Page 36 of Wicked Games

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.”

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