Page 44 of Wicked Games

“Yes, Your Grace. Lady Elizabeth retired early this evening so the house has been nice and quiet. Although we did just have a small mishap in the hallway just moments ago, but nothing to worry about. The maids are grabbing a dust bin and brush as we speak.”

I waited for Richard’s response. Would he guess?

Nothing.

Everything went still.

I restrained the urge to peek around the threshold into the hallway to see what was happening.

When he finally spoke, Richard’s tone had a slightly hard edge to it as he asked, “What mishap?”

“A figurine, Your Grace. It seems to have fallen and broken in the lower hallway toward the servants’ stairs. I was almost certain that piece was on the upstairs landing table. I swear I passed that thing a hundred times already.”

There was a quick footfall of feet. “Tell Hutley to find Harris. We need the hunting dogs.” I could hear what I thought was Richard heading toward the stairs. “Now!” he shouted.

“Yes, Your Grace!”

Again, I heard hurried footfalls but this time down the hallway in the other direction.

I waited only for the span of a breath before bolting out of my hiding place. I didn’t even bother checking to see if the entranceway was clear, instead relying on luck that Richard had headed directly to my room while Thomas headed to the back-servants’ quarters to fetch Hutley.

Running into the dim foyer, I once more wrenched open the heavy front entrance door and ran out into the night. My only thought beyond escape was that I felt an odd arrogant pride in that I had actually managed to make Richard yell.

CHAPTER 15

RICHARD

Her room was empty. Damn my own male arrogance in assuming I had left her so sexually sated and thoroughly confused as to her own state of mind that she would spend the rest of the evening in a daze with little thought beyond the sensual soreness between her ass cheeks from the fucking I had given her with my crop. A portent to the even more brutal fucking I planned to give her with my own flesh.

When I received the message that I was required back in London to smooth over some board members of a multi-billion-dollar acquisition I had just green-lighted, I didn’t want to leave her so soon. My plan had been to remain constantly by her side till I was certain she had accepted my carefully constructed Victorian world as her new reality. Unfortunately, in order to keep myself above suspicion back in the real world, I couldn’t very well ignore a call from my board. So, against my better wishes, I left for London with strict instructions that Elizabeth was not to be left unattended.

I should have restrained her to the bed but the risk of my being delayed was too great. Right now, the actors/servants I had hired had been told Elizabeth was playing a role the same as them. That of the emotionally unstable beautiful ward just returned from an asylum who was going to eventually fall in love with the beastly lord of the manor. They were told it was the producer’s way of adding a sensational element to the reality show to give it more appeal. I knew that flimsy excuse would cover most of her odd behavior but not all.

And questions would certainly arise if the servants learned I had restrained her naked to her bed for the better part of an afternoon till late in the evening, especially if she began screaming for help and I wasn’t there to silence her in my own particular way.

There was already too much rumor mongering going on over the sudden disappearance of that asshole footman, whatever his name was. According to my report from Harris, most assumed I had laid down a zero-tolerance rule when it came to twenty-first century intrusions into our reality show but that would certainly change if people started to become uneasy about how Elizabeth was being treated.

I turned at the sound of someone’s approach. Harris’ grizzled visage soon appeared over the threshold.

“Get the dogs. She can’t have gotten far.”

He nodded. “I already ordered your horse saddled. There is a bottle and a linen handkerchief in the right saddlebag. Remember, just a few drops. You don’t want to kill the lass, after all.”

I nodded in agreement. She was far too precious to kill.

Like the others on the staff, I used a suite of rooms at the nearby hotel I had purchased to change back into my preferred Victorian attire after being forced to engage with the modern world. Unfortunately, I was dressed in evening attire as would befit a gentleman retiring from a night at playing cards; there was no time to change into riding attire.

Elizabeth was on foot and headed into the dangerous terrain of the surrounding woods. She had no idea how close my property actually was to the English coast, and some very steep cliffs. It was why the property was often enveloped in a thick fog on certain nights. It rolled in from over the sea, giving the entire estate an eerie feeling of isolated timelessness, making it perfect for my pursuits. That same fog that made this property so desirable for my singular pursuit of Elizabeth may also be the very thing that killed her when she failed to see the sheer drop at her feet before it was too late.

My horse was saddled and ready right at the front. Hopping on its back, I whistled for my own pair of Irish wolfhounds, Cerberus and Hades, to follow me. Riding hell for leather, I headed north as I shouted over my shoulder for Harris to head south.

Thomas had mentioned that the figurine had broken moments before I arrived. I’m certain that was Elizabeth’s clever way of distracting the footman away from the door. If I was correct, that meant she likely fled north and I couldn’t be more than ten minutes behind her. With her on foot and dressed as she was, I would eat up that distance in no time on my thoroughbred. Begrudgingly, I admired her daring spirit. The little minx would have had to slip practically right by me in order to escape.

It didn’t take long for the dogs to send up a howl of alarm. I hadn’t given them anything with her scent to track, there had been no time. I had hoped just the thrill of the chase and their own keen sense of hearing would draw them to the sound of some kind of prey fleeing. By the sounds of their cries, they had found something up ahead.

After skirting the tree line for a few minutes, I slowed my horse to a walk and began to navigate between the trees, trying to follow the cries of the hounds in pursuit. Clever girl had obviously headed straight for the cover of the woods, knowing she wouldn’t have much of a head start. It made my task more difficult but not impossible.

Fog interlaced between the dark outlines of tree trunks. My head turned at every crack of a stick or rustle of dried leaves. The hounds sent up another cry. I knew from experience in hunting with them that the high-pitched wail meant they had run their quarry to ground. Pulling on my horse’s reins, I headed in that direction.

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