by Nina Lane
No gentle swirls of cotton. No tiny pink rosebuds sprinkled over a soft green background. No delicate pearl buttons or billowy bell sleeves or lacy accents.
It was ugly. Trapped in the confines of practical undergarments and this monstrosity of a dress, Lydia wanted to cry.
She turned to search Gabriel’s face for answers, but his expression remained shuttered.
“Why?” she whispered, her eyes misted with tears.
Gabriel reached out to brush a tendril of hair away from her neck, his fingers lingering against her skin. For a moment, he appeared about to tell her something, but then he nodded to the dressing table.
“Fix your hair,” he said, though the order was softened by a gentle note that soothed Lydia’s sore heart.
Swallowing the knot in her throat, she went to the dressing table and brushed out her long hair. She scraped it back and fastened it with a tight clasp at the back of her neck—a plain style suited to the rest of her attire. At another directive from Gabriel, she applied a light dusting of powder and a coat of soft wine-colored lipstick.
He gestured toward a pair of navy flats beside the bed. “Preston and Kruin are waiting in the solarium.”
After slipping her feet into the shoes, Lydia preceded him down the stairs. Her heart pounded hard against the tight underwire of the bra. Her skin felt stifled by nylon and polyester, her breasts trapped. She could no longer feel her own body’s natural movements to which she had become so accustomed. Since setting foot on the plantation grounds, she had never felt so undesirable as she did now, and that fact alone wrought a new twist of panic.
Lydia tried to breathe evenly, tried to reassure herself. Surely Preston was over his irritation and meant to subject her to one of his little scenarios in order to put the household back into order. This was all just a ploy to unnerve her, to keep her off-guard, or to introduce her to some newfound way of heightening her awareness of her body.
Of course it was.
Still, her nervousness intensified, though it was mitigated by an undeniable hope that her expectations would prove true, that all three men were prepared to forget the unpleasantness of the past week and set things right again. As she approached the breakfast room Lydia thought she would happily submit to anything the men concocted, no matter how depraved.
She stopped in the doorway of the solarium. The aromatic scent of coffee filled her nose. Her trepidation eased a bit. She breathed in the comforting smells of bacon, crisp buttered toast, and something else with a yummy, buttery scent. Fluffy pancakes? Belgian waffles?
Preston and Kruin both rose as she entered. Embarrassment flushed her cheeks when their gazes, one crystalline-blue and the other darker than midnight, swept over her figure.
“Good morning, my dear.” Preston favored her with a smile, though there was a hard glint in his eyes that gave Lydia the sense his anger had reached a different level. “Do sit down. You slept well, I hope?”
Lydia nodded, murmuring a quick thank-you to Gabriel as he pulled her chair out for her. She slipped into the seat and tried not to wince as the elastic of the panties abraded the crease of her smooth thighs. She wished fervently for a different kind of aggravation, like the lingering prickles after one of Kruin’s harsh spankings…
She glanced up to find the big man watching her impassively from across the table. Another hot blush rose to her cheeks, and she ducked her head in an effort to avoid his penetrating gaze. Why did it always feel as if he knew exactly what she was thinking?
In an attempt to gain some composure, she took a sip of cold orange juice. The tangy flavor slid refreshingly down her throat. Gabriel poured her a cup of coffee while Preston filled a china plate with strips of crunchy bacon, curved slices of melon, and a golden-brown crepe stuffed with ricotta filling and drenched in homemade blueberry compote.
Preston walked around the table to deposit the plate in front of Lydia. “Here you are.”
“Thank you. It looks delicious.” She picked up her fork and started to slice off a portion of crepe, then realized Preston was still standing beside her chair.
In spite of her earlier belief that she would submit happily to his commands, apprehension flashed through her.
He settled his hand on the back of her neck. His groin brushed against her arm, and Lydia’s breath caught as she felt the half-hard bulge concealed within his trousers. The scent of his soap tickled her nostrils.
Her hand trembled. She set her fork down and waited for him to issue a curt order.
He didn’t. Instead he rubbed his erection against her, his blue eyes gleaming with amusement. He ran a possessive hand over her hair, grasped the clipped length, and tilted her head back. A wicked light shone in his eyes as he bent to cover her mouth with his.
Lydia gasped at the sudden onslaught of the kiss. His tongue pushed into her mouth, stroking over her teeth and the corners of her lips. He pulled her head back farther to deepen his penetration. The flavors of coffee and sweet blueberries mingled with the taste of Preston, and the combination caused Lydia’s body to surge with both fear and arousal.
He pulled away slightly, his lips still against hers. “Never forget where you belong. Most especially to whom you belong.”
His eyes seared into hers as he straightened. Lydia swallowed hard, her belly twisting at the implication that a circumstance would arise where she might somehow forget.
Preston moved back to the head of the table. A sudden tension filled the air. Lydia looked at Kruin, who sat across from her. The big man met her gaze steadily, but the look in his usually inscrutable expression elicited a new wave of alarm.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Frantically, Lydia tried to think of what recent transgression she might have committed, but such tense friction couldn’t be caused by the couple of times she’d dared to close her legs. And aside from losing occasional control of her arousal, she tried hard to do exactly as all of the men bade her.
