by M. J. Lowell
I pulled back, and Eva, seeing the sudden panic in my eyes, silenced me with a finger to my lips. “You’re fine,” she said to me. To Rhys she said, “She’s marvelous and very ready.” Taking both my wrists in hers she walked backward, leading me toward the bed, where Rhys, wearing only his mask, was undressed and waiting.
“You two were beautiful to watch,” he said. He smiled at me, a slow, private smile beneath the mask, and my fear vanished. “Come to me, Tuesday.”
I climbed onto the bed, and he reached for me. Eva’s hand brushed over my body before rolling a condom onto Rhys’s cock. He shifted me on top of him and slid inside of me.
It was glorious. It felt like coming home. He wrapped a hand around my back and sat up with me so I was straddling him, his full length pressed into me. He moved his hands to my hips, lifting me so he could thrust in and out. He leaned his forehead against mine, and I saw his smile, warm and gentle.
“You quiet me, Tuesday,” he said. “Quiet yet stir me.”
My heart throbbed in my chest at his words. Then his rhythm changed, and he was moving me toward the edge of the bed. “Now, my sweet one, you are going to let Lorenzo fill your ass with his cock.”
The spell cast by his words was broken. I went rigid, the fear coming back again. “I’m not sure.”
“I’ll be right here,” Rhys said. “You are the most responsive woman I’ve ever met. I want to show you how much pleasure you’re capable of. Do you trust me?”
I was trembling again. “Yes. I trust you.”
He nodded. “You’ll be fine,” he said, and his voice was like a reassuring caress. The next moment I felt a sharp sting as Lorenzo pressed into me from behind.
There were two cocks in me. The thought was arousing and terrifying at once. I panicked, clenched.
“You have to relax,” Rhys said. “Lorenzo isn’t even halfway in.”
I caught a glimpse of us in the mirrors and couldn’t look away from the tableau we presented. I’d never seen anything like it, but here I was, a part of it. Rhys lay stretched out below me, my body astride him, and Lorenzo’s magnificently muscled torso was pressed against me from behind. Without warning, the condemnations rushed into my head, wildcat, have some self-respect, but my body was urging, pleading to go on.
“Look at me,” Rhys said, locking his eyes on mine. “There is no darkness here. No shame. Look at me and lose yourself.”
His gaze calmed me, drove everything from my head but sensation. Lorenzo slid a little deeper, and I felt a flash of something extraordinary. I gasped.
Rhys smiled. “Now you understand.”
He shifted, rocking me on his cock as Lorenzo began smoothly thrusting deep inside me. Together they were mining the innermost parts of me. Rhys arched his back slightly, driving himself yet deeper.
Eva positioned herself behind Rhys, reached around him to caress my nipples. She rolled them softly between her fingertips, the gentle touch in stark contrast to the men moving inside me, drawing the fiery seams of ecstasy from below up through every strata of my body.
My orgasm built slowly, like a glass blower breathing form into molten glass. It began like any other, with a shimmer of pleasure, but instead of cresting it spread outward, swelling with every stroke from either side, radiating up my torso, feathering across my breasts, gathering each unique sensation until it exploded from its own internal pressure, shattering into thousands of shards and drenching me in pleasure.
I screamed. Behind me Lorenzo thrust into me again, then again, rocking me farther onto Rhys’s cock, and I heard him groan as Rhys shuddered inside me.
I’d done this, I thought as the final surge of my pleasure crested through me. I made two men come.
“Magnificent,” Eva whispered, awed.
And a woman. I felt omnipotent. Capable of anything. Renewed, restored.
I felt free.
Rhys clutched me to him, our bodies still moving together. Lorenzo kissed my neck and then was gone, and my muscles clenched in reaction to his absence, tightening around Rhys. He sighed with pleasure, lowered me down so we were lying next to each other. Eva brushed her lips against my cheek and then she, too, was gone.
Alone together, Rhys reached out and lifted off my mask, then his own, and gathered me into his arms. Holding me tightly against him, his breathing deepened, became more regular. I rested my cheek on his smooth chest, heard his heartbeat. I thought of the Tarot card of The Tower, of the lightning bolts that could signify either destruction or freedom. Freedom, I decided. I had been freed from my dark demons. Rhys had freed me.
