by Selena Kitt
A sound in the foyer made her glance up, her heart skipping in her chest. Then she saw Mr. Darcy—the kitten her stepfather had given her after Preston had died—walking past the drawing room door. She hated her stepfather, but she couldn’t take that out on the cat. Mr. Darcy had been her only solace back then, a tiny, helpless thing that relied on her for food, water and affection. Lara had realized, too late, that the cat had been a calculated gift. With Preston gone, her stepfather could no longer threaten to hurt him if Lara told anyone. After Lara had lost her heart to Mr. Darcy, he’d begun to threaten the life of her cat.
Not that he needed leverage anymore. Lara had kept the secret so long, it was lodged in her chest like a burning anvil, a weight that could never be lifted. Her dreams of escape no longer involved finding freedom out in the world. When her acceptance letter from Oxford arrived, she’d been over the moon, believing she’d finally done it. She’d worked hard, graduated valedictorian, had spent as much time as she could volunteering at Habitat for Humanity and the Red Cross, things that would look good on a resume—and that kept her out of the house as much as possible.
She didn’t know why she’d ever believed her stepfather would let her go. Maybe it was because he hadn’t said a word when she’d applied. But when she’d shown him the letter, he had simply taken it from her and tossed it into the fire. Then, for good measure, he’d taken her, too, bending her over the chair, forcing her to watch her dream turn to ash in the blaze.
Lara had started at the University of Colorado in Boulder in the fall
She clucked her tongue, calling the black and white cat. She’d named him Mr. Darcy because he had a funny black spot on the white bib of fur under his chin that looked like a crooked little bowtie—that and they’d read Pride and Prejudice in English the year before, and it had become her favorite book.
Preston used to tease her mercilessly about her obsession with Mr. Darcy, but he had never known how desperately she was in need of a knight in shining armor to save her. The cat padded into the room, coming over to jump into her lap and rub his head against her hand to be petted. She put down her glass of whiskey and scratched him behind his ears, hearing him begin to purr.
“Miss Lara?”
She glanced up, seeing Kate in the doorway. She had her coat and gloves on, ready to fly down the mountain with Phillip. They would go home to their own families tonight.
“There’s someone at the gate here to see you.”
She frowned, pushing the cat off her lap. “What? Who?”
“He says his name is Darcy.” The housekeeper frowned. “Says he’s a friend from school?”
Lara blinked, her stomach dropping to her toes.
She didn’t know anyone from school named Darcy, male or female. Her stepfather didn’t allow her to date. Whoever the gentleman caller was, if her stepfather had been home, he would have been turned away post-haste.
Preston.
It was her first thought, although she knew it was ridiculous. Wishful thinking.
It can’t be.
Who else knew about Darcy? She wondered. Whenever the two of them were together and Preston made a reservation or had to give a name, he would use the name Darcy just to needle her. A friend of his, maybe? Someone who had known him—and loved him as much as she had?
“I’ll let him in.” Lara stood, hugging herself unconsciously as she followed the housekeeper into the foyer. Kate went down the hall toward the kitchen at the back of the house. The servants’ quarters were back there, too.
Lara went to the front door, pushing a button on the panel to bring up the security camera at the front gate. Someone stood there in the cold, hands in the pockets of his parka, hood hiding his downturned face. He was a big guy, whoever he was, she noted. Tall, broad shoulders.
She pressed the button for sound, leaning in to say, “Hello?”
“Lara.” The man lifted his face, looking into the camera, and smiled. He slipped the parka’s hood down, revealing himself completely.
His hair was gone—his head completely shaved—but it was him.
“Darcy.” She said the name he’d given her, not his given name, still unable to believe it.
“Hurry, let me in,” he said, glancing behind him. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
“Why are you here?”
How are you here? That was the question that she really wanted to ask.
His words made her heart soar. “I’ve come back for you.”
Preston.
He’d come back from the dead.
~ Present Day ~
Lara woke with the sense that she wasn’t alone.
The man was beside her, but he wasn’t touching her. She could feel his warmth. His breathing was quiet, but not the slow, even breath of sleep.
When he touched her face, lightly stroking with the back of his hand, she turned her head toward him. She was still in darkness, unable to see him, to identify the mute man who had saved her from something terrible out there. Something chasing her. An image surfaced for a moment—a cry of rage, a looming figure, a sharp pain in her head—but she didn’t know if it was a memory or a dream.
Reaching up to touch the man’s hand, she took it in hers—it was roughened, calloused. This was a man who knew hard work.
Lara, unable to help herself, asked, “Who are you?” even though she knew he couldn’t answer her questions.
“Shhh…” His fingertips moved over the line of her jaw, trailing down her neck, stroking lightly.
His tenderness made her want to weep.
“I’m afraid,” she whispered, reaching a hand out for him. He caught hers and pressed it to his chest. She could feel his heart beating.
“Not you,” she told him softly. “I’m not afraid of you.”
