Page 28 of Wicked Games

I kept waiting for him to come over and kiss me on the cheek or cover my nakedness with the torn shreds of my dress. He did neither.

My body began to shake and tremble as the magnitude of what just happened began to settle on me. I couldn’t even call it rape because on some sickening level I wanted it… enjoyed it. Still, it wasn’t voluntary. Nothing about my situation was voluntary. I could feel hysteria begin to strengthen its grip. My chest tightened. My breaths became shallow and quick as I pulled my fingers into fists and pushed against the table, forcing myself upright.

Richard took a step toward me, once more looking every inch the wealthy lord.

Grasping me by the chin, he ran his thumb over my lower lip before saying, “You would be wise to accept your new station in life. If you continue to fight me… to fight this… my punishments will only get crueler and far less pleasurable for you.”

Tears blurred my vision. I tried to shake my head no but his grip on my face prevented me. “Don’t do this,” I whispered, my throat sore from crying.

He took a deep breath. Releasing my chin, he stroked his knuckles down my tearstained cheek. “It’s done, my love.”

He turned on his heel and walked away. I don’t know if it was minutes or hours later when I felt Mary’s cool hands on my shoulders, wrapping a soft blanket around my shoulders and leading me up to my room.

CHAPTER 9

RICHARD

The thick Persian carpeting masked my footfalls as I approached her bedroom door. It was slightly ajar. I could hear Elizabeth’s gentle sobs as her lady’s maid tried to soothe her. If I were a better man, those cries would upset me, but they didn’t. I was as ruthless in pursuing what I wanted in my personal life as I was in business. It was how I have managed to amass this large fortune and can now afford to mastermind this little project of mine.

Imagine having the power to not only control someone’s life… but their entire world? To manipulate their reality to such a degree they no longer have any sense of time or place? Any imbecile could kidnap a woman and keep her chained in the basement. That didn’t require intellect or even finesse. It required no more than essentially a hole in the ground and a trip to a hardware store.

Where was the challenge in that? Where was the excitement in conquest?

Now, kidnapping a woman and tricking her mind to believe she was now and always had been a woman living in the late 1800s, that took skill and planning. I was now in control of not only her life, but also of those around her, who had absolutely no idea the crime they were helping me perpetuate.

It had taken months to set my scheme into motion, even longer if you counted the time I spent searching for just the right woman.

I remembered the first time I saw Elizabeth.

The moment my obsessive need to possess her body, soul, and mind began.

She was sitting on the grass in St. James’s Park, reading a worn copy of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. Sunlight glinted off her dark brown hair showing hints of mahogany tucked among the curls. A soft breeze kept playing with one errant curl. I watched as she repeatedly tucked it behind her ear only to absentmindedly have to tuck it back again after it came loose. She also had the most adorable way of biting her lower lip whenever she seemed to be in deep concentration.

I was determined to learn more about her.

After following her to the University, it was a matter of a few well-placed bribes to learn her name and where she lived. From there the rest was easy. Glancing over my shoulder, I looked at the leather portfolio that rested on my desk. In there was every scrap of paper I collected on Elizabeth. Report cards, employment records, medical records, old photos, the police report on her parents’ death.

The more I learned, the more I knew she was perfect for what I had planned.

A beautiful, innocent woman alone in the world… in need of protection.

My protection.

When she auditioned for the play I specifically produced to ensnare her, she had no idea she was really auditioning for me.

For her new lifetime role as my ward, my possession.

Despite making my fortune in the modern world, I despised it. The constant clamor of endless noise and stress. No matter where you went there was the blare of countless advertisements, glowing screens, distracted people numb to their own existence. It was an abomination.

Several years ago, I came up with the plan to retreat as much as possible from all of it. To return to a simpler time, where there was peace and order to the world. A world of literature and music, not ceaseless discordant shrieks that passed for entertainment. A world of fine dining with an appreciation for food and wine, not plastic-wrapped garbage eaten on the run. I bought this estate and ripped out all the electricity, replacing it with candles and softer gas lighting. Gone were the trappings of the modern world, replaced by authentic replicas of Victorian furnishings. Rich tapestries, artwork, and hand-painted wallpaper. No detail was overlooked.

Why the Victorian era?

It was on the cusp of the modern era, affording just enough technology to make life more comfortable but still retain old-fashioned values on home life and a person’s place in this world, especially if one were a member of the aristocracy.

It was a time where a woman knew her place and accepted a man’s rightful dominance over her. That was what I found the most appealing. The vulnerability and dependence of a woman on a man’s benevolence. In the Victorian era, a woman was still regarded as a beautiful possession, to be petted and spoiled but also kept docile with a firm hand.

Unfortunately, I knew finding such a paragon of perfect Victorian virtue in the modern era would be pointless. To approach a woman with my plan to return her to the nineteenth century would only produce two candidates: the simpering submissive type likely to bore me within a few weeks and the cunning type requiring endless legal contracts and promises of large sums of money in exchange for their cooperation.

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