I fell into a languorous, sated sleep. I had no idea of the devastation awaiting me.
Chapter Thirty-Three
I woke with a smile on my face.
Rhys was gone, and in the light of the dying fire I could see the clock on the bedside table. Half past three in the morning. I sat up, looked around, but the room was empty. In the mirror’s reflection, my hair was tousled, my skin glowing. A delicious shiver went through me. I looked like I’d been doing exactly what I’d been doing, and I loved it.
My gown was waiting for me, neatly laid out on the chaise with the wig and mask alongside and my shoes positioned below. There was no sign of Rhys’s tunic or red cloak. I dressed, leaving the wig and mask for now, and went in search of him.
Out in the dimly lit corridor, I could hear the muted sounds of lovemaking coming from behind every closed door. I quickened my pace. I could still feel the absinthe, and what had been exciting with Rhys was disorienting, even threatening, without him by my side.
The house was enormous. I found a billiards room, a library, a music room, and a conservatory. I passed the occasional couple or lone guest as I wandered the hallways, but no Rhys. I’d decided to retrace my steps and return to the ballroom when I heard someone behind me.
“Lucy? Is that really you?”
I would have known that voice anywhere, even if it had been three decades and not three weeks since I’d heard it last. This time, though, there was no impulse to flee. I wasn’t that girl anymore.
“Hello, Sawyer,” I said, turning to face him.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he said with smarmy joviality, his hazel eyes peering out from behind a red-feathered bird mask. “But how did you swing it? Tickets to this little soiree don’t come cheap.” Before I could answer he feigned sudden understanding. “Oh, right – I should have guessed. You always did have a thing for banging rich guys.”
“Go to hell,” I said sweetly and started to move past him, but he grabbed my arm.
“I left a few messages for you. Why didn’t you call me back?” I shook him off, and he stumbled, unsteady on his feet. Apparently his most recent experiment with sobriety was over.
“Because I don’t want anything to do with you.” I marveled at the evenness of my own voice. His ability to upset me, upend me, was gone. I felt completely in control. He had no power over me.
“Come on, Lucy,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about you ever since I ran into you. Don’t tell me it’s not mutual.”
“It’s not,” I answered truthfully. I wondered what his drug of choice was tonight – his pupils were tiny pinpricks.
“Right,” he scoffed. “I bet you lie in bed at night thinking about me. Touching yourself and imagining me there. You were so hot for me—”
“I couldn’t stand you,” I said. “In fact, I hated you.”
The eyes behind the mask narrowed, and his mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. “Is that why you moved in with me?”
“Pretending we were a couple was the only way I could convince myself that you hadn’t date raped me. The only way to erase the assault and make it a date, something romantic, the beginning of a relationship.” Saying it out loud, saying it to him, instantly purged the final traces of disgust, the self-hatred.
“What are you talking about?” he sputtered, but I pressed on.
“The first time we were together, was it in the beer? Whatever you used to
knock me out?”
“You- you’re nuts. As if I ever needed—”
“Good-bye, Sawyer,” I said and began walking away.
I was halfway down the hallway when I heard him call after me. “Hey, Lucy. You looking for Rhys Carlyle?”
I knew I shouldn’t, should just ignore him, but I couldn’t help myself. I paused, turned. “How did you know?”
He smirked. “I like to know what my friends are up to.”
“You’re not my friend.”
“And Rhys Carlyle is?” His laugh was malicious. “I think I saw him a while back, going up those stairs.” He pointed beyond me, down the hall to where an ornate staircase spiraled upward to what must have been one of the stone turrets I’d seen when I arrived.
I didn’t answer but just made my way to the end of the corridor, Sawyer’s laugh still echoing in my ears. I wanted to see Rhys now more than ever, needed to see him. I hurried up the steps, gripping the intricately carved balustrade as I climbed higher, circling around and around. I was dizzy when the staircase finally spilled me out before an arched wooden door. I pushed it open, Rhys’s name on my lips.
