Page 51 of When Hearts Surrender

“You’re drunk off your ass, Maxwell.”

“I can still pleasure you, you know.” He dipped his nose in the crook of my neck and inhaled before pressing a soft kiss there.

I bit back a moan as my nerves lit up from his light touches. “Maxwell, stop.” The refusal came out in a breathy whisper.

“Are you sure, my little muse?” he rasped at the tender spot on my neck. My heart fluttered at his nickname—such a sweet name. If only it were filled with love instead of derision. “The sooner you get pregnant, the faster you can l-leave me.”

His voice caught at the last words, pain etched in every syllable.

It was enough for me to snap out of that strange trance, and I stepped back and looked at him.

His head was dipped down, his eyes refusing to meet mine.

“Maxwell, you aren’t making any sense.”

He chuckled at the floor, his head shaking.

I sighed. “You’re drunk, why don’t you rest and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

I pushed him toward his room, trying to fight the disappointment that I wouldn’t be having a wedding night with my husband after all.

No, Belle. You don’t want a wedding night with this asshole! You should be rejoicing right now.

The door beeped and opened and he stepped inside.

I turned toward the adjacent suite, but his voice stopped me.

“I won’t fall in love with you, Belle. A-And don’t fall for me.”

His warning sounded ominous, and my chest ached at his words, images of my Silas still filling my mind. Somehow, I wondered if I was destined to fail at his demand?

Bang!

The trunk of the car closes, the sound shaking me from the unsettling memory. Silas barks in the background as he darts off to explore the expansive grounds—no doubt heaven compared to the SoHo apartment, where I couldn’t let him run free for fear of him being discovered by the building manager.

As the driver retrieves my bags from the car, and Maxwell finishes a work call, I marvel at the massive structure—the white marble and tan limestone exterior, copper cornices oxidized into pale green, towering spires and soaring arches, all hallmarks of the Gothic architecture I’ve studied in college in an art and architecture core class.

The land it sits on must be at least an acre in size. If it weren’t for the historical building designation and how powerful the Anderson family was, it probably would’ve been razed and rebuilt by some big developer.

Several crows lounge on the roof next to sculptures that are too far away for me to make out if they are angels or gargoyles. A curl of unease slithers down my back as their eyes seem to follow my every move.

I smell the scent of roses in the air, the cloying sweetness clinging to the moisture in the atmosphere, a desperate attempt by summer begging fall to stay away. Turning my attention to the rose garden, I notice the decaying flowers and a strange patch of soil that is barren. I shiver, a suffocating sadness gripping my throat. A gut feeling tells me to avoid that place.

The door opens, drawing my attention away from the garden, and out steps an elderly gentleman with kind eyes and a full head of white hair, dressed inlivery, down to the bow tie and tailcoat. He’s the man who escorted Cole away at the reception.

“Welcome to the Anderson Estate, ma’am. I’m Morris, your butler, and always at your service.”

Smiling, I nod to him. “Thank you. Please call me Belle.”

A middle-aged woman with a severe bob haircut steps to the side of Morris, her simple black dress swishing from the movement. She bows her head and dips her body into a small curtsy, and I almost startle in surprise. I feel like I’ve stepped into aBBCperiod drama.

“I’m Agnes, your housekeeper.” Her lips are pressed tightly as she eyes me from top to bottom, and I can’t help but frown at her cold introduction.

She motions to a blonde woman dressed in a similar black outfit behind her and says, “This is Melody. She’ll be your lady’s maid and we will assist you with any duties around the house and beyond.”

I giggle before I can stop myself. “Wow, I didn’t expect all of this, a lady’s maid and everything. I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself, you know.”

Melody laughs and says, “Just think of me as your personal assistant then.”

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