Dark Descent into Desire

by J. J. Sorel

  “Come on. I’d like you to meet her. She’s like a mother.”

  “Really? I’d love that. Only why the change of heart?”

  “I can’t say.” He turned to look at me, holding my hand. “Around you, I don’t know myself anymore.”

  Is that good or bad? I was too on edge to ask. I’d already had my fill of questions for one day.

  Ten minutes later, we drove into a grand old mansion set in stunning gardens, where people stooped in frames tottered while others were pushed along in wheel chairs.

  “Milly’s very old?” I asked.

  “She’s ninety,” Blake responded as he pulled into the car park.

  He opened the door for me and helped me out, which I could have done quite easily myself, but I’d grown fond of his gentlemanly ways.

  We walked up the path hand in hand. I felt like his girlfriend, even if I did wonder whether Blake was atoning for his earlier coldness.

  The place resembled more a luxury hotel than a nursing home. I found my eyes drawn in all directions. The floor mosaic, for one, made me gasp with wonder, and the ceiling fresco made my neck ache.

  “It’s the original,” said Blake.

  “Really? From the eighteenth century?”

  “Seventeenth, I believe,” he said, making my desire for him rise again—not that it ever flagged, but I loved the fact that he knew little details like that.

  * * *

  MILLY WAS A SWEET OLD THING. Her face lit up when she saw me, and she looked like she would burst into tears after Blake introduced us.

  “Oh, Blake, my boy. She’s beautiful.”

  He went over and hugged her and whispered something.

  I remained quiet. Considering how private Blake was, it seemed a privilege just being there.

  Blake placed chocolates and magazines on a table.

  She smiled sweetly, and pointed at a seat close to her. “Sit here, my lovely, and let me look at you.”

  I sat by the window with the million-dollar view of rolling hills and glowing green meadows.

  “Blake, you didn’t tell me about Penelope.”

  He answered with a faint smile, which was his way of remaining mysterious.

  “Should I order tea?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “We just had a few cups earlier. I’m fine, thank you.”

  “So tell me about yourself,” she said.

  “There’s not much to say,” I said, looking over at Blake, hoping he’d jump in with how he fell madly in love with me at first sight.

  “So how did you meet Blake? And do make it romantic.” She looked at me with a gentle smile. “I love romance.”

  “We met at an art exhibition. Penelope’s a very fine artist.” Blake’s eyes brimmed with pride.

  I smiled at him, bathing in his compliment as one would the sun on a fine warm day.

  After a little small talk, which didn’t give much away about Blake’s past, we ended up playing cards and giggling over silly things.

  Blake was so heartwarmingly caring around Milly that I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time.

  That was when I really fell in love with him.

  We’d had one very intense month together. There was so much we didn’t know about each other still, and the thought of Blake learning about my life growing up made my heart shrink.

  Will he still consider me a rising star?

  But Blake didn’t do relationships, I had to remind myself. For all I knew, he would tire of me soon.

  Blake rose. “I’ll be back in a minute.” He turned to Milly. “Now, don’t you start gossiping.”

  Her little giggle sounded like a child’s. She was so sweet.

  After Blake left, she said, “I can’t tell you how lovely it is to see Blake with a girl. He’s not like all the other boys. He’s special. He’s delicate, though.” She turned almost disturbingly serious. “He was close to my beautiful boy.” She drifted off into another dimension, which jarred me.

  “Your son?”

  She sighed. “Harry was my only child. When he died, my heart broke. I was never the same again.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “There’s that devil Dylan Fox. Watch him. He’s evil. Don’t let him go near Blake.” She leaned forward and grabbed my hand. “Promise me you’ll protect Blake.”

  My mouth opened, but nothing came out. A flood of questions choked a coherent sentence and kept it from flowing.

  Is she telling me that Dylan Fox killed her son and might do the same to Blake?

  The shock must have shown, because she added, “I’m sorry, love, to sound so bleak, but you’re the only friend Blake’s ever brought here. I need to know someone’s looking out for my boy.” She placed her finger before her mouth. “It’s our secret.”

  Blake strode back in, and a smile instantly chased away my frown.

  He sat down and said, “Do you feel like a walk?”

  Milly replied, “No. Tell me all about how you met. Make it as romantic as possible. Exaggerate even.”

  I looked at Blake and smiled.

  29

  * * *

  BLAKE

  I LOUNGED BACK IN my favorite armchair at the club. There was something about that worn leather smell that conjured up images of powerful men making momentous decisions.

  “I’m in love,” said James.

  I’d known James for a long time and he’d never uttered those words before. He’d admitted to being in lust, yes, but not in love.

  “That’s nice,” I said.

  He looked at me. “You’re not going to ask with whom?”

  “Lilly.”

  He smiled brightly. “We’ve been together every night this week.”

  “That’s serious.”

  “I’ve asked her to the masked ball.”

  I thought of Penelope, who I’d invited to the ball. Looking stunned, she’d asked, “What will I wear?”

  “A gown,” I answered. Penelope’s somewhat quirky approach to wardrobe, which I generally admired, came to mind, so I suggested a stylist.

