she entered she caught her breath with delight.

The ceiling was high, the walls lined from top to bottom with all manner of books. A spiral staircase led to a mezzanine floor that encircled the room and allowed access to the upper floor, while polished, wooden ladders were attached to sliding racks to reach the top shelves. Buttery, leather chairs and a sofa were arranged around a marble fireplace, and a large oak desk sat at one end of the room.

Lydia walked around the library, trailing her fingers over the spines of the books. She had loved to read when younger, but when she began working in the corporate world she simply lost both the time and desire to submerge herself in books anymore.

She had been so immersed in projects, accounts and budgets that reading seemed almost like a frivolous waste of time, but she hadn’t realized until this very moment how deeply she missed the simple pleasure. And what joy to think that she now had an endless supply of time in which to engross herself in books once again.

The thought alone was nearly enough to wipe away the pain and shame of the previous few days. When her fingers paused on an edition of Dumas’s
The Count of Monte Cristo
, she pulled it from the shelf and tucked it underneath her arm. Even if she wasn’t allowed to take items from the library, none of the men would miss just one book. She made a mental note to ask Gabriel about her privileges when she next saw him.

After finishing her exploration of the wonderful library, she went to the drawing room. A door there had caught her attention the first evening she arrived, and she pushed it open curiously. A huge ballroom adjoined the drawing room, with grand windows along one side and a painted, coffered ceiling. She wondered when it had last hosted an actual ball. Years ago, probably.

She retraced her steps and ascended the stairs again, the carpet soft beneath her bare feet. Her bedroom was midway along a landing on the second floor, but the staircase continued to a third floor, so deciding that she had a right to explore the house in which she would be living indefinitely, she went up another flight.

She opened the first door she came to, which revealed a large bedroom dominated by an enormous four-poster bed, covered with pillows. The high windows were covered with light curtains that contrasted sharply with the masculine tones of rust and amber.

Framed oil paintings of naked, supine women hung on the walls. Discarded clothing lay scattered over the footboard and on several overstuffed chairs. A high-tech entertainment system stood against one wall, complete with a large television, stereo and speakers.

It was Preston’s bedroom, Lydia knew. She went further inside, pleased to think she was invading his personal space without his knowledge. The scent of his cologne lingered like a whisper in the air.

She walked slowly through the room, examining the toiletries on his dressing table, the shirts and jackets hung neatly in the closet, the videos and CDs stacked on a shelf. Then as she moved back to the door her gaze fell on a worn photograph tucked into a mirror frame.

She looked at it for a moment before plucking it out, and the truth took a moment to penetrate her shocked brain as she realized she was staring at a photograph of herself as a younger woman.

The photographer had captured her without her knowledge as she walked along the street. She was wearing a white shirt unbuttoned enough to reveal a hint of cleavage, and a short pink skirt that fell to mid-thigh. Her dark hair was long, falling almost to her waist in a shiny waterfall.

With a trembling hand Lydia replaced the photograph. Preston had taken it, of that she had no doubt, and the fact that he had kept it during the interim years was enough to make her feel ill.

She remembered what Gabriel had revealed to her last night, when her emotions and strength had been entirely depleted. Just how long had Preston been obsessed with her? And how else would he exact penance for what he thought were wrongs she had committed against him? Despite what Gabriel said, Lydia knew that Preston’s fascination with her was interlaced with malice.

She knew Gabriel had been correct, that she must be grateful for the fact that Preston had provided her with a sanctuary where no one could find or punish her, where the investigators and lawyers could not touch her… as long as she yielded to the dark trinity of men who lived in the plantation, of course.

Lydia hurried from the bedroom, pressing a hand against her tummy in a futile attempt to stop it churning. It would be all right, she told herself. It would be all right. She was safe here; no matter what Preston did or said, she knew he would keep his word. That’s what mattered. That’s all that mattered.

She opened another door; it was Kruin’s bedroom. Although as large as Preston’s, Kruin lived in a much sparser environment. His bed was covered with a dark blue, utilitarian coverpane, the shelves only contained a few non-fiction books, and the counter of the adjoining bathroom held just a comb, toothpaste and a razor. Yet even those meager belongings served to humanize Kruin somewhat in her thinking, for she had begun to wonder if he possessed any mortal qualities at all.

She checked the other rooms on the third floor, but they were only several spare bedrooms and a storage room. She returned to the second floor and opened the door of the bedroom next to hers, and was surprised to realize it was Gabriel’s, not having known he slept so close to her.

Slightly unnerved by the thought, she looked around the room with its colors of deep blues and greens, the large bed covered with a rumpled, feather comforter, the shelf of paperbacks and magazines, and the comfortable easy chairs near the window. A desk was near the window, upon which was a computer and scattered sheets of paper.

Lydia touched the hairbrush on the bathroom counter, trailed her fingers over a discarded shirt, and moved a few pieces on the chessboard. When she had finally satisfied her curiosity, she returned to her bedroom and closed the door, her newfound familiarity with her surroundings giving her an odd feeling of calm.

