“Maybe that’s not so much a blanket description of our gender,” I answer sweetly. “Perhaps, it’s more a testament to your poor choices of former companions.”
He laughs. “You do look marvelous, though, Lilly. I’m impressed.”
“Why, thank you, Jeremy.” I give him a slight, mocking curtsy. “You don’t look half-bad yourself.”
“I try hard now that I have you to keep up with.”
I eye him sideways. He laughs again.
“What’s the plan for tonight?” I ask. “Why’d you invite your father here?”
“Oh, that?” Jeremy’s eyes glint with mischief… or maybe something a tad darker, a bit more perverse. “That, you’ll have to wait and see for yourself.” He checks his watch. “Don’t worry, now. It won’t be long.”
We enter the dining room together. Jeremy separates from me and takes his usual seat. I take mine across the table from him.
There are four sets of cutlery.
I look at Jeremy. “I thought only Hugh was coming.”
“I invited Rose as well.” Jeremy picks up a glass of ice water and takes a sip. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“I—no,” I stammer. “Why would I mind?” I remember that thing Jeremy screamed out in the midst of his night terror. I sit up straight. Maybe I’ll finally get some answers. “In fact, I think that’s a marvelous idea.”
“Do you, now?” Jeremy muses. He leans toward me. “Why?”
I shrug and make something up on the spot. “The three of us haven’t had a chance to be together in one room since—Jesus—since Christmas dinner when you pulled me out of the dark.”
“Hmm.” Jeremy appears satisfied with my explanation. “Remember, Hugh will be here as well.”
Footsteps announce the arrival of a third person. I look up and see Rose. She’s dressed impeccably. I’ve never seen her like this. She’s wearing a tea length, lavender dress with lace detailed cap sleeves, with her hair down. Silver waves curl around her neck. She has a beautiful pendant at her throat, and two stunning diamond earrings.
What the hell is going on?
“Mr. Stonehart,” she says, smiling at Jeremy. “Miss Ryder.”
“Rose,” Jeremy makes an expansive gesture in welcome. “Please, won’t you sit?”
“It will be my absolute pleasure,” she says. “Thank you, for inviting me tonight.” She glances my way, and surprises me with a wink. “Though I must say, I feel a little ridiculous in these clothes.”
“Nonsense,” Jeremy smiles. “You look both elegant and sophisticated, just as you deserve. It brings up memories of older times, does it not?”
Rose shifts under the questions, suddenly uncomfortable.
I make a mental note of her reaction.
She clears her throat. “So,” she says. “Who’s the fourth spot for? You didn’t invite Charles as well to surprise me, did you?”
“No, no.” Jeremy almost laughs. “I have a much more refined surprise in mind. Though Charles is free to join us as he wants, as the night progresses.
“Somehow, though,” Jeremy adds after a moment’s reflection. “I think he will prefer to sit this one out.”
I share a look with Rose and see the discomfort on her face.
Does she not know Jeremy invited his father? Why? Should I tell her?
I have a feeling, however, that there are undercurrents to the night to which I am completely blind. Dangerous ones. Ones that scare me.
I decide to take a more subtle approach.
“Jeremy,” I say sweetly. “Would you mind telling me why you invited Rose to join us tonight?” I smile at her, “Not that I mind her company, of course.”
“Now, now,” Jeremy says. “Is it so surprising that I dedicate one night to spending time with the two women who know me best?”
“And Hugh?” I ask.
Rose does not react to the name. And then I realize: if she knows Jeremy’s father at all, she would know him by his real name! I rack my brain, but can’t for the life of me remember what it was.
“Hugh will be…an honored guest,” Jeremy says. He looks at Rose. “But now Lilly has ruined the surprise.”
The doorbell rings. “Ah,” Jeremy says. “The fourth member of our company has arrived.” He gets up and starts for the door. “Excuse me a moment, while I let him in.”
As soon as Jeremy’s out of earshot, I lean toward Rose and hiss, “Hey! Do you know what all this is about?”
