Page 5 of Blackwell Manor: A Lesson in Submission

The invitation came in the form of a handwritten note, left on the tray of afternoon tea that had been delivered to Isabella’s room.

Join us for dinner tonight.

9 PM. The dining hall.

Wear something elegant.

—Lillian

There was no question. It wasn’t a request.

It was an expectation.

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Dressing for Trouble

As Isabella stood before the full-length mirror, smoothing the silk of the dark green dress she had packed for rare formal occasions, she wasn’t sure why her hands trembled.

It wasn’t fear.

No, it was something far worse.

Anticipation.

Because she knew—knew—tonight would not be just a dinner.

Tonight, something would happen.

The thought thrilled her. Terrified her.

And yet, she still went.

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A Dinner Unlike Any Other

The dining hall of Blackwell Manor was like something out of a Victorian dream—or a wicked fantasy.

The long mahogany table was set for three, silver candelabras casting flickering golden light across the gleaming surface. Crystal glasses were already filled with rich, ruby-red wine, their stems catching the glow of the fire roaring in the grand stone hearth.

And at the head of the table sat Elias Blackwell.

Dressed in black, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the tanned skin of his forearms, he looked impossibly relaxed.

But his eyes?

His eyes told a different story.

Because the moment he saw her, they darkened, his gaze dragging slowly, deliberately over her body in that dress.

A silent claim. A warning. A promise.

Lillian was waiting, too.

Seated to Elias’s right, she was draped in a slip of silk the color of wine, her hair cascading over one bare shoulder. She looked like temptation itself, a woman who knew exactly how much power she had—and enjoyed wielding it.

“Darling,” Lillian purred as Isabella hesitated in the doorway. “Come. Sit.”

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