Page 11 of Captive in His Castle
She didn’t answer; simply walked to the centre of the room and slowly turned around to take it all in.
“I will leave you to make yourself at home and freshen up for dinner,” he told her. “Your maid will be with you shortly.”
She cleared her throat before she met his stare. “A maid?”
“But of course.” He made a tutting sound. “How can you immerse yourself in the full experience of living in a castle without your own maid?”
A flash of amusement danced in the large eyes, only a flash but a marked contrast to all the other looks he’d been on the receiving end of from her.
“Anything you need, Geppa can arrange it for you… with the exception of a telephone, of course.”
The death stare returned.
He laughed. “I will see you at dinner.”
Callie looked at the small dining table in the corner of her room. “I think I’ll have my dinner in here, thanks.”
“And deprive me of your scintillating company?” He shook his head with another tut. “I’m afraid instructions will be given that any food consumed by your good self while I’m in residence has to be consumed with me.” Flashing her a grin, he strolled out of the room, whistling the same blasted tune of earlier.
Suddenly all alone, the sound of silence rang as loudly in Callie’s ears as the thunder of her heartbeats, and it took a long while before she was capable of taking a proper breath.
So much had happened in the ten hours since that awful screaming match with Georgia, and to now find herself in this bedroom… it was like she’d been plunged into a gothic fairytale with the nightmarish twist of the handsome prince being the villain of the story.
She’d been given a room any princess would be thrilled with. It wasn’t that its size rivalled her entire flat and came equipped with its own dining area and dressing area or even that a crystal chandelier hung from the frescoed ceiling. Those things were trivialities compared to the overall feel of the room, which was of opulent sensuality. All the soft furnishings were velvet, and that included the heavy dusky-pink drapes that matched the curtains hanging on the enormous four-poster bed. The dusky-grey sheets spread over it were clearly silk. It was the most beautiful bed she could have dreamed existed, and she’d needed all her strength not to gawp at it when Dante had been in the room because, for those few short minutes, her awareness of him as a man had rocketed.
She would not, under any circumstance, imagine herself sharing that bed with him. He was the villain of the fairytale she found herself in, not the Prince Charming sweeping in to rescue her.No onewas coming to rescue her.
Callie was going to have to rescue herself.
“You decided not to bother freshening up?” Dante observed when Callie joined him in the library for dinner. Still in the same tight jeans and plain dark green t-shirt, the only noticeable change to her appearance was her hair being tied back into a ponytail.
“Freshen up into what?” she asked coolly, taking the seat he held out for her. “I packed clothes for an overnight stay in Accardiano, not for a five-day abduction in Tuscany.”
He sat across the table facing her. “Then I shall have clothes couriered over for you.”
“Don’t bother. I won’t wear them.”
“Are you always this antagonistic?”
“Only when I’ve been kidnapped… sorry,abducted.” Her eyes… currently blue… shot flames at him. “I want nothing from you but my freedom.”
“And you will have it. On Sunday. Until then, I suggest you try to make your stay in the castle pass pleasantly, which is why I thought we should dine in here tonight. As you can see, my library contains a treasure trove of reading material.” He swept an arm out for emphasis. “Not much of it is in English, but for a historian such as yourself, there is a lot to enjoy. Do you see that door beneath the stairs?”
She followed his stare and reluctantly nodded, as if agreeing with him on anything, even a door, was repugnant to her. He could see from her body language, too, that she was as fascinated with his library as she was with the rest of the castle but determined not to give him the satisfaction of showing it.
“That leads into the archive vaults. The castle’s rarest and most precious manuscripts and letters are kept there – there are originals dating back to the thirteenth century, before the printing press had even been invented.”
He savoured the widening of those expressive large eyes.
“You are welcome to read any book or manuscript in this library that catches your eye,” he continued. “And you arewelcome to explore the vaults too, although I’m sure you can appreciate why none of the manuscripts contained in it can be taken out.”
She turned her gaze to the vault’s entrance. “You would trust me loose amongst books that old?” That was definitely a touch of longing in the husky, musical voice.
He gave a half-smile. “You won’t be let loose on your own – I employ a team of librarians and archivists. They’re the ones who ensure the manuscripts’ preservation. Emmaline will go through the procedures necessary for you to handle any of the works that catches your eye. I don’t imagine a historian like yourself would destroy such rare works out of spite towards the owner even if the opportunity presents itself.”
Her stare landed back on him, a slight furrow on her forehead. “But I’m a history teacher, not a historian.”
“For sure, but there is a reason you chose to teach history. In any case, I’m not being entirely altruistic – if you’re kept occupied, you’ll be less inclined to try to escape. There are works of such rarity in there that not even the Vatican has copies of them. Wine?”
