Page 21 of Wicked Games

Not willing to fight that battle, I allowed him to scoop me into his arms as I held the opera coat tightly closed around my body. I could still feel his slightly wet come drying on my stomach.

As we alighted from the carriage, the doors opened and a slew of costumed people came pouring out.

It was like watching an episode of Downton Abbey. All the characters were there. The housekeeper, the butler, the parlor maids and footmen.

And then I looked closer.

What. The. Fuck?

Wearing a black damask Victorian day dress with mutton sleeves with a bronze-beaded bodice was our stage manager, Sally Jennings. Her small frame was almost unrecognizable in the voluminous dress but it was definitely her. She even had a ring of keys on her belt.

“Sally? What are you doing here?”

Giving Richard a confused look, she lowered her head and curtsied to him first and then me. “Good evening, Your Grace. M’lady. I hope you had a pleasant journey. Your rooms are prepared.”

“Sally!”

At that moment, a man stepped forward and cleared his throat. Bowing his head, he said in a very serious, slow tone, “Good evening, Your Grace.”

It was Jack, my director.

“Jack! I’m so glad to see you. Where is Jane? Is she worried sick? Have you seen Mike? I have to know what the hell happened at the party last night?” I rambled in my excitement to see a friendly face.

Jack looked flustered and embarrassed as he exchanged a look with Sally.

“Please excuse Lady Larkin. She is overly tired from our journey,” came Richard’s deceptively calm response as he squeezed my thighs and shoulders as a warning to keep quiet. “Lady Elizabeth, you know perfectly well this is Mrs. Jennings, my housekeeper and Hutley, my butler. You’ve known them since you were a child.”

Hutley bowed his head a second time. “No excuses needed, Your Grace. The staff understands Lady Larkin has been through a difficult time since the tragic death of her parents. Please accept our condolences, my lady. We are at your service.”

What the hell was going on? I felt like I had tripped into some alternate universe. Part of me wanted to believe I was the victim of some elaborate hoax, but sex in the carriage with Richard was too painfully real for this to be some kind of a joke. I felt like I was truly losing my mind.

“If Your Grace will permit, I will instruct Parker to run her ladyship a nice hot bath,” offered Mrs. Jennings as she followed Richard and me into the house.

Although I don’t think you could call this massive mansion a house, maybe a palace?

The entrance hall was truly spectacular and more than a little intimidating… I mean seriously, who lived like this?

Around the perimeter of the large hall from floor to ceiling was intricate white wood paneling with gilt leaf and scroll accents mimicking more of the Roman style. A deep crimson damask with an embossed pattern covered the walls. The marble floor was a checker pattern of black and white polished tiles. Every few feet there was a portrait of some somber-looking dead lord and on every table surface there were large floral arrangements usually only found in the lobbies of very fancy hotels. There was even a painted mural on the ceiling of Satan in the form of a snake tempting Eve.

Stationed by each door were several footmen dressed in the same livery as the guy who rode on the back of the carriage. I immediately recognized them as some of the stagehands from The Lady Protests. I wished I could remember their names! George? Larry? No… maybe Tom?

The marble floor felt cold under my feet when Richard finally put me down. Holding my body close to his own, he put a crooked finger under my chin and raised my head. “Go with Mrs. Jennings. I expect you to behave properly as my ward or there will be consequences,” he warned.

I started to open my mouth to protest but thought better of it.

Protesting would only keep me by his side and right now I had been granted permission to escape and perhaps have a secret word with Sally. Maybe without Richard staring her down she’d tell me what the hell was going on.

As I turned to follow Sally… or Mrs. Jennings… climbing the impressive central staircase, I watched the servants bustle about bringing in trunks of what I assumed was luggage from the carriage and deferentially address Richard as they passed, and my resolve started to splinter.

What if this was real?

It was almost too elaborate, too perfectly coordinated not to be.

What if Richard was right and I was just confused? Everyone else seemed to know who I was and that I belonged here. Could it be possible that my vivid memories of a different life were just dreams? Hallucinations brought on by grief?

Am I really Richard’s ward? Subject to his complete authority?

As I tried to wrap my mind around the possibility, I heard the faintest sound. So quick, for a moment I thought I had imagined it like I had all the rest. Then I looked in the direction of the music; one of the footmen was scrambling to pull something from his breeches pocket. I could see a glowing screen as I heard the opening strains of a “Blurred Lines” ringtone. He was quickly surrounded by the other servants and whisked away through some hidden servants’ door.

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