“What…?” She tried to speak past the tightness in her throat. “Is there something wrong?”
Before any of the men could respond, the front doorbell rang, a sonorous sound that echoed through the foyer. Kruin pushed back his chair and went to answer it.
“Are you expecting a visitor?” Lydia asked.
Preston’s mouth compressed into a thin line, his eyes hardening.
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” he said, looking entirely displeased at the notion. “But this particular visitor is here to see you, Lydia.”
“Me?” Shocked, Lydia swung her eyes to Gabriel. Fear burst inside her chest.
Gabriel nodded. Lydia grew slightly dizzy as images of police officers and investigators filled her head.
“What… who is it?” she whispered.
Though Gabriel’s green eyes were tender, tension lined his features as he approached her and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Your father, Lydia.”
CHAPTER THREE
SHE COULDN’T DO it. Couldn’t walk through the carved oak doors of the drawing room where her father awaited her.
What was he doing here? How did he find her? What did he want?
Lydia’s heart pounded against the thick constriction of her nylon bra and slip, and she struggled to draw breath into her tight lungs. Not even Gabriel’s presence at her side eased the outright fear coursing through her entire body.
Preston had already gone in to greet her father. She tried to imagine the two men shaking hands, Preston’s blond hair gleaming, his sharp features composed and polite as he asked solicitously about her father’s senate campaign. And Lydia tried to imagine her father, to conjure a picture of him in her mind, but everything inside her recoiled at the notion of her two worlds colliding with such unexpected force.
Gabriel’s hand pressed against her lower back, urging her forward. She couldn’t look at him, knowing that if she did, she would beg him to allow her to flee to the safety of her room.
“He planned this, did
n’t he?” she whispered. “To punish me. To punish us.”
“Preston is a childish fool,” Gabriel replied. “But he would not go that far or put himself at such risk.”
Lydia closed her shaking hand around the doorknob, but her palm was slick with sweat and she couldn’t force the knob to turn. Gabriel reached around her to place his hand over hers, pushing the door open.
All the breath escaped Lydia as she stepped into the room. A thick curtain of silence descended. She felt her father’s presence like smoke, a heavy cloud of it invading every corner of the room. Terror clawed at her. The only thing that kept her from sinking to the floor was the sensation of Gabriel’s hand still pressed against her lower back.
She stared at the intricate pattern on the carpet, unable to raise her eyes. Perspiration trickled down her neck and between her breasts.
“Jane.”
Her father’s voice sounded like the clip of scissors, cold and sharp. And her former name… It was blunt, short, with none of the melodic cadence of Lydia.
Lydia curled her fingers into her palms. She took a breath and lifted her head.
Her father stood beside the windows in front of the very chair where she had received her first punishment from Kruin all those weeks ago.
A hot flush spread over her face. She tried to step back, but Gabriel’s hand prevented it. Even from across the room, she could see the displeasure lining her father’s craggy features, the glint of light in his steel-gray hair. He had always been a formidable man, exuding strength and authority in his tailored suits and power ties, but never had Lydia been afraid of him.
Not until now.
He walked toward her, his Berluti leather Oxfords soundless against the carpet. The scent of his aftershave, spice and musk, reached her first, and Lydia was assaulted by a barrage of memories of her childhood and teenage years dominated by the presence of her powerful father. He had always been the one to dictate the course of her and her siblings’ lives, to shape their existence around his expectations and image. Though they lived in wealth and luxury at home, he had enrolled them all in public schools in lower-class neighborhoods so they would experience different social and economic realities.
That, of course, was what had put Lydia into contact with Preston Severine, a boy who lived in a one-bedroom apartment with his mysterious yet beautiful mother. Preston had been poor, hungry, dirty, a sly troublemaker who cheated on schoolwork, stole food and money, vandalized… and always escaped without detection. Even back then, he’d been able to escape authorities and was never caught for his transgressions.
Since Lydia still couldn’t look at her father, she shifted her gaze to where Preston stood beside the sideboard. Though his classically handsome features lacked expression, his blue eyes were filled with dangerous warning.
“Look at me.”
Lydia started at the sound of her father’s voice again. She forced herself to look at him, her heart hammering at the coldness of his expression and the anger she sensed burning like a flame beneath the ice.
He stepped closer, invading her space, stealing the air around her.
“You,” he said flatly, “are a disgrace.”
Lydia tried not to cringe as her face heated with shame. She felt Gabriel tense behind her. He increased the pressure of his hand on her back, but Lydia found little comfort in the gesture.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her shame deepening to outright humiliation at the thought of just how much her father might know about her life at La Nouvelle Vie.
Edward Worthington appeared unmoved by the apology. His gaze raked over Lydia, from her pinned-back hair down the heavy material of her dress to her practical shoes.
“You’re fortunate that the investigation hadn’t reached a federal level,” he said, his mouth compressing with distaste. “And that I was able to make a deal with the authorities. Not for your sake, but for mine and your mother’s. For the rest of the family. You could rot in jail for the next twenty years, and I wouldn’t bother to pay you a visit, let alone lift a finger to help you.”