Given the circumstances, she knew she probably should be afraid of this stranger. But for some reason, she wasn’t. She knew, somehow, that this man wouldn’t hurt her. That he had saved her from something… something far worse.
“I can’t remember what happened,” she confessed, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. “And you can’t tell me, can you?”
No answer.
She sighed, her hand moving over his shirt. He was wearing a light, open jacket. His chest was hard, muscular. When she ran her fingers down toward his hips, she heard his breath catch. She found his waistband. A thick belt. And—a gun.
Surprised, she turned her face to him questioningly, but the man said nothing.
“I think I remember a man.” Lara swallowed, closing her eyes to concentrate, bowing her head. The memory was so foggy, her brain a jumble of thoughts. “I think… was it my stepfather?”
The man took her hand, raising it from his waistband to his cheek so she could feel him nod.
Her stepfather.
Of course, it had been him. But what had triggered his rage? And how had this man played a part?
Why couldn’t she remember?
“You know my stepfather.” It isn’t a question, but the man nodded again. “You saved me from him.”
She caught a flash of black and white behind her eyes.
Darcy.
What did that mean? The only Darcy she knew was Mr. Darcy—her black and white cat. And, of course, the hero from Pride and Prejudice.
“Darcy…” she whispered, hoping that saying it out loud might trigger something.
The man made a low noise, nodding excitedly, turning to kiss her palm. His lips were warm, sending goose flesh down her arm.
“Are you… Darcy?” Puzzled, Lara stroked the stubble on his cheek. The man nodded—and then shook his head.
Yes—no?
“I feel like… if I could just remember you… I could remember everything…” Her fingers traveled up the sharp line of his jaw, past his ear, expecting to find hair, but there was only stubble there, too. The man had been shaved bald.
Lara’s head came up sharply, her unseeing eyes widening in disbelief.
“Preston,” she breat
hed, the memory of him slipping off his parka hood to reveal his bald head so clear, it was painful. “Oh my God, Preston… is it you?”
Taking her hand, he pressed it to his wet cheek, nodding.
It couldn’t be. This had to be a dream—some side-effect of her injuries, the blows to her head.
Lara slipped her hand behind his neck, bringing his face close to hers.
He’s dead. If this is your stepbrother, you must be dead, too.
She didn’t care if she was dead or dreaming. Preston was here with her. That was all that mattered.
She’d bottled up her true feelings for so long that finding him here, in such strange circumstances, surprised the words out of her before she knew she as even going to say them.
“I love you,” she confessed, feeling his breath, warm against her face.
He gave a low groan, his arms going around her, pulling her tightly against him. She felt the gun, hard against her hip—but that wasn’t all that was hard.
She knew he couldn’t speak to her, but he didn’t have to. His body language told her everything she needed to know—the way he stroked her hair, the brush of his trembling lips against her forehead, the restraint she felt in his hands as he held her, as if he was trying desperately not to crush her.
“What—?” Lara hardly had time to get the word out before he had her in his arms, carrying her out of the little room.
He couldn’t answer her, so she put her arms around his neck, trusting him completely, as she always had. The only man in her life who had never hurt her—until he’d abandoned her in death.
But he’s not dead.
No, he was right here, setting her down on the closed lid of the toilet as he began to run water in a bath.
Lara didn’t protest when he began to undress her. His big fingers fumbled with the buttons on her blouse. She wondered if he was looking at her as he peeled her shirt over her shoulders, reaching back to unhook her bra with the flick of his wrist. Then he pulled her to standing, trading positions now, him sitting, Lara standing between his powerful thighs. She felt them on either side of her knees, holding her in place as he unbuttoned her jeans and slid them down. Her panties went with them.
Her hands moved to his shoulders, feeling the muscles there, bulky, taut. Her fingers trailed up the sides of his thick neck, still startled to find there was no hair at the nape, just a bit of stubble. She wondered what had happened to all his dark, curly hair as her palm skated tenderly over the surface of his head, pulling his cheek against her as she embraced him, hearing him sigh against her belly.
She had imagined herself being shy in front of him, but she wasn’t. Preston made her feel more comfortable in her own skin than she’d ever been before.
It probably helped, she realized, that she couldn’t see him looking at her.
Before she knew what was happening, Preston had her in his arms again, lifting her into the glorious warmth of the bath.
She felt steam rising around her, making her face flush with heat, and she sighed, fully relaxing for the first time since she’d awoken to this strange new world filled with darkness and pain.
If she thought too long and hard about her predicament—her sudden blindness—she would curl into a fetal position and sob until there was no moisture left in her body.
So, she kept this new reality at arm’s length. Besides, she told herself, as Preston began to ever-so-gently shampoo her tender scalp, if it was the price she had to pay to have this man back in her life, she was more than willing to pay it.
Lara winced when he tilted her head back and began to pour warm water over her scalp, washing away the dried blood and God knew what else. She was glad she couldn’t see herself, to be honest. As his soapy hands began to slide over her body, washing gently, she felt every ache and pain, every growing bruise. She knew she must look awful, all black and blue.
