When he came home that summer, Cara and Damien were together every day and while he still hadn’t told his parents, Cara knew that he was biding his time before he popped the question. She understood what he was potentially sacrificing by telling his family about his relationship with her. She was, after all, a poor, maid of Mexican immigrants. Yes, the Carlyle’s had grown to love her like a daughter but even the most liberal of prosperous people would not hand pick such a mate for their child Realistically, Cara knew that the senior Carlyle’s were going to be an obstacle they would need to overcome. Of course Damien was in no rush to address this but in her heart, she also knew a proposal was on the horizon. A few months later, her proposal prophecy became a reality. The ring was absolutely stunning. It was a platinum band holding a heart shaped diamond with a small sapphire and an emerald (the exact shade as Cara’s eyes) surrounding the almost ostentatiously sized center rock. Damien popped the question on a hot air balloon ride over Central Park on a perfect autumn afternoon, reminiscent of the day Cara had given him her virginity with so much idealism. There had even been a bottle of the same champagne they had drunk during their picnic. She said yes, of course, and her name was Yvette Montrose. Her family had legitimately been in oil for generations, unlike Cara’s fake claim to riches from her school days. Actually, Yvette was everything Cara was not; tall, blonde and pale with the pinched expression of old entitlement and a clipped, condescending nature to match. She and Damien had met at Harvard and they had been together since their second year, moving into an apartment together within months of beginning their relationship. Damien and Yvette were married the following summer in a widely publicized event at the Plaza Hotel and the Carlyle’s had made arrangements for Cara to work the reception as a server.
“You and Damien are practically siblings, dear,” Mrs. Carlyle had told Cara. “It’s only fitting that you be there for his wedding. I would put you in it myself but of course Yvette has other ideas.” Of course, Cara had thought but she had not protested and proceeded with the job without incident even though her heart had turned to stone watching her Damien solidify his union with a goofy but passionate kiss.
The newlyweds moved into the Carlyle brownstone and Cara often served them breakfast in bed on mornings after Damien spent the night in Cara’s room. The two would make love three or four times before he returned to his wife in the wee hours before dawn. It was a sick, sordid and messy situation and Cara was not proud of what she was doing but she truly felt that Damien belonged with her, not Yvette. Cara believed that his wife had stolen him away and not vice versa so she continued to play the role as Damien’s mistress, biding her time. She knew in her heart that he would realize he had married Yvette to make his parents happy, come to his senses and return to her.
So when the test turned up positive three years after Damien and Yvette were wed, she knew she finally was going to get her man. It didn’t occur to her that Damien would not leave his wife. It had never crossed her mind that he wouldn’t want their child. But the words he spoke to her after she broke the news of her pregnancy had left her so cold and devastated that Cara had fled the house that night and never looked back. He had brought her poor economic background into play, her lack of formal education and then accused her of attempting to trap him by getting deliberately pregnant and ruin his future with Yvette. Cara had never seen this side of him and she was completely thrown off guard by his response to what she had considered joyous news. He literally tossed a few one hundred dollar bills at her and demanded she end the pregnancy. Emotionally broken, Cara sent his parents a vague letter of apology, explaining that she had a family emergency that could not be ignored and that she would not be returning as a result. After years of chasing their wretched son, she was afraid of what she might have told the older Carlyles face to face. Sincerely, Cara did not hate Damien. She was furious at herself for being so willfully blind but she could not blame a scorpion for being a scorpion. She had fair warning of his reputation and had deliberately ignored it. She had believed he would treat her differently than all of the other women he had left in his wake despite the fact that all of the signs showed he did not care about her. She had merely been another pawn in a long line.
One week after she moved back into her mother’s tiny apartment in Brooklyn, she miscarried their baby. One month later to the day, she was standing in the shadows of an uninviting house, wanting to run again.