She takes a breath, closes her eyes, and lets it out slowly. Her hands have a death grip on the edge of the table. “My dear,” she says finally. “I haven’t the slightest clue.”
“I don’t like it,” I say. “When did Jeremy tell you about dinner?”
“Less than an hour ago,” Rose answers. “He rang me up and told me to put on my most expensive dress. The one he’d picked out for me years ago for the right occasion.”
“This is it?” I wonder abstractly. Another shiver crawls up my spine. I feel like Rose and I are pawns in some invisible chess game that Jeremy is playing tonight. “He sprung it on me at the last moment, too. Rose, you know who Hugh is, don’t you? He’s Jeremy’s fa—“
I cut off. Precisely at that moment, Rose’s jaw falls open. She goes ghostly white as she stares behind me.
I spin around in my chair to see what she’s looking at.
And there, entering the dining room, are Jeremy and his father.
The two men could not look any more dissimilar. In fact, if I didn’t know it as true, I would never have guessed they were related.
Jeremy stands tall and proud. He walks with a confident strut, a cocky, arrogant edge to each step. His head is up, his shoulders back, his impressive body emphasized by the crisp lines of his pale blazer and matching pants.
And then there’s Hugh. He’s wearing an old, brown pea coat. A brimmed hat sits low over his eyes. He almost looks like half-a-man beside Jeremy—not just because of the stark disparity in height. Somehow, standing beside Jeremy, being compared to Jeremy, makes him look shrunken, small. His clothes seem too big. None of that smug self-assurance he’d shown in the airport in Boston, or the few times he’s been one-on-one with me is on display here. In fact, he looks…cowering.
What did Jeremy do to him?
That question is lost in the commotion that ensues.
“Blackthorne,” Rose breathes. It sounds like both a gasp and a prayer.
Hugh looks up, then, and sees Rose. The most splendid expression of shock and disbelief comes over his face.
Jeremy, there beside him, smiles widely.
Hugh breaks out in a run. Rose is up and rushing to him just as fast. They meet halfway, just behind me, and embrace like old lovers.
“Blackthorne,” Rose mutters, again and again and again. She touches his face, as if she’s afraid he’s an apparition who might disappear at any moment.
And Hugh looks at her just as tenderly, just as sweetly. In fact, for a frightening moment, I think they’re going to kiss…
That possibility is shattered by the loud crash of dishware against the floor.
I spin toward the noise. Charles is there, standing in the gaping entrance to his kitchen, looking, for all his kindness and gentleness, like a reaper out of hell. The large silver tray he was bringing to the table is on the floor, along with all the steaming piles of food.
His mouth twists into an expression of absolute rage. And with a wordless snarl, he flies at Hugh.
I scream as Charles collides with Hugh and tackles him to the floor. Rose is knocked aside.
Jeremy begins to laugh.
I’ve never seen such ferocity in my life. I would never have guessed it of Charles. But even though he’s younger, larger than his opponent, Hugh gives him a good fight. They grapple on the floor, rolling this way and that, engaged in a terrifying battle.
Rose’s shrieks pierce the room.
All that happens in the span of a second. In less than the time it takes to blink, before my shock has even
begun to wear off, I bolt from my spot and run to separate the men.
“Lilly, no!” Jeremy barks. He steps in my path and blocks me. I struggle against his grip. I have to help. Rose doesn’t have the strength to break up the fight. I have to stop them before they kill each other.
I squirm free, duck under Jeremy’s arm, and rush toward the fight. I reach the men, and have my arms around Charles, helping Rose pry him off Hugh, when Jeremy’s hand grips my wrist.
“I said, no!” he yells, and with absolutely no effort, jerks me away.
I stumble and fall. Rose’s hysterical screams fill the air, mixing with the grunts and curses from the fight. I glare at Jeremy, who’s now looming above me, dark and angry and full of rage. He turns his back on his father and Charles. All his attention is on me.
Adrenaline is pumping through my veins. I don’t even consider what I do next. I just act on instinct.
