Page 38 of Wicked Games

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.”

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