Lydia did cringe at that, though she knew in her heart her father would be well within his rights to disown her. Tears stung her eyes.
“However.” Her father lifted his finger like a gun, pointing her to damnation. “I will not allow the taint of your crime to hurt my campaign or to damage anyone else in this family. The investigators will stop pursuing you if you return the money you stole, plus a substantial amount more to cover the loss. The Southern Financial board of directors has also agreed to drop the charge, if I support their lobbying efforts.
“You, Jane, will come back home immediately, return all the money, join your mother in her philanthropic endeavors, and live a quiet, respectable life as befits the daughter of a state senator. Do you understand me?”
Lydia couldn’t respond. She understood his words, but the meaning behind them escaped her. “You will come back home…”
“I…” She swallowed to ease the dryness in her throat. “I’m sorry, I… you want me to come home?”
“Yes.” Edward frowned as if she were a dimwitted child. “You lost the lease on your apartment when you disappeared. You will return to my house and remain there so your mother and I can monitor your activities. If we find… even if we suspect… that you are engaging in anything untoward, there will be hell to pay. I guarantee it, so do not attempt to test me.”
He stepped back, still frowning. “Go and collect your belongings. The car is waiting outside.”
A sudden rush of anxiety crowded Lydia’s throat. Surely he didn’t truly mean… Preston couldn’t… Gabriel didn’t…
She spun around, her gaze clashing with Gabriel’s eyes. And what she saw there made horror break open inside her.
Resignation.
He reached a hand toward her. “Jane, you must—”
“No!” Lydia swatted his hand away and bolted toward the door. Gabriel grabbed for her, but she evaded his grasp and flung the door open.
She hurried toward the back door leading to the veranda. A sob escaped her throat. She went outside, a rush of heavy, humid air falling over her. She ran down the porch steps and into the garden. Tears spilled over as cries filled her throat. She tried to increase her speed, but she was unaccustomed to wearing such clunky shoes, and the dress seemed to weigh her down.
Still, she ran as fast as she could, trying to escape whatever it was that sparked such dread and fear. Her breath scorched her lungs, and her heart pounded against her ribs. She turned toward the vast expanse of the grassy plain and trees lining the perimeter of the plantation grounds. Sweat ran down her neck.
“Lydia!” Gabriel’s voice shouted from behind her.
She forced herself to run faster, her shoes slamming against the flagstone path. Then she tripped on an uneven stone and fell with a cry, her hands flying up to break her fall before her body hit the hard pathway.
“Lydia.” Panting, Gabriel careened to a halt beside her, crouching to grasp her shoulders. “Are you all right?”
Lydia shook her head, the tears still pouring down her cheeks, and her emotions so tangled and confusing that she didn’t think they would ever make sense.
She allowed Gabriel to help her sit up so he could look at her scratched and bleeding hands. Through her damp eyes, she searched his face, silently begging him to assure her it was all a mistake, that she didn’t really have to return to her father’s house, that she could stay at La Nouvelle Vie for as long as she wished.
Gabriel brushed the grit from her hands and ran his fingers over her arms. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
Lydia shook her head, trying to draw in air, feeling as if she were suffocating. “Please… please…”
Gabriel looked at her, then reached out to put his hands on either side of her face. Though his eyes softened, they still contained a dark light of resignation.
“Do you remember what I told you once?” he asked. “Here on the plantation, you must be like ivy and oak.
Strong and unbending, but also pliant and yielding. No one can take from you that inner core of strength. Not here at La Nouvelle Vie. And not in the outside world either.”
“But I…” Lydia shook her head, her chest so tight she thought she would snap in two. “I don’t want to be in the outside world again. That’s why I came here. You can’t make me go back if I don’t want to.”
“I can’t,” Gabriel agreed. “But your father can.”
Fresh tears spilled down Lydia’s cheeks. “How did he find me?”
Gabriel didn’t respond, merely lifting his shoulders in a shrug that indicated he either didn’t know or didn’t care—the fact was that Edward Worthington had found her.
“I won’t go,” Lydia said stubbornly. “I can’t go.”
“If you don’t, there’s no telling what he might do. Remember that we are all here because we’ve committed crimes, Lydia. If your father were to find out what the rest of us have done, he wouldn’t hesitate to send the authorities after us.”
“But he doesn’t know, does he?”
Gabriel shook his head. “There’s little chance that he ever will, but we can’t take the risk.”
He rose to his feet and helped her stand. Lydia’s entire body ached, but she allowed him to lead her back to the house. A knot of dread pulled tight in her belly. Not once during her entire stay at the plantation had she wondered what would happen if her father found out about her crime. She’d been so convinced of Preston’s ability to make her disappear that she hadn’t considered her very powerful father might one day find her, much less what would happen if he did.
Now she knew. She would be forced to leave.
Forced to leave. When all she wanted to do was stay.
Lydia pushed that utterly confusing thought aside as she followed Gabriel back to her bedroom. Her fear lit anew when she saw the open suitcase beside the bed, some of her clothes neatly folded inside.
After washing the dirt from her hands, Lydia sank onto an overstuffed chair beside the window and tried to calm her still-racing heart.
