Dirty Daughter

by JB Duvane

  “I don't know.” He was honest. “Whatever it would take.”

  Fire seemed to stream behind him through the window as he moved toward me. When he took two steps forward I took one step back, but before I knew it he was surrounding me. His scent of sandalwood and something rich like leather seemed to wrap itself around me. Then his forehead pressed against mine and his arms wrapped around my neck.

  Sensing my apprehension, he pulled his face away and asked, “Would you please dine with me tonight?”

  I held my breath, unable to allow myself to be taken in by his scent. I wanted to say no. I wanted to jump out the window rather than face what I was feeling for him. But there was no way I could possibly say no.

  I closed my eyes. “Of course.” His lips met mine, then were gone before I could fully savor them.

  Chapter Sixteen - Charlotte

  I was a messy pile of self-shame and glowering masochism when I finally found my way toward my room. I realized when I entered the corridor that the air was old and the bricks were, in fact, ancient. Closer inspection showed that the other doors were made of reinforced steel, built no doubt so they could house tortured prisoners.

  No wonder nobody rebuilt the stairs. Who would want to come down here?

  I walked into my dungeon room alone, free now to come and go as I pleased. Free to wander as far as he would let me. But still in a cage.

  I had to be honest with myself and truly confront my feelings before I became lost. Why did I care about him? Why was I comforting him? And why was I a comfort to him? There was something strong inside him, something I knew could get him past whatever came his way, but he seemed tormented, and it tormented me to see it in him.

  Why was he this way? What atrocities had he faced that had shaped him? He seemed driven by something, and even though he wouldn’t admit it, some of it certainly seemed to be lust. He clearly had everything he wanted. The man lived in his own palace. And why, if he could have any woman he wanted, had he chosen me?

  I was the girl that would have chopped his cock off, and I made a point of letting him know that before I saw him. So why was it suddenly easier for me to give in and care for him than it was for me to fight? Was I really that shallow?

  Maybe it was his innocence. He had the essence of it anyway. His curious attitude, his roaming eyes, and his ravenous need to admire me—there was innocence in that. But he knew what he was doing. He even had his men corral me on the highway. If he was anything, he was calculating, but oddly that was just as enticing.

  I loved the mystery and the danger. That's one of the things that made him exciting. But it wasn't just that. It was the fact that I'd never met a man that admired me; not like him. They admired the image I set up for myself, not the real me. That's what he wanted, the real me. He seemed to adore the things I hated about myself.

  My head was spinning as I removed my clothes and stepped into the bath. All of the things Raymond had told me about his family and all of the things I was trying to figure out about him whirled together into a maddening spiral of words and images that didn’t clear anything up for me. I tried to let it all melt away while I soaked in the fragrant, hot water in the bathtub and let the tension in my muscles go.

  Raymond had stocked the bathroom with thousands of dollars’ worth of beauty products—exotic salts, creams, and salves—and it didn't take long for me to find a good moisturizer. It was the perfect scent, a mix of rose and something soft that reminded me of cotton.

  I walked out of the bathroom with no towel or robe around me even though I knew that Raymond was watching.

  “What do you think?” I said aloud. “Should we match?” No answer. I opened the wardrobe and shifted the hangers around, trying to imagine myself wearing the assortment of evening gowns.

  This was that kind of night. He let me out. Didn't he deserve a show? Green teacup, my signature outfit. Marie Laveau’s outfit. That was a possiblity. Red evening gown with a train in back. Too much. I couldn’t pull it off. I preferred short, something with ruffles. There was a rich purple dress that hung just above the knees. The perfect look, it had a lace-lined neckline with a black lace bodice. It would make him shiver.

  In one of the vanity drawers was a black velvet cushion with jewels sitting on top that I'd never actually seen in real life. I knew that I was looking at ornate diamond necklaces, even though I didn't know how to recognize them. It was the same with the rubies and emeralds, but none of those mattered. What drew my eye was a soft rectangle of purple amethyst, lined with diamonds.

  When I walked out of the bedroom, I felt like the girl that I'd worked my entire life to become. The one I’d left back at the club with pounds of makeup and Spanx and a sheer body suit that hid all of her imperfections was the imposter. Now I felt like the girl I had imagined myself to be in my dreams. The difference was I didn't need any of the tricks or acts to feel that way, not with Raymond doting over me.

  That was an invaluable gift. When the magnitude of it struck me, I was standing at the bottom of the crumbling staircase and I had to grab the railing to keep from falling. This man was renewing my sense of self-worth. Was that okay? Of course it wasn't. He kidnapped me. But I had never been more excited to see somebody than when I walked up the stairs and down the corridor to see Raymond.

  When I saw him, dressed in a tuxedo, he was the same paradox I'd come to know during the short time we'd been together. Intense and sensitive at the same time. He was beautiful, and I knew at that moment when he pressed his hand on my back to show me to the dining hall that I was in too deep.

  I was held here with him, and not by bars or cinder block walls. I was somehow attached to him as if by an invisible string. I wanted him. I wanted to know him, and I was pretty sure that there wasn’t anything that would change that now.

  “This gown was my favorite.”

