Chapter 8
C H A P T E R
E I G H T
she will not be yours
Someone’s watching us, Nadine had said, sounding like a soft-eyed animal with no natural predators finding itself trapped for the very first time. She was correct, obviously. There were eyes everywhere, restlessly scanning for game—and she had stepped right into the crosshairs.
Cal had been expecting the angry knock on his door, but it had come quite later than he anticipated.
He had just enough time to slip a bookmark into the book he’d been reading and hoist himself out of his careless supine slouch as his brother slammed into the room like a destructive gust of wind, rattling the wall hangings and causing the curtains to stir.
At 6’3”, Ben was a few inches shorter than him, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in arrogance and breadth.
Hefting around construction materials all day and walking large plots of land had given him a toned physique that was further refined by his hunting.
His drinking had added padding but not softness.
Like any good lord, he considered himself above working the land, but he knew better than to let himself become outpaced by those he considered a part of his serfdom.
“How very considerate of you to ask for permission,” Cal said, because seeing his brother bluster amongst his belongings like it was his right annoyed him, and he knew a direct challenge to Ben’s vanities rarely failed to land a hit.
But luck was not in his favor tonight. Ben decided to ignore him, picking up the glass dome with the stuffed sparrow that said My Sweet Evangeline at its base.
“I never could figure out if it was an endearment or a warning.” His thick fingers bit into the glass, his voice bearing that same ragged edge that it had that night in the library.
Though this time it was anger, not misery, fragmenting his speech.
“Perhaps he only wanted to keep her . . . close.”
It took effort not to glance at the closed tapestry door. “Knowing our grandfather, he likely wanted to keep her on her knees, poised at the ready for service. Just like one of his hounds.”
“Not a hound, Brother.” Ben set down the dome with a clattering sound. “The true ladies never partake in the hunt.” Not as hunters hovered unspoken in the air, like a taunt.
“Except Odessa,” Cal said, which caused his brother’s shoulders to rise defensively.
“Except Odessa,” Ben agreed stiffly. “But that is an entirely separate matter from the one at hand, and I find that your current method of defiance is in rather more immediate need of correction than our recollection of family lore.”
“Am I a sum to be tidied then?” Cal asked boredly. “A keystone for the vaulted arch of your petty ego? How delightful for me, to be schooled at the knee of the master.”
Ben looked up with dark, furious eyes, registering the mocking tone. “It’s not your time yet, either,” he hissed, making it very clear what he meant.
Cal laughed. “Thanks, Benjamin. I’m sure I will sleep very soundly tonight knowing that I shall be spared from that pale rider.”
“Stop playing the fool. Do you really think he’ll make an exception? For you? Father knows what you’ve been up to and trust me, he does not approve.”
“All I did was give her a tour of the grounds to assuage her fears. She thinks we have skeletons in our armoires, the poor darling. I’d say that history tends to be dryer than the blood it’s inked in, but unfortunately in our case—yours, specifically—that’s not exactly true, is it?
You should be thanking me for warning her off. I’d be doing you a favor.”
“If you’re trying to warn her off, you’ve bungled it,” Ben said coldly. “Putting her in the unicorn room of all places. That’s a fine joke, given what she really is—”
“That was Odessa’s doing,” Cal cut in. “You know how she loves her little jokes.”
“Does she control your eyes, as well?”
Cal gave Ben a hard look, bold in its assessment.
Ben stepped closer, fists bunched at the sides of his pressed trousers.
He was still huffing and puffing from his entrance, like an overexerted wolf, making his face ruddy beneath his beard.
That flush intermingled with the rosacea in his cheeks and around his nose.
He looks like Father, Cal realized. They could be brothers now.
“Don’t give me that blank stare.” Ben even sounded like Father, although there was a grasping quality to his authority that their Father never had. “I’ve seen how you look at her.”
“She’s comely,” Cal allowed.
“She’s mine.”
“Is she.” He raised his eyes insouciantly. “Then you know what she tastes like.”
“You’ve been warned. The next warning will be a lesson. You’re a man this time,” he said, his voice rising with triumph, when Cal turned away. “Not some lovelorn boy. There’s no excuse for weakness. This time, you’ll be culling your own herd.”