I froze on the threshold. The room was perfectly round, lit by flickering candles in wall sconces between tall narrow windows. Directly across from me another door was set in the thick stone. There was a small table at the center and a low daybed off to one side, draped with an ermine fur throw. A woman in a flowing red silk kimono stood beside the bed, her back to the door.
She turned when she heard me come in, and I caught the scent of gardenias, exotic and alluring. The kimono was open in the front, revealing beautifully rounded breasts, a narrow waist, and a golden triangle above long legs. Blond hair cascaded loose around her shoulders, framing an oval face with aristocratic features and lilac-blue eyes. She was even more perfect than in the endless photos I’d seen.
Marina Essex-Jones. And in her hand she was holding an elaborately embroidered red cloak. Rhys’s cloak.
She tilted her head, and her eyes swept over me, up and down, appraising. Her full lips curved into a warm smile. “I’ve been wondering if you’d appear,” she told me, letting the cloak drop to the floor. Her voice was low, sultry, beguiling.
“Is Rhys here?” I asked, but even as I spoke I spotted his tunic lying discarded on the daybed, his mask dangling from the knob of the closed door opposite me.
Marina took a step toward me, and the gardenia scent grew stronger. Her perfume. “He’s asleep in the other room,” she said. Her smile widened. “I’m afraid I tired him out.”
A jabbing pain sliced through me. My eyes flitted from Rhys’s cloak to the mask dangling from the closed door to the tunic and back again as my mind fit the pieces together. He had left me. Rhys had left me and come to her. After what we’d shared, he’d come to her and they’d—
I had to stop. I swallowed hard, fighting a rising tide of nausea.
Marina was still regarding me. “You’re prettier than Rhys said.”
I couldn’t breathe. I stumbled to one of the tall windows and struggled with the latch until the window swung open. I gulped in the cold air.
“Oh dear, now I’ve done it,” said Marina with mock remorse. “I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
No no no, my mind cried. There was something wrong. There had to be another explanation for what had brought Rhys here. I turned back to Marina. A gold pendant hung in the hollow of her throat, some kind of elaborate knotwork, and I kept my eyes on it. “I’d like to speak to him.”
She gave me a sad smile. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. Rhys and I are back together. Seeing each other here tonight – well, we simply couldn’t deny ourselves any longer. It might sound clichéd, but we truly are each other’s destiny.”
“I’ll let him tell me that,” I managed to say to the pendant. I couldn’t let this woman intimidate me, I told myself fiercely.
But she was intimidating, overwhelmingly so.
“You poor thing – your chin is actually quivering.” Marina’s laugh was like the chiming of a bell. “This is precisely why Rhys asked me to break the news to you. He’s never been one for scenes. I hate to be the messenger, but your sad little affair has run its course. It’s over for you, darling, at least as far as Rhys is concerned.”
I felt feverish in spite of the winter air rushing through the open window. “That’s not true.”
Marina took another step toward me, her long, perfectly manicured fingers caressing the gold pendant. “Really darling, you must face up to facts. Rhys doesn’t want you. He never did, not really. He tried, the way he tried with all of those tacky blondes, using them to forget me, not that it ever worked. And then he moved on to you. He told me about your quaint teas and sweet little musical outings, but surely you couldn’t possibly think you’d hold the interest of a man like Rhys for long. You must have seen how he holds back, keeps a part of himself in reserve, walled off? I’m the only one he lets in. The only one who knows his secrets.”
I braced myself against the window frame, desperately trying to steady myself even as I recognized the truth in what she said. How many times had I tried to see beneath Rhys’s cool mask of self-possession, and how many times had I failed?
“He broke his rules,” I blurted out. “He broke his rules with me.”
“Ah, yes, Rhys’s rules,” she said, bemused. “So like him to try to keep things tidy in his dalliances.” She shrugged. “Of course, I’ve never played by Rhys’s rules. I insist he plays by mine.”