The bizarre happenings within the old plantation were so unsettling that obtaining a basic understanding of the house’s blueprint seemed to balance her equilibrium. So she curled up in a chair by the window, opened the book and sank her teeth into the juicy peach.

Lydia woke to the touch of a hand on her hip. She started, fearing for an instant it was Preston coming to submit her to further insults, but then she recognized Gabriel’s touch. She shifted into a wedge of relaxing sunlight that spilled across the bed, letting it warm her face and shoulders. The long fingers of the sun teased her nipples into tight points.

She stretched long and hard, feeling the glorious pull of her muscles as blood flowed through her body. In that brief instant she felt wholly herself, unfettered from the mental shackles that bound her to this place and these three dark men.

How long had she been here? She tried to think. Three weeks at least; perhaps longer. After her whipping under Kruin’s authority, followed by relief at the hands of Gabriel, she had been granted only a short reprieve. The three men had all appeared preoccupied for the past couple of weeks, although clearly still determined to sustain their control over her.

They were forever reminding her to keep her legs parted, but Gabriel was the only one who had not indulged in her body. Several times Kruin had ordered her to bend over the rounded arm of a sofa so he could administer a quick, vigorous fuck that seemed as much for Lydia’s debasement as it was for his pleasure.

Rebelliousness seethed inside her as she pressed her face into the sofa cushions and accepted Kruin’s deep, aggressive plundering of her cunt. His pillaging cock inevitably summoned Lydia’s unwelcome arousal, which she tried desperately to suppress through a concentrated gathering of willpower, but still she twice failed in her efforts, climaxing with such abandon that he punished her with a brutally hard spanking. Although the fierce blows of Kruin’s large palm left her sobbing into the sofa cushion, such punishment was not as difficult to bear as the belt whipping had been.

To her confusion, Lydia found it equally difficult to maintain control over her excitement when Kruin was fucking her as when Preston was. She had hoped that with the latter her dislike of him would temper her natural yearnings, but as his pleasure seemed to derive both from her humiliation and the sexual act itself, he had particularly begun to enjoy coercing her into lewd activities at odd times, and this definitely aroused her beyond belief.

On one occasion he insisted that she kneel between his legs beneath the dinner table and fellate him until he ejaculated while he ate his coq au vin. And on another, when she had returned from a horse ride with Gabriel, after which they spent several hours wiping down the horses and cleaning the stalls, Preston forbade her to shower, instructing her instead to strip and, as he phrased it, ‘ride his steed’. Which, reeking of horseflesh, stained with sweat and grime, Lydia shamefully did. And both times she had not been able to prevent herself from climaxing powerfully.

Although Preston remarked with harsh amusement about her frequent failure to adhere to their mandate, thankfully neither he nor the other two men had subjected her to more barbaric punishments than Kruin’s beatings. Lydia could almost bear their control over her if it meant a reprieve from the variety of harsher punishment they all appeared to enjoy.

She stretched again, feeling the sun warm her skin to a burnished gold.

‘Lydia.’ Gabriel’s voice broke through her temporary bliss.

Her eyelashes fluttered open, and she brushed a few strands of tousled hair away from her forehead as she gazed at him standing over her bed. She searched his face for a hint of the gentleness that seemed such a part of him, but his expression was shuttered.

‘Your presence is required downstairs,’ he said. ‘After your shower, I have something new for you to wear.’

‘What is it?’

Gabriel frowned. ‘You ask far too many questions, Lydia. Now hurry.’

She slipped out of bed, reaching for the sheet to cover herself as she moved from the bed to the bathroom, but before she could wrap it around her body he snatched it in his fist and yanked it away from her, the movement a surprisingly harsh reprimand.

Lydia flushed hotly as she padded quickly across the room, her feet sinking into the plush carpet, her senses heightened to Gabriel’s presence. She knew he was looking at the rounded curves of her hips, the fullness of her bare bottom, the alluring sway of her breasts, and yet her awareness of his gaze was tempered by the persistent knowledge that she had no say in the matter of where his eyes wandered.

Grateful that he allowed her privacy in the bathroom, she stepped under the exquisitely hot shower. Only in the early hours of the morning and in the shower did Lydia feel as if she were truly alone; otherwise she constantly felt the presence of the three men, commands always hovering upon their lips.

She closed her eyes and soaped her body with creamy lather, her nostrils filling with the smell of peaches. Water streamed over her skin in rivulets. She dipped the bar of soap between her legs, shuddering slightly as her fingers encountered the soft lips of her labia.

Since her arrival here she had not touched herself, aside from attending to basic needs and hygiene. It was an act she was beginning to miss, for self-gratification had long been a perpetual practice in Lydia’s sensual repertoire.

She pressed her thumb experimentally against her lathered clitoris, feeling the little bud quiver in responsive pleasure. A deep sense of relief rose in her then, as she had begun to wonder if the three men were attuning her body to the point that she would respond only to them. Although she had no intention of disobeying their order about masturbation – heaven knew she was having enough trouble controlling her sexual stimulation as it was – she was glad to learn that her body remained her own.