Run where? Back to mom and Jamie? She shook her head as if trying to shake some sense into herself and stepped out from behind the curtains. There was no way she could face her mother after what she had put Andréa through. The woman had worked so hard to secure a future for the twins and neither one of them had amounted to anything. The oldest living Castillo was coping with an earth shattering loss of her own and Cara refused to put an unnecessary burden on her. She could not go back to her mother. Not yet. She had to at least give this opportunity a real shot. Cara had a two-year plan. It consisted of working as hard as she had in Manhattan and saving every penny so she could finally get the education she had so pointlessly thrown away. She had put her own life on hold for too long and she hadn’t stepped out of her comfort zone since she was a teenager. It was high time she acted like a woman. Cara pulled her shoulders back, trying to muster some confidence and moved for the door, determined to make the best out whatever came her way. Just before she reached the hallway, she caught glimpse of another doorway inside the giant dining room, away from the hall. She had almost missed it as it blended into the wall, as if it was a part of the wainscoting. Cara crunched her brow, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. The door didn’t make any structural sense. It should have technically led outside but it was a solid wood door as if it opened into another room, somehow built into the wall of the dining room. This is an old house. Maybe it’s a secret passageway? Curiosity got the best of her and she ventured around the table. Upon turning the crystal doorknob, she recognized it was locked. She was about to turn away when she remembered she had picked up the set of keys Tabitha had left for her in the staff room. She pulled the large ring out of her dress pocket and stared at the mound of metal in her hand, trying to decipher which key might unlock the strange door. It took her three tries before she found the proper one. The heavy door fell away with an gentle groan and Cara stepped over the threshold. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the eerie darkness but when the fog in her vision cleared, Cara was left staring at the most impressive library she had ever seen. It wasn’t so much the size of the room which stole away her breath but the incredible detail in every aspect. She slipped further inside and slowly turned around. It was two levels of wall to wall books, separated by a delicate catwalk with a lovely hand carved railing. Sparsely decorated, only a lone wood burning fireplace and winged chair sat on the lower level with a blood red velvet settee. There was a single, oval end table with a soapstone ashtray atop and that was the extent of the furnishings. The ceiling was dome shaped like a cathedral and there was something religious or spiritual about the chamber itself and as Cara began to study the book titles, it became clear that her new employer was peculiar. Sunlight spilled through the stain glass panes of the skylight but it was muffled by the dark colors of the glass panes and as she walked, strange prisms tattooed every corner of the hidden chamber. Where the average billionaire would boast first edition classic literature on his or her shelves, Connor Lamoreaux seemed particular to anything new age or paranormal. There were books about various fringe science subjects and medical books upon medical books. She found journals about lobotomies and neuroscience in the 19th century, depicting gruesome drawings of people having the tops of their skulls sawed open. Books pertaining to psychology, sociology and anthropology were amid volumes about telekinesis and telepathy. Writings about astrology eastern and western as well as numerology filled an entire wall, another full shelf held tarot cards in dozens of decks in numerous languages. The complete works of Carlos Castaneda was among folklore from dozens of countries
on all continents from Haiti to Ireland. I work for a nutcase mad scientist, she decided, smiling slightly. Although she wasn’t overly put off by the discovery, it did add to the sense of unease in her. Cara noticed small desk behind one of the bookcases and wandered over. There were spiral notebooks scattered across the top of the scarred wooden table and it was unlike anything else she had seen in the house, almost like it was an afterthought garage sale purchase. Above the table was a single, non-descript shelf which was home to half a dozen dolls. She peered at them and recognized them to be a compilation of authentic voodoo and worry dolls, as well as some others she could not identify. Cara reached forward to touch one of the books, sensing that something extremely profound was written within their pages. Before she could make contact, she shuddered violently, almost like someone had smacked her in the back of the head. She spun on her heel to confront whatever was on her tail. Staring at her from the doorway, more than twenty feet away were two steel colored eyes framed in darkness.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” the eyes growled, the pitch so menacingly low it was almost inaudible. Cara thought she was going to faint with fear. There was no body attached to the piercing, fearsome irises. They seemed to be floating, suspended in nothingness. The eyes shifted out of the darkness and she exhaled in immense relief as she realized that they did, indeed, belong to a face. A very handsome face, in fact. As she caught her breath, Cara took in the dark haired stranger with interest. He wore shiny chestnut curls in a short, professional style but one rogue tress teased the top of a smooth, tan forehead and on closer inspection, his eyes were not so much grey as they were a silvery blue. Somehow, they still seemed to catch the miniscule elements of light in the joyless room. As her eyes moved down his elegant facial features, past the thick but manicured eyebrows, past the fine lines of his cheekbones, her own jewel like pupils rested on the scowl upon his lips and she snapped out the semi-trance which seemed to have temporarily befallen her. Nervously, Cara swallowed and found her voice.