I surge up, ignoring Jeremy completely, and run once more toward the fight.
This time, I don’t even get a warning. Jeremy’s full-arm slap absolutely blindsides me.
I crumble to the floor. Pain stars filling my vision.
“Do you see what you made me do?” he roars. “Do you see, Lilly? Do you? Do you?”
I cry out as he jerks me to my feet with a fist in my hair. “Get up!” he yells.
I struggle against him, crying out, trying to break away.
He turns my head to the fight. “Watch!” he snarls. Sharp pain radiates down my neck from his grip. “See what happens to the people who disrespect me!”
It’s sheer madness in the dining room. Broken dishes litter the floor. Rose keeps screaming, trying to break them up. Jeremy just holds me tighter. Charles and Hugh are pummeling each other on the ground. I would have never expected Hugh to put up such a fight. But the man is deceptively strong.
All of a sudden a stray elbow catches Rose in the nose. She lets out the most horrifying cry of pain I’ve ever heard and collapses.
“No!” I cry. Blood is running down her face and right through her fingertips as she cradles her face. Jeremy, as surprised by it as I am, relaxes his grip a little.
It’s enough. I twist my head back and drive my teeth into his flesh, hard as I can. He yelps in surprise and lets me go. I run to Rose.
I don’t even get a quarter of the way there before Jeremy catches me by the arm. In a spike of pure anger, I whip around, form a fist, and direct it at his face.
He sees it coming. And before the punch lands, he hurls me against one of the walls.
My shoulder collides with it hard. I feel and hear a crack, somewhere in my arm. It’s accompanied by the most sickening feeling of pain I’ve ever known. And the sound? The sound is the worst. It’s like a twig snapping, only it comes from within me.
And I know, in that moment, that he’s broken my arm.
The pain? The insanity? The fear? It’s too much. The last thing I see before my eyes roll to the back of my head is Jeremy Stonehart, stalking toward me like a lion toward wounded prey.
I pass out.
Chapter Thirteen
When I come to, there’s not a single part of me that doesn’t hurt. My arm is the worst.
The pain instantly brings me back to the madness in the dining room.
I close my eyes, almost wishing for the ease of death, for an escape from this nightmare.
Jeremy? He’s dead to me. There is no Jeremy anymore. There is only Stonehart.
That is how it should have always been. I was a fool for believing otherwise.
I hate him. With every single fiber of my being, I hate Jeremy Stonehart. There is no confusion about that anymore. There is no blurring of the lines, no philosophical transfusion of hate into love. Never again will I be so weak as to think otherwise. Never again will I wish for things to be different.
And if even the barest hint of love comes up in my conscious, I will barricade myself from it. I will block it. I will deny it. I will fight it with every ounce of willpower I possess.
I cannot love a man who treats me so. I cannot be in love with an egotistical maniac.
I look around the room. Where am I? This looks like any other room on the first floor of Jeremy’s mansion. But the furniture, the layout? It’s just a bit off. Slightly unfamiliar.
It’s like I’ve never been here before. Or have been here, but just forgotten. There’s something about this room—this particular one, and none other—that makes me feel queasy.
Of course, that could have everything to do with my current physical state.
I push myself up, gritting my teeth through the pain. I look down. My left arm’s in a cast. It’s slung around my neck for support.
I roll one shoulder, recognizing the source of my discomfort. The sling put pressure on my neck in a manner reminiscent of the collar. Subconsciously, maybe that’s what I fear the most: Not Jeremy’s return to Stonehart, but the collar’s return to my neck.
I don’t know what I would do if I ever found it back. Suicide would not seem like such a bad way out.
I freeze on that thought. My chest constricts. It becomes difficult to breathe. My back is covered in a thin layer of clammy sweat.
Suicide? Hell no. That’s the coward’s way out. It shouldn’t even be on the radar.
And yet…and yet, there it was: a tiny blip in the distance, like a cloaked ship in enemy waters. It’s gone now.
Or maybe it’s simply been hidden.