“You should get ready for dinner.” Cal closed the window and drew the curtains, blocking out what remained of the waning natural light. “You look like you’ve been dragged in by the ravens. Whatever will our guest think?”
“It doesn’t matter what she thinks. Father takes the rules very seriously. As do I.” Ben picked up the sparrow again, testing its weight. “I’ll take care of her, if you won’t. Just like before. I suggest you remember that. Perhaps it will help you keep her—and yourself—in check.”
Remembering how he’d thrown his drinking glass, Cal slipped into a ready awareness. “Are we playing chess now?” He smiled humorlessly. “Then I suggest you remember, Ben, that it’s always the king who has most to lose.”
Ben gave the dome a careless toss in his palm before righting it, but this time it toppled over on its side, rolling back until it hit the wall. Sneering, Ben turned on his heel and headed for the door again, but not before looking back over his shoulder. “She will not be yours.”
The door closed behind him but his words lingered, as he’d intended.
Days of work had been undone with the discovery of that necklace.
In attempting to show her that they had nothing to hide, he had only roused her suspicions further.
She had crossed the threshold of this house fancying it a place of whimsy and dark dreams; now it was the monster that had swallowed her sister.
He could hardly claim that Noelle had simply run away when there were tacit signs of a struggle. Of violence.
Nadine was attracted to him only because he had charmed her while holding the very worst parts of himself back. If he showed her what he was capable of—what would be expected of her to truly be brought within the fold—would she still press so closely to his side?
Maybe he could scare her away, after all. All it would require was a taste of the truth.
Cal walked to his desk, pulling free a sheet of stationery from a varnished set of drawers. As he wrote what he needed to write, he found himself recalling with a conflicted but visceral clarity what she tasted like, and how she had felt—one final push from surrender.
The tapestry door was still locked from her side so he exited his room and went to hers from the hall, giving the knob a brief twist. When no yelp of outrage immediately followed, Cal pushed the door the rest of the way open and went in.
Nadine wasn’t here, but she had clearly been busy.
The book he had noticed earlier was now closed and righted with one of Helena’s pamphlets sticking out from between its pages.
She had made a clumsy attempt at tidying the bed, which made him remember her awkwardness in front of the servants at breakfast. She was a woman used to cleaning up after herself to fit into the spaces provided to her.
Only one side of the bed had looked slept in. The other side was completely untouched. Even in her own bed, she made herself small, refusing to take up more than she needed. Something about that pecked at the shriveled remnants of his conscience.
She must be lonely.
Cal tucked the note under the pillow she’d been sleeping on, leaving a single corner exposed. The hall was still empty when he left. Pipes rattled in the walls, possibly from someone running a bath. It was almost time for dinner and they had a guest to impress.
The smell of cooking meat wafted through the lower floor, gamey and tinged with traces of herbs.
Her empty room worried him—he hadn’t heard her leave.
The thought of her racing into town to confront the sheriff with her “evidence” left him colder than having to make her excuses again and leaving her to his brother’s dubious mercies.
His steps quickened, bringing him into the art deco dining room, with its black and white striped walls.
Under the knifing shadows of the deer antler chandelier, Nadine sat at the table, but he didn’t have time to feel relief because his father was looming over her in a tableau that was eerily similar to the scene of the hunt playing out on the tapestry in his bedroom.
“You don’t like it?” he heard his father ask, backing her against the chair.
She flinched back from his hand, which was inches away from grazing her chest. Her face was tight with terror.
Anger raced through him like wildfire, fueled by a sense of possession that was very nearly paralytic in its potency.
“Of course she does.” That rage was like a chemical bath, softening his words with their causticity.
His father stepped back from Nadine, less concerned with being caught and more to gauge a potential enemy.
Cal smiled at them both. “Women love the unicorn room.”
“Caledon.” His father spoke gruffly. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Really?” Cal allowed a note of incredulity to enter his voice, paired with a satisfied sneer, and saw his father’s brow furrow in ill-concealed anger as he registered the insult to his senses. “You’ll have to let me know what she said that ensnared you so completely.”