Chapter 38
MADISON
After several minutes, I got up the courage to cross the room and place my ear to the door.
I couldn’t hear anything.
With a shaking hand, I reached for the doorknob and slowly turned it, letting out the breath I’d been holding when it gave.
At least he hadn’t locked me inside.
I opened the door a few inches and peeked out.
The hallway seemed deserted.
I squeezed through the library door and scrambled across the marble floor, keeping an eye out for any staff or the creepy butler.
I cautiously ascended the grand staircase. The chandelier cast eerie shadows along the dark, ornate walls. Thunder echoed through the mansion, as if the damn place were growling at me.
I should be running. I knew that. But where? The storm was raging, my clothes were torn, and the police were still hunting a murderer. Me.
Besides, Pierce would find me before they did.
The mansion was huge, maybe I could hide long enough to form a plan.
At the top of the staircase, I hesitated.
The upper floor was shrouded in an otherworldly gloom.
I approached the first bedroom.
Pushing the heavy oak door, it squealed eerily in protest.
I hunched my shoulders and stopped, listening for a cry of alarm. None came.
The rooms were tombs. Musty air, moth-eaten curtains, faded wallpaper peeling at the edges.
In one, a cracked mirror hung crookedly on the wall, reflecting warped shadows.
In another, a diary lay open on a vanity, its pages yellowed with age.
When I reached for it, a gust of wind rattled the windows and I jerked back, pulse spiking.
A voice shattered the silence. “Miss Madison, you shouldn’t be wandering without an escort.” It echoed through the room.
Startled, I turned to find the butler, Elijah, standing in the doorway.
“Elijah, I…I apologize,” I stammered. “I was just exploring.”
“It is Mr. Tompkins or just Tompkins, Miss. Only Mr. Worthington calls me by my Christian name.”
I blinked. Remembering my Downton Abbey lessons, I nodded. “Of course. Sorry.”
His glare bore through me. I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear as I lowered my head, unable to withstand his stare.
“Follow me,” he said. “You are to stay in the Blue Room, as instructed.”
I followed him through the winding corridors, trying in vain to hold the scraps of my shirt together.
He opened the door to the Blue Room with a flourish. Unlike the rest of the abandoned wing, this space was fresh and clean with pale robin’s-egg blue walls, a four-poster bed draped in elegant curtains, and a cream silk comforter.
As if it had been prepared in advance for my arrival, which was creepy as fuck.
How long had Pierce been planning this?
No. Don’t do this.
I heard him argue earlier with Tompkins over which room had been prepared. And yet that could have been done solely for my benefit. My god, the man had me questioning everything. Next, I would be arguing that the sky wasn’t blue and water wasn’t wet.
“You will find everything you need here. There is a bathroom suite through the far door on the left,” Tompkins said, his tone softened ever so slightly. “Will you be requiring a tray?”
I was far too nervous to eat. “No thank you, Tompkins. I’m fine.”
He bowed. “Rest well, Miss Madison.”
I glanced down at my torn blouse and wrinkled skirt.
A bath.
That was what I needed.
I would figure out the rest later.
Right now, all I wanted was a nice, long, hot bath. After weeks of communal showers, it would be heaven to immerse myself in a tub filled with silky, soapy bubbles.
I headed across the room and hesitantly opened the door Tompkins had indicated, as if I were expecting a ghost or some ancient Worthington ancestor dressed in a Civil War uniform to come leaping out.
Lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating a lavish bathroom of carved pale marble. The claw-foot tub was big enough to fit four people.
I turned on the brass spigots, adjusted the temperature, and poured a generous measure of perfumed soap under the flow. I found matches on the vanity and lit a trail of candles, letting their flickering light fill the room. Vanilla and honey drifted on the hot swirls of steam.
Gingerly sinking into the hot water, hissing a little when all the scratches and bruises from the day made contact with the heat, I settled against the back of the porcelain tub and gave a long sigh, letting the tension melt away from my body.
My mess of a life could wait.
In this moment there were bubbles and candlelight and the sweet scent of vanilla. I let my eyes close, oddly comforted by the romantic Gothic feel of the place.
As if I were in a Daphne du Maurier novel.
My lashes fluttered open as a distant thunderclap reverberated through the mansion.
And that was when I saw him.
Watching me from the shadows.