Either way—fuck. Either way I have to be on the watch out for it, should it reappear. I’m not so far gone or lost yet. I’ve not given up. Not yet.
That’s when I feel a presence somewhere behind me.
Slowly now, regally, I turn both shoulders to face whoever’s here.
It’s Jeremy, of course.
No—fuck! I curse myself. It’s Stonehart, dammit, and I can’t slip back into calling him by his first name.
Stonehart is there, watching me from a darkened corner, cocktail in one hand. Only his eyes are truly visible. They reflect the dim light. That reflection lets me know he is watching. The remainder of his body is cloaked in shadows.
“You’re up,” he says simply. No emotion enters his voice.
He brings his glass to his lips and takes a long sip.
“How long have you been there? How long was I out?”
“Long,” he says. One more sip. “But not long enough.”
He drains the glass, brings it down to his side, and then lets it slip through his fingers.
It hits the floor with a startling crash.
I gasp in surprise. My heart is racing. The only other sound I hear is the man’s slow, heavy breathing.
“Where are we?” I ask.
Stonehart laughs. “You don’t recognize this place?”
I cast a quick look out through the window, and see now why everything seems off: All the rooms in the Stonehart mansion face the ocean. This one has a view of the trees.
It’s enough to make me shiver again.
“This is Rose’s guesthouse,” Stonehart informs me. He inhales once and pushes away from the wall.
My breath catches when I see him.
He looks…well, ‘disheveled’ is probably putting it mildly. His suits are usually crisp and clean. This one is wrinkled and dirty. There are patches on the sleeves and front that make it look like he’s been rolling around in the sand.
His shoes—what the hell, one of them is even untied! His dark hair is a mess, pushed around in all directions like it’s been the victim of a hand run through it one too many times. There’s stubble on his cheeks and a heavier outline of a goatee where his facial hair grows faster.
He looks like a man who’s completely neglected himself for days and days on end.
Halfway to me, he misplaces a step and lunges violently to one side.
I freeze in sudden fear:
He’s been drinking.
Not only that, but he’s already drunk. I’ve never experienced the combination of Stonehart a
nd alcohol. The potential for violence—for even more instability—makes me very, very scared.
“Why are we in Rose’s guesthouse?” I ask, after he straightens himself.
“Rose…” Stonehart licks his lips. He’s barely sober enough to stand. But the amazing thing is that his voice betrays none of the intoxication. If I closed my eyes and just listened to him speak, I’d have no way of telling he was under the influence. “…won’t be needing it anymore. Neither will Charles. They’ve both been relieved of their duties. This house—“ Stonehart gestures wildly around the room. “—now belongs entirely to you.”
“If this is to make up for—“
“No,” Stonehart shakes his head and cuts me off. “No, no, no, no. Nobody here is making up for anything. It was just…time.”
He wobbles again.
“You’re drunk,” I say. “I can smell the liquor on your breath. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Oh, on the contrary, Miss Ryder, I am very much in control, and verifiably know every word that passes through these lips.” He stops, a foot away from me, and gazes down from his height. He sways. “How do you feel?” he asks.
“Oh, just jolly, you know. “ I sneer up at him, unable to hide my contempt. “My arm’s been broken and my body feels like a ragdoll that’s been thrown down the steps. But other than that, I’m just fine. No need for any concern. You can go and piss off now. Talk to me again when you’ve sobered up.” I start to cross my arms on instinct, then gasp at the shooting pain that comes from trying to move my left arm.
Damn. This is going to take some time to get used to.
Stonehart’s voice turns very low and dangerous. “I’m not sure that you are in a position to make such demands,” he says softly.
“Or what? You’ll break my other arm?” I laugh. “So much for loving me, huh, J—“
“I DID NOT MEAN TO HURT YOU!” he roars.
I shrink back, suddenly terrified.
He stops, takes a breath, and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry. Sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.”
“You’re apologizing for that?” I say. “Not any of the other half-dozen things you are guilty of?”
Uncovering You 9: Liberation Page 9