  I stood facing him with his back to the window. I looked past his shoulder at a yellow moon that was waning, its light reflecting off the sand below.

  “It's my favorite too.”

  He wrapped his arm around me, and I felt myself start to collapse from the weight of the flurry of emotions that had suddenly started erupting through me. His breath poured out like liquid fire when his face moved closer, and all I could see were his sharp, black eyes that sparkled in the candle light that surrounded us.

  “Can I kiss you?” He knew he didn't have to ask, otherwise he wouldn't have dipped his head in toward my ear delivering his sweet, hot breath that tickled my neck.

  “No,” I teased, but my arms were already around his neck and I was already moving closer toward his soft lips that seemed to be curled up in an adorable snarl. When we touched, we moved past the corridor, through the halls, and up into the air above the desert, surrounded by a whirlwind of sand and moonlight. Then, when our lips parted, his dark chuckle cemented everything that I was feeling. He shot it straight down into the space between my legs and my whole body sang with shivers.

  “How do you feel?” His eyes burned into mine.

  I didn't answer. I didn’t want to give this man the power of knowing how I felt about him. Not yet. Everything about him, his look and his scent and the way he towered over me, made me feel vulnerable.

  “I'm hungry.”

  “Good.”

  We walked hand-in-hand through a set of carved, wooden double doors into a long dining hall, the kind I'd seen in movies where people sat and servants stood over them with trays, maneuvering food with sets of highly polished silverware.

  The only difference was the window that stretched from one end of the room to the other, offering a view of a mesa that sat miles away against the skyline.

  We sat across from one another at the head of the table where there was already a decanter of wine and golden platters sitting where our plates would go.

  “Do you always dine like this?”

  “I usually take meals in the library. I hope you don't mind, being that it’s in your wing, but it's my favorite place in the
house.”

  I laughed. “My wing.” I looked around the vast room. “It looks like I do have plenty of room to roam. Thank God for that. Being locked up in there, I was ready to lose it.”

  “I was worried about you. More than once I had to stop myself from rushing in there.” He poured himself some wine and offered me a glass.

  “Thank you.”

  He tasted it before I did, a gesture I found unnecessary. If he was going to kill me, he'd probably be a lot more creative than poisoned wine. I still didn't feel completely safe, but now that I was able to admit how I felt, it was too late for me to start getting suspicious. If I was going to die, I was going to die.

  The wine was rich, almost smoky. It went down hard, but I suspected it would be paired with our meal. “Why didn't you rush in?”

  “Because I knew the second I saw you that I couldn't control myself.”

  “What about at the club?”

  “That's why I got rid of you so fast.”

  “That money would've changed my life.” My voice broke. “I had an escape.”

  He sipped his wine and met my eyes. “Would you stay here if you had a chance to leave?”

  I would leave, but I would always come back to you, I thought, but there was that vulnerability again. I had to keep some secrets for myself.

  “It's too … that's a big question. It would take a long time, and the chance to leave in order for me to know the answer.” He leaned back and downed the rest of the wine, then poured himself another glass. I'd seen him upset, but I'd never seen him quiet like this. His intensity was overwhelming. Why did he care about me so much? Why was I the one? He’d just met me. But I’d just met him too, and yet I cared. But somehow now I felt like I was his whole life instead of some random girl he’d picked up.

  What was it? Men always have a reason for something like this.

  “Steak?” he asked, unable to look me in the eye.

  “It would go well with the wine.”

  “I thought so.” He seemed to have shut down and I hated it. I wanted answers.

  I had to find a way to lighten him up. I wanted to enjoy the mood, and yes, bask in my infatuation, but it didn't look like that was going to happen. “I really appreciate you letting me go through the wing. The library,” I said, playing along with the polite game. “I've never seen anything like that in person.”

  “I'm glad you like it.” He set his glass down and pulled his phone out of his robe. “Excuse me.” He began tapping away at it with his head down.

  He set his phone down, clearly irritated and looked back up at me. “How are you feeling?”

  Like sparks could be shooting out through the top of my head. Like my blood is on fire. Like I don’t know which way is up anymore, but that’s not what I told him.

  “Curious.” I let my eyes move down his jacket, hoping it would open him up. “There are a lot of secrets here, things I don't know. There are many things about you that I don't know. I want to know where I am, who you are, and what all of this entails.”

  A man with wild white hair slammed through a set of kitchen doors at the back of the room. Raymond shot him an icy glare, and the man pretended not to notice. He wheeled a cart toward the head of the table, and made sure it scraped along the side just long enough to make Raymond's hair stand on end.

  “Filet mignon with truffle sauce.” He placed a covered platter in front of me and opened it just right so the dark fumes from the sizzling steak hit me in the face.

  “Ah.” I let my head rest against the tall back of the antique chair. “I’ve never had truffles.” I looked up at Raymond.

  He shrugged. “The best.”

  I blushed and watched, intrigued by the servant's manner. He slammed Raymond's plate down and let the lid rest. Then our eyes met when he offered me a serving of potatoes and grilled asparagus.

  “You're a Beauchamp,” I declared.

  “I am.”