  Her face scrunched at that suggestion. “Can’t I choose my own?”

  I acquiesced. She had me agreeing to all kinds of things, even introducing her to Milly, which was out of character for me. But the joy on Milly’s face had been worth it, despite Penelope’s questions about Raven Abbey on our return.

  I looked at James. “Have you seen where they live?”

  “No. She doesn’t want me to know. I imagine it’s in a poor area. I don’t care. She’s so beautiful and nothing like all the others. Lilly appreciates the smaller things. I’m over self-entitled rich girls, even though the family is on my back to marry well.” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Marry? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you utter that word without following it with a sneer.”

  He laughed. “I’m still not hooked on the idea. But I have to admit, Lilly’s doing things to me that I’d never thought myself capable of.”

  I shared that with James. Penelope had taken possession. She’d brought out deep emotions that I’d never experienced before. I’d even agreed to therapy for my nightmares.

  “There’s an issue,” he said. “Lilly is being stalked by that fucker who bought her.”

  My sources had connected the Russian to Dylan Fox.

  “That’s an ugly scene, as is the scum running it.”

  “Dylan Fox,” said James. “That’s right. You two go way back. I suppose that set up is legal. The oldest profession, as they say.”

  “They traffic underage girls,” I said.

  “Then it should be shut down.” James shifted in his seat.

  “Who told you about the Cherry Orchard?”

  He took a while to answer me, which I thought odd. “Tommy told me about it. You remember Tommy? He’s the comedian slash bad boy. An earl, no less. But he likes them young and with cherry intact.” His eyebrows lifted. “But not that young.”

  I nodded.

  “That Vlad the Im
paler had better keep away from Lilly. She’s terrorized by him,” he added.

  “I’ve got someone keeping an eye on things. That said, it would be prudent to hire a couple of bodyguards. Make sure you source them from a reputable firm.” I thought of Tatiana and how she’d mysteriously disappeared from the shelter even with two men guarding her.

  James nodded slowly. “Lilly’s staying with me.”

  “That’s radical.”

  “I’m crazy about her. She’s so sweet. And she cooks delicious meals. That’s a novelty. At home, we always had cooks or dined out, as one does.” He grinned. “It’s nice seeing her in the kitchen. It’s a serious turn-on.”

  “You need to keep her safe. I’ll talk to my man if you like.”

  “So, you’re going all caped crusader?” he asked.

  I sniffed. “Even if I wanted to, there aren’t any telephone booths left for changing into tights.”

  He laughed. “You’ve got the footballer’s thighs for it.” He finished his drink and looked up at the waiter for a refill. “The ball, then. Next week. Are you taking Penelope?”

  “I am.”

  “Well, well. The society girls will be gutted. Blake Sinclair taken.”

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “That sounds like I’m owned.”

  “You are somewhat.” He smirked. “You get this look whenever Penelope’s name is mentioned.”

  I pulled my head back. “How?”

  “You seem happier in general. And your eyes twinkle.”

  “I didn’t realize I was that transparent.”

  * * *

  AFTER I LEFT JAMES, Patrick dropped me off at a café to meet Penelope, who insisted on making her own way there. Her stubborn independence played havoc with my need for control.

  As it was, she arrived late. With her hair in plaits, she wore a purple velvet skirt over brown boots.

  “Hey. I’m sorry,” she panted. Her beautiful face had a healthy, rosy glow, reminding me of how she looked after an orgasm.

  I pulled out the chair for her.

  “I’ll abstain from giving you a lecture on how selfish it is to make someone wait.”

  She leaned in and kissed my lips. “I’m sorry. I’ll make up for it.” She licked her finger and held it up.

  “I’ll hold you up to that.”

  She grinned.

  “Have you eaten? Or do you just want coffee?” I glanced down at my watch.

  “Are you in a hurry?” she asked.

  “I have a few pressing matters to deal with and then…”

  She tilted her head. “Then…?”

  “I’ve got an appointment with a therapist.” I tensed my shoulders. The thought of a stranger’s interrogation twisted a nerve.

  “Oh, that’s fantastic news.” She smiled sadly. “I know it’s a difficult thing for you. Thank you.”

  I smiled faintly and cast my eyes down. Her caring tenderness was like sun in my eyes, even though her softness massaged my soul.

  “Do you wish to order something?” I asked.

  “Take-away coffee and maybe a sandwich. We’re going somewhere, you said.”

  I beckoned the waiter over and let Penelope make her order. I didn’t need anything except perhaps a Scotch, but because it was only two o’clock in the afternoon, I abstained.

  We left the café and jumped into the Bentley.

  I leaned forward toward Patrick. “Back to Duke Street, where we were earlier.”

  He nodded, and we drove off.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, as my hand stroked her thigh.

  “It’s a surprise.” I grinned.

  30

  * * *

  PENELOPE

  WHEN WE PARKED AT a terrace house overlooking the park, I wondered if we were visiting someone.

  I waited for Patrick to open my door. He liked doing that. Even if it felt strange stepping out with a tall, burly fellow holding a door open in broad daylight, it always attracted attention.

  Blake touched my skirt. “Is this new?”

