The dark obsession boxed.., p.10
The Dark Obsession Boxed Set, page 10
I watched her closely for even the slightest sign of recall, even a slight twitch of the lips.
Nothing.
“I’m sorry, my lady. I’m afraid I don’t know what a piz is or anyone named Joe.”
“It’s pizza, not piz.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Never mind,” I sighed.
Sitting dutifully at the vanity table, I watched as Parker warmed several curling tongs in the fire, before returning to my side to curl my hair into perfect sausage curls. She then swept up half my hair into a loose chignon secured at the top, with the rest of the curls cascading down my back.
After surveying her handiwork, she nodded and turned her attention to straightening up the room.
I stood… then realized I had absolutely no idea what I was supposed to do now.
Seeing my indecision, Parker came to my rescue.
“On days you do not have visiting obligations you usually like to stroll in the portrait gallery before retiring to the green room for the afternoon.”
There was that dreadful word again… usually.
“Yes, of course.”
I strode to the door but paused with my hand on the knob. I turned to Parker.
“Down the corridor, two flights down, then a right, then a left.”
“Thank you.”
Opening the door, I tentatively stepped out into the hallway. I would be lying if I didn’t say I was half expecting the hallway to look like my modern apartment, or a city street, or the backstage area of the theater. Wasn’t that how it always went in those time warp movies? The person would accidentally step out of the dimension into the real world for a moment before being sucked back into the fantasy.
Seeing the same lush carpet, candelabras, and oil paintings as I did the night before, I took a few steps in the direction Parker advised. As I walked, I passed several familiar faces, but with each occasion they kept their eyes lowered and only offered me a discreet nod or curtsy. Without exception each one was familiar whether they were part of the backstage crew, or an extra in the play, or someone I had just seen around the theater. Or at least I think they were familiar; things were starting to get a bit jumbled in my head. Sparing a glance over my shoulder, I decided to explore the estate a little before heading to the portrait gallery.
After arriving on the ground floor, I ducked into what looked to be a library. The place had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and lushly upholstered chairs with spindly little tables by their side strategically placed throughout the large room. In the center was a massive globe and a table covered with maps and atlases. Realizing this may be a good place to start, I began to examine the shelves carefully. Looking for a telltale diet book or something on computers tucked between the rows and rows of leather and gilt bindings.
Nothing.
Next I pushed the heavy velvet curtains aside and searched the walls for electrical outlets.
Still nothing.
What kind of place didn’t have electrical outlets? Even castles and old monasteries had electricity!
Concerned that someone, especially Richard, might come looking for me if I wasn’t where I usually was in the mornings, I decided to head for the portrait gallery.
The portrait gallery was a long promenade that took up a great deal of the east-facing portion of the house. Floor-to-ceiling windows and French glass doors on the right let in the warmth and glow of the sun that shone on the portraits arranged to the left. The beautiful inlaid floor had been polished till it almost seemed like glass as it reflected the crystal chandeliers above. The occasional potted fern gave the gallery a breath of life and additional color. Slowly I walked from painting to painting. I felt as though I were in a museum before it opened.
Row upon row of stern, unsmiling faces peered down at me in disgust, as if they knew my thoughts and doubts and judged me for not accepting the luxury about me that their labors generations earlier no doubt had made possible.
Midway through the gallery, one painting in particular stopped me in my tracks.
Once more I stared at a familiar face… mine.
The sumptuous portrait in the gilt frame was of me.
My own green eyes stared back at me from a posed position in what looked to be a garden. The gown was stunning. As a fashion student I had always dreamed of wearing such an elegant piece. Perhaps they weren’t dreams? It had a daring off-the-shoulder neckline in a champagne chiffon with leaf-shaped embellishments that brought out the jade green of my eyes. I was staring boldly out from the painting as if I were daring my future self to deny its existence.
“You are not regretting gifting this to me, are you, my love?”
I stiffened but didn’t turn at the sound of his voice.
He was here.
Directly behind me.
I had been so enthralled with the portrait I hadn’t even heard his approach.
Warm hands encircled my waist from behind. I could feel the press of his strong chest against my back and smell the spicy sandalwood of his aftershave.
My mouth felt so dry I had to swallow several times before speaking. “Gifting it to you?” My voice sounded low and breathless, betraying my frayed emotions at his nearness.
A warm hand brushed the ringlets aside and placed a kiss at the delicate spot just at the base of my neck, behind my ear. I stifled a small moan as I resisted the urge to lean back into his embrace.
“Do you not recall asking that I place it over my bed so that your beautiful eyes would be the first I saw in the morning and the last I saw at night?” Richard whispered huskily into my ear. “It was only after promising your father I would hang it in a more respectable location that he allowed me to accept your gift.”
It all sounded so plausible. It was just the type of dramatic, romantic gesture I would be capable of.
“I think it is time I now obey your wishes and move it into my bedroom,” he continued to purr into my ear. My stomach clenched as I gripped the folds of my gown, trying to keep my breathing slow and even. Desperately trying to hide his effect on my senses. Everything about what he was saying more than hinted at a previous intimacy between the two of us. I almost wanted that to be true; at least it would lessen my shame and guilt and explain my willingness to just lie back and spread open my legs any time he even looked in my direction.