  “That'll be all,” Raymond interjected softly.

  “Oh, come on.” The servant had obviously been drinking. The man leaned against the table and I was sure Raymond was going to cut the geezer's hand off with his steak knife. But Raymond backed off and that said something. The servants got their way, and I wanted to know why. “How do you like it here?” the man asked.

  “I like it. Why?” He was the key to something.

  “Would you stay if given the chance?”

  “I don’t know. From what I’ve seen—“

  “Forever? Would you be content to wander these dark halls for the rest of your days, young lady?”

  “Renard!”

  Raymond's eyes flared and his upper lip curled in a snarl. Was was this? Raymond was almost shaking. He looked like he was ready to throttle the man standing over me. Raymond wasn’t even looking at me but I had a sudden urge to back away from the table. The intensity in him seemed to take him over completely.

  “I … I don't know it well enough yet.”

  “You are dismissed, Renard!”

  “Do you want to leave?” the servant asked, the domed lid from my plate still in mid-air. His voice had the sound of a high pitched whine, almost like someone who was humoring a small child.

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Then you want to stay?” he asked with raised eyebrows. He was clearly drunk.

  “I think she needs more time,” Raymond was barely holding it together, his teeth clenched and his silverware sticking up straight in the air in his fists. “To decide.”

  “Yes, I do.” I met the man's eyes and saw a small nod of his head. “Why do you ask? Is there some sort of time limit?”

  Raymond's chair screeched. He backed up, shot out of his seat, and stood glaring at the servant. “I will not repeat myself again, Renard!”

  The servant looked back at Raymond, shrugged, then turned back to walk out without saying anything.

  Raymond ran after him and they both disappeared on the other side of the door. I got up from the table and tentatively walked closer to the door. There were loud voices on the other side. Raymond and his servant sounded like they were at each other’s throats.

  What on earth is going on? I thought as I listened to their muffled voices through the heavy wooden door.

  Chapter Seventeen - Charlotte

  Raymond walked back into the dining hall with ruffled feathers, but he'd regained his composure.

  “What was that about? You were bargaining over me with your servant. There’s something you're not telling me.”

  “Those people, the Beauchamps, want me dead!” I didn't know a man could move so fast, or get so close without stopping my heart. His teeth were bared and his eyes—like frozen fire. “They want me dead for taking you and because of the whole past between my family and theirs. They’re crazy, Charlotte. But if you stay willingly … that’s the only way.”

  He was leaning over me, his hands on the sides of my head.

  “But why? And why don’t you just let me go?”

  “Because if I let you go … I can’t, Charlotte! You could go to the police and they won’t risk that. I know them. They’re no better than me. If I let you go, you’d have to die. We both would.”

  There it was, the monster. They were all going to protect their interests and who could blame them.

  “So I’m just a thing to all of you. Something for you all to watch and fight over. A living doll,” I spat.

  “No.” He shook his head. “I'm letting you go now. Go ahead and go to the police or go to Phoenix and live your life. I can’t do this anymore.”

  “No.”

  It came out fast and sweet, but sweeter still was the way he grabbed me in his arms and pulled me close so that I was pressed against him. “Then you'll stay?”

  “I'll stay.”

  “She said she'd stay, you drunken fuck!” He spun around with me in his arms while I watched the chandelier spin above me. I didn’t understand any of this. Why would the servants want to kill Raymond? What would they care if I was
here against my will? Weren’t they the ones who brought me here in the first place? I still had so many questions, but Raymond seemed to be on another planet now that I had agreed to stay and I didn’t want to ruin that.

  We sat back down and finished dinner. The old servant came in once more to offer dessert but didn’t say another word about their arrangement. He just tottered by, giving me a sideways glance as he passed me to leave.

  “Come on. I want to show you something.” Raymond took my hand and led me through the dining hall, past the study, and into the library. He stopped in front of a wall at the end of the corridor and pulled a secret knob that opened up the wall like a massive sliding door.

  I was suddenly stricken by the cold, pine-scented air that shot out when the wall opened, revealing a dark moonlit chamber with what looked like a small spiral staircase leading up a brick column.

  He took my hand and led me inside, where the door closed behind us. Then he swept me off my feet and started running up the stairs, so fast I felt like I left a part of me below.

  What is with this guy? I thought as a giggle flew out of my mouth.

  I kept my eyes up, staring at the moon peeking through a hole at the top of the domed ceiling above. The light shone through, casting a shaft of light over a line of red velvet curtains that were waving in the wind.

  The domed chamber above was completely open and the warm desert breeze surrounded me. I could hear the sound of Raymond’s feet grinding against the sand on the stairs. Then he stopped, and let me down onto a rickety wooden floor. In the center of the room was a pedestal covered by a red velvet cloth made from the same material as the curtains.

  “What is this?”

  He walked over to the pedestal with a Cheshire cat grin and his eyes shining in the dark. “This is Angeline's Grimoire.”

  “Grimoire?”

  “Spell book. She detailed all of her rituals here. The woman was out of her mind and most of it was plain gibberish. There's no real magic of course.” He removed the cover so I could see the black, decaying tome.