  “Uh-huh. I picked it up at Oxfam.”

  His brows knitted. “Why are you shopping there? Why don’t you take the credit card I offered?”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “It’s nice. And you look, as always, unique and beautiful. But I can afford to buy you new clothes. Whatever you desire.”

  “But new things aren’t always as unique as old things.”

  “That’s the beauty of designer clothes—they’re one-offs.” He brushed my cheek, and his eyes impaled me.

  My heart skipped a beat at the thought of making love just like we had the night before. Divinely heavy after shaking through multiple orgasms, I’d fallen into a deep sleep and hadn’t even noticed Blake sneaking off.

  I hated us sleeping apart. And knowing that he planned to visit a therapist filled me with hope. I only wished he’d open up to me.

  I followed him through the filigree iron gate, and we came to a red door with a brass knocker.

  Blake opened the door.

  “Oh, you live here, too?” I asked.

  Making room for me to pass, he remained quiet.

  We walked down the hallway and entered a large sunny room with a bay window that overlooked the park. There was a sofa, a coffee table, and Tiffany lamps positioned on empty bookshelves. The mid-tone-blue walls with their white ornamented cornices were bare.

  Blake crooked his finger for me to follow. We stepped into a kitchen overlooking a garden brimming with flowers and herbs.

  I couldn’t imagine why he’d brought me there.

  Blake led me by the hand to a room surrounded by windows looking out at the garden.

  “How lovely,” I said.

  “It’s yours.”

  I frowned. “Huh? What do you mean?”

  “The house is yours. I bought it for you,” he declared, looking pleased.

  “You can’t be serious?”

  He pointed. “This would make a great studio. There’s even a sink for washing your paints. The light …”

  “I can’t take this,” I interrupted, gulping back disbelief, even though I had quickly grown in love with the place. How could I not? It was stunning. The garden. The park views. A studio to die for. “This must have cost you over a million pounds.”

  “I made that in a couple of days, Penelope.” He cocked his beautiful head.

  My jaw dropped at that admission. “I’d love to live here. I really would.”

  He took me into his arms, and I melted into his strong frame. “Then there’s no problem.”

  “Maybe I could pay you rent.” I thought about the cash in my account.

  I wondered if I could move my mother to this house. But the thought of that sat uncomfortably in my gut. Renting her a flat somewhere close would be the best option so that I could look out for her.

  “No rent. It’s yours. Please.” His chin touched his neck as he peered into my eyes. The sun hit his eyes, making them spellbindingly turquoise.

  “Come upstairs.”

  I followed him up to the second floor and found a large bedroom with a little balcony that overlooked the park. It was so perfect that a tear splashed onto my cheek.

  Blake smiled tenderly and held me. “You deserve it. Think of the great art you’ll create. And I know where you live.”

  I pulled away. “What?”

  “I know you live at that rundown estate.”

  “You’ve had me followed?”

  “Not as such. Your friend Lilly’s being stalked by a man who has some pretty nasty connections. She’s being watched, and you’ve been spotted there. A little digging revealed that’s where you live with your mother.”

  “A little digging? You know about my mother?” I sank down onto the bed and buried my head in my hands. Although it heartened me to learn that Lilly was being protected, I felt violated.

  “A guy’s been spotted going in and out. He looks shady.”

  “That’s Frank.” I let out a si
gh. The knots started to unwind. Too raw to fight it, I surrendered.

  Blake sat on the bed, holding my hand. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. My family life wasn’t pretty.”

  I turned sharply to face him. “Tell me. It will make me feel better.”

  “It’s a long shitty story. I’m not ready for that.” His eyes wore a hint of fragility.

  “You live such a privileged life. How the hell could I admit to coming from that slum?” I looked down at my feet.

  “Don’t judge a billionaire by his cover. Behind many a success story, there’s a junkyard of seedy transactions and hidden scandals.”

  “Is that what happened to you?”

  “Not as such.” He opened his hands. “I meant that most people are ashamed of something. And the richer the person is, unless they’ve been under a rock, the more likely that they have a parent who’s addicted to drugs and alcohol, has affairs, or conducts shady deals.” He cast me an earnest half grin. “I would never judge you based on your family. I don’t subscribe to that form of snobbery.” He fixed his gaze on me. “I’m with you because of you, Penelope.”

  I took a deep breath. “My mom’s a junkie. She’s been shooting up heroin all my life.” I couldn’t look at him. His pity would have killed me.

  Painful silence created distance between us. He lifted my face to meet his. It wasn’t sympathy in his eyes but something more profound— recognition and understanding, as though he’d been there himself.

  “That’s not your fault. You don’t have to wear the shame of your mother’s habit.”

  A lump had settled in my throat. I couldn’t talk.

  “Will you accept my offer of rehab for your mother? Or I should ask, would she accept it?”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “We’ve been seeing each other barely a month, and you buy me a house. And now you’re offering to pay for my mom’s rehab. Blake…”

  His lips drew a tight line. “This is small change.” He pointed to the walls. “As is paying for your mother’s rehab.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” I crumbled with emotion. Tears streamed down my face.