Chapter 61
Lincoln/Killian
“Do you think she’s acting strangely?” I ask Pierre while he prepares dinner and I watch her from the kitchen window. Ever
since I got back from my trip a few days ago, she’s seemed a little . . . off. She’s polite and responsive and she smiles
at the right times, moans at all the right times, but she’s lost some of that feistiness she was developing. All in all, there’s
just an overall air of fucking sadness about her.
“She seems a little quiet today. But then she is often quiet, non? Has she found a new and all-consuming book, per’aps?”
“I don’t know. But it’s more than that. I can’t put my finger on it, but she’s different, Pierre. At least with me.”
“Per’aps she is growing bored of being locked in this prison? You gave her a glimpse of the outside world taking her on that
picnic and now she wants more, non?”
He could be right. This all started after the picnic. He sidles up next to me and pops a slice of raw carrot into his mouth.
“Or are you thinking about what the Rook said? About her saying the same thing?”
Guilt washes over me. She’s never given me any reason to doubt her, and yet . . . My name might be Wolfe, but she really was fucking raised by them. I don’t doubt that she cares for me, loves me even, but maybe that’s why she’s so conflicted.
“I don’t think the picnic was enough of a test, Pierre. There was never any real chance of escaping.”
He chews his carrot loudly. “Okay. So what would be enough of a test?”
“She needs an opportunity to actually be able to escape, Pierre. A viable chance to get out of here and get to her grandfather.”
I hate even saying the words aloud, not only because the thought of losing her terrifies me, but if she does try, then it
will crush my heart to fucking dust.
“Isn’t that dangerous, sir? What if she succeeds?”
I stuff my hands into my pockets, watching her as she tilts her face toward the sun and smiles. I’d pay a billion dollars
to know what was going through her head. “She won’t.”
He scoffs. “Do not let your arrogance misguide you, Lincoln.”
He goes back to preparing dinner and I keep watching her. “I’m going to schedule a trip for next week. And we’re going to
leave a trail of breadcrumbs for her to follow.”
“And where will those breadcrumbs lead, sir?”
Hopefully, to the truth. “To the trunk of my car.”
“Then let’s make some breadcrumbs.”
Yes, let’s.
I go out into the garden and take a seat beside her. She offers me a smile, but it lacks her usual warmth. Still, there’s
that sadness in her eyes that I can’t seem to unsee. Is it something that I did? Or is it something unshakable from the life
she’s had to live.
I take her hand in mine and she allows me to curl my fingers around hers, even giving mine a gentle squeeze.
“You doing okay, angel?”
She nods. “Yeah. It’s so nice out today, isn’t it?”
I hum my agreement, watching her intently. “I need to go on another trip next week.”
“Again? But you only just got back?”
I rub the pad of my thumb over the back of her hand. “I know. But it will be a short one. I have a meeting in New York I need to attend next Thursday.”
Her slender throat works as she swallows. “I’ll miss you.”
Will she really?
“Come here, baby.” I tug her onto my lap and she comes willingly, letting me wrap my arms around her while she buries her
head against my chest. For whatever reason, my girl is sad. Maybe it is because she had a taste of freedom and she wants more.
And if that’s the case, I’m going to have to figure out a way to give her some so I don’t lose her.
I rest my chin on the top of her head. “You know we never did get those chickens.”
She laughs softly. “Because Pierre would probably cook them for dinner.”
I laugh too, gripping her tightly against me. “I love you, Imogen.”
She snuggles closer. “I love you too, Linc.”
Jesus, my heart just fucking shattered. Why the hell am I testing her again? Because I’m a suspicious fuck who can’t trust
that someone as incredible as her could love someone as fucked-up as me. I should say fuck the breadcrumbs. Tell her I won’t
go on my fake trip next week. Because I want to do nothing but lie in bed, and sit in the garden, or the library or on the
sofa, with her. Talking with her. Kissing her. Fucking her. Loving her.
But I don’t. The wheels are in motion, and I have to see this through.