She was so stunningly beautiful, so polished and assured, her essence filling the room and wrapping even me in its spell – it was laughable to think Rhys would want me when he could have her. With a sudden flash, I understood why Rhys had reacted so coldly when I’d tried out the voice I’d practiced in the mirror. Without realizing it, I’d been trying to sound like Marina, when it was painfully obvious I wasn’t her, was nothing like her.
My eyes moved to the pendant in a desperate bid to keep myself focused. But as I looked at it I saw it wasn’t a knot at all. It was letters, entwined. Marina’s initials. An M, an E a J—
M.E. reverberated in my mind, echoing back, Emmy.
“Ask him about Emmy.” That was what I thought the mysterious voice on the phone had said, but I’d been wrong. It wasn’t Emmy – it was M.E. Marina Essex-Jones. Rhys’s one true love. It had to be.
I was an idiot.
My chest tightened and I heard a ringing in my ears. For the briefest moment I wondered who had made the call, but it really didn’t matter. God it was hot in the room. I turned from Marina to the open window, pushing my burning cheeks out into the chilled air. There was a pond below, its edges just beginning to ice over.
“You can’t be surprised,” Marina continued next to me. “You must have realized there were parts of him you didn’t reach, could never reach. Never know. Because at his core, he belongs to me.”
I have to get away from here, from her, from M.E., I thought. Escape.
She went on, relentless. “Didn’t you wonder why he even bothered with you? Someone so different from me in every way?”
I refused to turn, to meet her eyes. The pond below looked so cool, so silent. Inviting.
Marina gave another small laugh. “It was practically comic. When the pale imitations of me couldn’t distract him, he turned to you, someone who wasn’t even a pale imitation. Of course, it was a miserable failure.”
Be quiet, I wanted to scream, stop talking, but I knew that wouldn’t stop the terrible ache inside of me. Her words weren’t causing my pain. It was my own stupidity.
I’d spun a fantasy for myself, of Rhys wanting me, purposely ignoring what was obvious. All the self-loathing I thought I’d purged forever was back, and stronger than ever.
Marina moved even closer, and her scent filled my head, making me dizzy. “What are you still doing here? Haven’t you been listening? He doesn’t want to see you.”
Of course not, of course he didn�
��t. I’d made a fool of myself, such a fool.
“You were merely a diversion, and not a particularly good one,” she continued. “You’re too weak for him. Too pathetically needy.”
She was right. I closed my eyes. I was so tired. Tired of myself. Tired of everything. I wanted to be gone, but I was rooted in place.
Her voice was in my ear now, coaxing and strangely sweet, the smell of gardenias overpowering. “You know what you should do, don’t you? There’s an easy way to make the pain stop. So easy. All you have to do is give in and let the darkness take you. You’ll be beyond all of this. At peace, finally. Wouldn’t you like to be at peace? Wouldn’t you like to rest?”
Yes. In my mind I saw the tarot card of The Tower, the leaping figures freeing themselves from the fortress. The pond stretched below me, an expanse of cool stillness.
“So easy,” Marina whispered again.
Rhys didn’t want me, he wanted to be rid of me. He’d never be mine again, he’d never been mine. He belonged to her. And I was alone, would always be alone—
A clock struck, chiming the hour. One, two, three, four.
It broke the spell. I twisted away from the window, my eyes meeting Marina’s. Hers were terrifying, empty, inhuman. Evil. I pushed past her and ran from the room. I could hear her voice behind me but refused to listen.
I tore down the spiral stairs, slipping and sliding in my high heels, wrenching my ankle on the final step and careening onto the cold marble below.
I didn’t stop. Wincing with pain, I stumbled to my feet and rushed on. The walls of the corridor pressed in on me as I ran, past room after room where people in their masks loomed like figures from nightmares. The floor seemed to pitch and roll beneath me, like I was in a sinister fun house where even the furniture was reaching out to stop me, grab me, trip me up.
Finally I pushed through a set of French doors and into the freezing cold night, my chest heaving, tears burning my eyes. I was on a deserted flagstone terrace. The pond I’d seen from above was nowhere in sight. The air was dark and crisp and clean. In contrast, I felt dirty, soiled, used.