“I’m Cara Castillo. I’m the new house – “
“I didn’t ask for an introduction. I asked you what the hell you’re doing in here!” the man snapped, striding forward, roughly seizing her by the arm. He towered over her by at least eight inches and his muscular arm rippled under his blue t-shirt as he hustled her out of the room.
“Get your hands off of me!” Cara snapped, yanking her arm free as he unceremoniously deposited her into the dining room, slamming the heavy portal to the hidden library behind him. “How dare you touch me!”
But even as Cara said the words, she was shocked to realize that she was more aroused than she was angry. Her heart was pounding from excitement, not rage.
“Little girl, you stay the hell out of my library. If I ever catch you even looking at this door again, you can pack your bags and get the hell out of my house.” With that, the attractive jerk turned and stormed into the kitchen
“Where is Tabitha?” she heard him yell at the kitchen staff. “Tell her to come to my office right now!” Cara looked down at her hands and realized she was shaking. Amazing. That was the kind, generous Connor Lamoreaux. I am so screwed.
Chapter Three
Tabitha found Cara in her room less than fifteen minutes after her awful first encounter with Connor Lamoreaux. The younger woman was pulling the clothes she had so painstakingly put away not hours before from the beautiful wardrobe and carelessly jamming them back into her suitcases.
“Cara? Cara are you here?” Tabitha called from the sitting room. Cara did not respond. “Cara?”
The giant blonde opened the French doors and poked her head through the doorway. She looked surprised when she realized what Cara was doing.
“Are you packing? Where are you going? Are you leaving?” she asked dubiously. “You haven’t even started yet!” Cara sighed and threw a sweater onto the bed before turning to face Tabitha indignantly.
“Are you here to gloat? Because I really am not in the mood to hear it. I made a mistake coming here. I’m leaving. No need to rub it in.” Tabitha stepped into the bedroom, her forehead crunched into a frown.
“Why would you say that?” Cara clamped her mouth shut and continued haphazardly throwing garments into her luggage. Tabitha reached out and gently touched her shoulder. “I don’t want you to leave. Why would you think that? And why are you leaving? Why do you think you made a mistake coming here?”
“You’re here to fire me, aren’t you?” Cara shot back. A look of understanding passed over the older housekeeper’s brown eyes and she laughed genuinely.
“Is that what you think? Because you wandered into the library that you’re being let go?”
“Well, isn’t that what Mr. Lamoreaux wants?”
“Cara, if Mr. Lamoreaux fired every person who wandered into his study, we’d never have staff in this house. It’s practically a rite of passage. Just don’t let it happen again. Really, it’s my fault but I thought you would have read the list of house rules before you went wandering through.” Cara turned to face Tabitha for the first time. She didn’t want to admit to the older woman that she had tuned out the rules after number ten.
“Then what are you doing here?” Tabitha looked slightly hurt at her tone and Cara was instantly contrite. “I – I mean, I just thought…”
“No, I understand. I just came to check up on you. I know Mr. Lamoreaux can come across as hard sometimes but try to remember that he really is a good man and he’s a wonderful employer.” Cara was beginning to tire of the housekeeper’s rhetoric already and she had barely spent ten minutes speaking with the woman. Sighing again, Cara flopped onto the bed, suddenly uncertain of what direction to take. Where else was there to go? She really hadn’t given the job a chance and it had been her own fault, wandering into an area of the house which was off limits. She thought of her mother. She looked up at Tabitha and smiled weakly.