I looked up at my portrait. Now I was seeing it through his eyes. My bold gaze seemed to take on new meaning. My eyes seemed to be hiding a secret. Did I know this was being painted to hang over my lover’s bed? Is this why Richard seemed to know my body so well, my deep, dark, and twisted desires I myself didn’t know existed?
Had we been lovers for long? I know he often calls me “my love.” What if this was all true? What if in my own delirium I was betraying a man who loved me by denying that love even existed? If that were the case then what Richard was doing was not out of cruelty but out of love.
I looked up at the portrait again. Surely something like this would have taken months to paint? Far longer than I thought I knew Richard. It also looked old, the tell-tale cobalt blues fading into browns with age as I had learned in an old art history class.
The press of his hand broke my chaotic reverie.
The tips of his fingers began to run up and down my spine as he spoke. “I like the idea of staring into those big, gorgeous emerald eyes of yours as I grasp my cock and pleasure myself at the thought of the next time I get to feel your warm body accept me deep inside.”
Dear God, I am going to faint.
The corset felt tighter than ever before. I couldn’t breathe. Stiffening my back and shoulders, I stepped away from his intoxicating embrace.
Today he looked every inch the country gentleman, like something out of a movie. With a dark, tight-fitting frock coat and buff breeches tucked into polished black riding boots. As I looked down, I saw a riding crop dangling loosely from his right hand. Images of me draped over his lap while he punished my bare ass with that same crop flashed before my eyes.
Is this a fantasy or a memory?
I honestly didn’t know.
From the look in his eyes as he followed my gaze, I very much believed if it wasn’t a memory now, it had the possibility of becoming a future one. At his knowing, raised eyebrow, I turned my head away.
Pulling at the high, stiff collar of my dress, I took a few steps backward, away from his intense presence. “I… I need to go to the… um… the green room,” I stammered, trying to recall what Parker said was my usual routine.
“Then I shall escort you there,” he said as he took a few steps toward me and offered his elbow.
“No… I’m fine. I can find it on my own,” I hurriedly assured him as I turned away and started to head to the left.
“Elizabeth.”
His authoritative tone stopped me in my tracks. I could hear the heavy clack of his boots against the polished wood as he strode briskly up to me. I kept my eyes and head lowered, focused on the twisted folds of my dress. I wished I had the courage to spit out Lizzie defiantly, correcting his continued use of my formal name instead of the nickname I preferred, if only to have a tiny bit of rebellion… but I didn’t.
The man both intimidated and fascinated the hell out of me. Each time I saw him I wasn’t sure if I wanted to run away or toward him. All I did know was that he was dangerous… not just for whatever his involvement was in this current charade we were playing out, but for how he was able to bend me to his will with just the tone of his voice or a look.
I felt his fingers under my chin as he raised my face to look at his own. “I really must insist,” he intoned darkly. His eyes shining like obsidian even in the bright morning sunlight, giving no quarter.
I couldn’t but think of that nursery rhyme as he led me away in the opposite direction I had initially headed.
“Will you walk into my parlor?” said the spider to the fly.
Years ago, I memorized that poem to recite in a theater class in high school. Everyone knew the opening line but few knew how it ended.
Up jump’d the cruel spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragg’d her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,
Within his little parlor; but she ne’er came out again!
CHAPTER 13
LIZZIE
The green room was actually a massive conservatory linked to the main house by a long glass walkway. I couldn’t hide an exclamation of wonder as we crossed the threshold. It truly was magnificent. I felt as though I were stepping into Eden. A heavy steel frame secured large panels of glass leading up to a massive dome ceiling. Large lush palm trees towered over us from every corner. Under their shade was every type of flower and fruit tree including orange trees, pink camellias, purple Canterbury bells, blood-red dahlias. There were even gigantic water lilies, lilacs, and myrtles.
Shifting patterns of crimson, amber, cobalt, and purple colored the black and white floor tile. As I looked around me, I could see my allusion to Eden was not far off the mark. Impressive panels of stained glass depicted the Genesis story of Adam and Eve. My favorite was the one of Satan in the form of a snake seducing Eve. His sinewy body seemed to shimmer with emerald and gold in the warm sunlight as it wrapped around Eve’s small waist only to curl up around one breast. The image was both sinister and sensual at once.
Sparing a glance under my lashes at Richard, I definitely knew how Eve must have felt in that moment.
It certainly didn’t help that he had the Devil’s own good looks and his arrogant charm as well. Lord knew Richard was acting as if he weren’t sweating heaven and truly didn’t give a damn. The world was his for the taking, including me.
In the center of the domed room was a fountain depicting three naked women, holding jugs of spilling water over their heads. They were painted a bright turquoise blue. Wrought iron chaises and chairs, piled high with cushions, were strategically placed throughout the space both out in the open and in quiet corners under the shade of a palm surrounded by orchids.