What had happened? And why couldn’t she remember?
She’d deduced that it involved her stepfather—had he beaten her upon Preston’s return? And where had her stepbrother been for so many years?
She couldn’t even imagine. Her mind studied the problem, turning it over and over like a puzzle box, but she could make no sense of it.
And Preston couldn’t tell her.
Lara shivered when her stepbrother slid a hand over her breast, brushing the nipple. It grew instantly hard at his touch. She knew he was only doing what he had to, since she was unable to do it herself, but she couldn’t help her body’s reaction. She felt him go quiet when she cupped her small hand over his large one, squeezing and massaging her breast. His hand fit her anatomy perfectly—her breasts full and heavy. Preston gasped when she pressed his hand down, linking her fingers with his as she passed her navel, slowly easing his hand between her thighs.
“You have to wash everywhere,” she breathed, lifting her hips up.
He let out a little groan when her fingers forced his between her soft, bare lips.
She’d hated her stepfather for forcing her to shave down there—she’d protested on more than one occasion, letting things grow wild, but his punishments had been severe, so eventually she’d complied. Now, she was glad, as she heard Preston’s sharp intake of breath, his fingers exploring the smoothness of her labia. Her lips swelled under his touch and she gave a little moan when she felt him brush his knuckles against her clit.
Her response seemed to trigger something in him, because the next thing she knew, he had her out of the bath and wrapped in a large, fluffy bath sheet that covered her from neck to shin. She didn’t protest when he carried her out of the bathroom and put her down in a chair. There had been no chair in the little room where she’d been locked in, and from the crackling sound and the warmth against her face, she knew this room had a fireplace. Lara accepted the warm cup he gave her, smelling the salty, fragrant broth before taking a sip. Her belly thanked her and before she knew it, she’d sipped the whole thing of chicken soup.
She wished she could see him, sitting somewhere nearby. She could sense him watching her. She wished most of all that he could talk to her, tell her what had happened, where he’d been.
“I thought you were dead,” Lara murmured, brushing her cheek against his hand as he took her empty cup away. “He said you were in a helicopter crash. But you survived… how?”
Preston gave a little grunt, but that was all.
“I know you can’t tell me.” She held his hand when he began to move away from her. “It’s okay. You came back. That’s all that matter.”
She turned his hand over to kiss his palm. He smelled like the soap he’d used to wash her with.
“Will you hold me?” She turned her face up to him, unseeing. “Please?”
Preston lifted her into his arms. She let the bath sheet fall away—the fire was more than warm enough—and heard his gasp.
“Take me to bed,” she whispered, putting her arms around his neck.
He did.
Lying beside him on the mattress, she turned to face him so they were belly to belly. He was still fully clothed, but she could feel the heat of his body. Lara wrapped herself around him, his hands moving in her drying hair, over the skin of her back, the sensation so sweet and tender it filled her with a longing she hardly knew what to do with.
“I have to tell you something.” She swallowed, realizing that even her throat hurt. “But I don’t want you to hate me…”
He stiffened and she heard the denial in his throat, felt it in the way his arms tightened around her, the shake of his head as he kissed the top of hers.
“I wanted to tell you that night…” She took a deep breath, the memory so close she could almost smell the pine needles. “Christmas Eve.”
He nodded—it was the encouragement she needed.
“I’ve never told anyone.” She frowned, trying to form the thoughts that would make the words. It wasn’t easy. “I guess… I was ashamed. And… I thought… it must be my fault… because it was my fault she died, you know…�
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Preston gave a low growl, pulling her head to his chest and rocking her.
“She went to the store for me,” Lara whispered, feeling tears pricking her eyes. “I was such a spoiled brat. I had to have a piñata for my party because Sarah Wentworth had one at her party. If I hadn’t made her go, she wouldn’t have gotten into the accident. And if she hadn’t gotten into the accident…”
She couldn’t seem to finish her sentence. There was something stuck in her throat.
“Shhhhh…” His lips moved against her forehead.
“No, I have to say it.” She felt his heart beating hard against her cheek. “After she died, I wanted to die, too. I didn’t care what happened to me. Maybe that’s why I didn’t say anything when he first started coming into my room.”
Preston let out a pained noise, almost like an animal locked in a trap.
“It started then,” Lara told him softly. “And… it never stopped. He’s never stopped. And I never told anyone. Because it was my fault.”
She couldn’t hold the well of emotions rising up in her any longer. Lara burst into tears, and Preston held her, his arms crushing her against him until the shaking and sobbing began to ebb.
“I wanted you to save me,” she confessed, rubbing her wet cheek against his neck. “I’m so fucked up, Preston. You don’t even know. My stepfather was fucking me on a regular basis—and here I was, in love with my own stepbrother. I just wanted to run away with you. I wanted you—not him, you. And I know that makes me just as fucked up as he is.”
He lowered his head to hers, his mouth against her ear, and managed to croak out one word, “No.”
Lara lifted her head, surprised to hear him speak. His voice was low, throaty, full of gravel—but it was clear.