“Thank you for coming to see how I was doing. I was a little shocked at his reaction,” Cara admitted and Tabitha nodded sympathetically. She patted Cara again in a comforting fashion and turned to leave.
“Just give it a shot. You may be pleasantly surprised by what you find here.”
The days were excruciatingly long, filled with dusting and polishing, waxing and scrubbing. Just as Maurice had predicted, Cara developed painful blisters on the soles, heels and toes of her feet and her body constantly ached in places she hadn’t previously known existed. Yet Cara kept about her job, putting in the same tenacious effort she had in every other aspect of her life. Most of the time, Connor Lamoreaux was out of the country so Cara felt herself begin to ease into the rigid routine which Tabitha had established. There was little personal time at the end of the day, for once the work was done, Cara more often than not, fell into an exhausted sleep in front of the television in the sitting room. Every single night she dreamt of Damien and their baby. Every single morning, she woke up sobbing, tears soaking her pillow and well before her alarm.
The first day Cara had scheduled off, she slept in until seven thirty a.m. and woke in a panic, initially believing she was late for work. After washing the dried tears from her cheeks, she panicked again because she missed breakfast. She cringed at the thought of begging Maurice for food again. Hurriedly dressing, she ran down the butler stairs, into the kitchen and literally collided with Van.
“Van,” she whispered, pulling him back into the stairwell. “Can you sneak me a bagel and coffee?”
The busboy looked petrified at the thought.
“Oh…I don’t know, Cara…” he murmured, glancing behind his shoulder as if Maurice might be standing behind him, listening.
“Please! I’m starving and I missed breakfast this morning!” The naturally pale child went even more waxen but he nodded quickly and scampered off. He liked Cara. She was the only member of the staff who treated him like a person and he was fairly sure that aside from Maurice, she was the only one who actually knew his name. The rest of the staff called him “asshole�
� or “kid.”
Reluctantly, Van snuck into the pantry, ensuring he was undetected and snatched up a sesame seed bagel. As he turned to leave, he came face to face with his boss. He felt his bowels turned to water as the porcine faced head chef glowered down at him, reeking of cigarette smoke.
“Et tu, Van?” Maurice boomed, grabbing the roll from Van’s bony hand. He shook his head in protest but Maurice was already grabbing him by the ear and marching him out into the hub of the kitchen to make him that morning’s example.
“Looks like we have another scavenger in our midst!” Maurice yelled, smacking Van on the back of his head with brute force. The child cried out and sniffed back the tears which instantly sprung to his eyes upon impact.
“Although I have to say, I am shocked that you piece of shit rubbed off on the kid. I had high hopes for you, Van. Stealing food? Really? I don’t feed you enough?” Maurice shook his head and then delivered another swift smack, this time to the boy’s terrified face.
“Stop it, Maurice!” Cara yelled, running out from the stairwell where she had been watching the display in horror.
“You’re an awful person! He’s just a kid! Don’t you touch him!” She protectively put her arms around the quivering Van and the entire kitchen erupted into laughter, including Maurice.
“Aw, look! Your mommy’s here!” Andrew quipped. Furious, Cara strode across the room in three strides and slapped Andrew’s smug face, causing his brilliant smile to fade on contact. Maurice’s jaw dropped to the floor and suddenly he whooped so hard he began to cough uncontrollably in his hysterics.
“You know how long I’ve wanted to do that?” he cackled. “Do it again, Clara! Do it again!”
“You’re a jerk, Maurice! Don’t ever touch Van again! He was getting me some breakfast, not stealing food!”
Romance: Pummel Me: A Boxing Romance Page 48