The air was rich with the scent of citrus, spice, and earth. Between the somnolent atmosphere and the rhythmic lull of the trickling water, I could see myself enjoying many lazy afternoons in the space. Perhaps I had?
The idea was both unsettling and comforting. I could see the draw in losing myself in the fantasy. Of spending indolent days waking up to hot chocolate served on silver, wearing beautiful gowns, and napping under the shade of an indoor palm surrounded by the scent of flowers.
If this hadn’t been my life before… it was now, or at least could be if I just surrendered and allowed the insanity to become my reality.
As I tried to wrap my mind around the possibility, a small easel caught my attention. It was set up in a particularly well-lit area of the conservatory. Circling around the stretched-out spindle legs, I was shocked to see my own drawings. Reaching out, I flipped through page after page. Each one was one of my fashion designs. Instead of colored pencils I’ve always favored watercolors to highlight the drawings. The paint seemed to capture the look of my Victorian-themed designs best. Stunned, I looked down at the table set near the easel. The tips of my fingers skimmed over the various pencils, brushes, and small squares of pigment. Each were as familiar as my own hand. These were my paints and tools. But how?
“Your governess could never get you to draw flowers or landscapes like a proper lady. You have always insisted on designing your own gowns,” said Richard. There was no denying the pride in his voice. “I’m pleased you feel well enough to return to them. I can now keep my promise.”
I turned back to him. “Your promise?”
He stroked my cheek. “Don’t you remember? I promised if you were a good girl and obeyed the doctors and got better, I would bring in a dressmaker to make all of your designs a reality.”
All of my designs?
That was a fashion designer’s dream, one I never thought would ever truly be a reality. For starters, I had always preferred historical fashions that were far too expensive to ever recreate in true form.
I looked back at the easel.
All of my designs.
A life of leisure being the pampered plaything of a rich man.
I was slowly losing my grip on what I used to think was my reality. I was having a difficult time thinking of a reason why I wanted to return to my cramped little shared flat in London so badly. The only reason why I had become an actress was to lose myself in the fantasy of living in the past and here I was doing just that. Becoming a fashion student was just an extension of that secret wish. A tool of my imagination to help make it feel more real. As if putting on a corset and bustle would help block out the sounds of police sirens, ringing cell phones, and all the other noises of modern life.
Here on this estate it was luxurious and peaceful… well, at least when Richard wasn’t standing so close to me.
No! Stop it.
Just like Eve, I was allowing the snake to seduce me into believing what was not true. This wasn’t my life and never could be. Here, I was a caged bird. I had to stop giving in to the allure that this life was somehow better or more real than my own.
Grabbing the drawings off the easel, I ripped them in half and then tore them again, tossing the tattered pieces onto the floor. I then flipped the small table, sending the various paints and pencils scattering across the tile.
The only sound in the conservatory was the whirring sound of a small glass of paint water as it skittered across the floor before coming to a stop at the base of the fountain.
Then all was quiet… until… I heard it.
Holding my breath, I turned my head slightly and looked down. It was the sound of leather hitting fabric. Richard was slapping his riding crop against his thigh with barely leashed anger.
Oh, God.
“I see you have not given up your fits of temper.”
“Richard, I—”
Richard grabbed me by the upper arm and dragged me across the conservatory to a dark corner far from the walkway entrance. There was a high-backed wrought iron sofa covered in thick blankets with several large pillows on it. Swinging me by my arm, Richard tossed me onto the sofa.
I sat there sprawled as he began to pace in front of me.
“I have given you every luxury, every advantage. Indulged your every whim and yet you continue to defy me, Elizabeth.” He punctuated each curt word with a slap of his riding crop against his lower leg.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. I’m just confused.”
At that moment, I truly meant it. I didn’t know what was real or not, I only knew that I was afraid.
Richard turned back to me. Studying me with those dark, fathomless eyes of his.
“Unbutton your bodice.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Unbutton your bodice.”
“Please, I—”
Placing his booted feet on either side of my legs, he placed the leather tongue of the riding crop under my chin and forced my head back. “Don’t make me hurt you more than I already will,” he warned softly. With that he stroked my jaw and cheek with the leather flap, his threat unmistakable. With one flick of that crop he could scar my face for life.
Without lowering my gaze, I reached for the fabric-covered buttons of my bodice. With shaking fingers, I fumbled with each one. After an eternity, the bodice gaped open, exposing the curved tops of my breasts.
Letting the riding crop dangle from his wrist, Richard leaned over me. Grasping the shoulders of my bodice, he forced the sleeves down over my arms till they tightened at the forearm. Since I had only unbuttoned half of them, the bodice was still clasped around my waist securing my arms as tightly as if it were a straitjacket. The downward movement had also shifted my corset down only slightly but just enough to expose the pink flesh of my nipples.
With shaking breath, I watched as he slowly undid his cravat. Stretching the long, thin linen strip between his fists, he circled around the sofa till he was standing over me from behind. My breath was coming in such fast gasps I felt faint.
His arms appeared on either side of my head, holding the linen strip in front of me.
