Page 19 of The Villain
Les Bijoux Indiscrets.
She shoved the books away, causing them to spread across her duvet. The covers stared up at her accusingly, the knowledge of their contents flooding her with shame, even though she hadn’t read them.
Damn Adam … he was making fun her and her confession from this afternoon. In fact, he’d probably known she would react this way—with maidenly outrage. He and Niall likely shared a good laugh over it in his study over tumblers of brandy. The thought infuriated her, and the urge to throw the books into the fire seized her.
Yet, as she glanced down at the tomes spread out in front of her, she decided not to stoop so low. If she destroyed his property, he might think of some way to make her pay for it—or worse, throw her out without the bank draft or the answers she’d come for.
Stacking the books neatly, she laid them on the bedside table. Then, plopping back against her pillows, she closed her eyes and waited for sleep to claim her. Exhaustion had been nipping at her heels all day, despite the nap she’d taken that afternoon. The long journey to Scotland and the emotional turmoil Adam had put her through since her arrival had wrung her dry. A few seconds with her eyes closed should have been enough to send her drifting off.
However, one minute passed, and then another, and another. The longer she lay there, counting the minutes as they passed her by, the more she thought of the books beside her. Like some unholy beacon drawing her in, the erotic novels seemed to call to her, to dare her to open their covers and discover the naughty delights inside.
Heaving a sigh, she opened her eyes and stared up at the canopy above her. He had been wrong about her. She was not a hypocrite—a lion in lambs’ clothing. She had allowed a man to take a few liberties with her body and had enjoyed them. It was no more than some of her friends had done. That did not make her a whore, or a wicked person. If feeling such strong desires was unnatural, why did so many fall prey to scandal? Why countless women disgrace themselves for a stolen moment of pleasure?
Yet, the books continued to taunt her, the firelight flickering over them and casting their shadow against the paneled wall.
If her desires were normal, then reading about the desires of others couldn’t be so bad. And, truly, reading them would mean she had won, not Adam. He wanted her to feel ashamed, to make fun of her confession. She would show him. She would read every one of these books, and when he asked how she enjoyed them, she would hold her head high and tell him her favorite parts.
That decided, she reached for the copy ofThe School of Venusand pried it open. Curling up against her pillows and angling the book so the candlelight shone upon the pages, she began to read.
The next morning, Daphne woke with a pounding headache. She hadn’t slept much, becoming so engrossed inThe School of Venusthat she’d hardly been able to put it down. The titillating story of Kate and her intimate education at the hands of her suitor, Roger, had captured her attention thoroughly. Aside from putting heat in her cheeks, it had also made her giggle, proving to be quite witty in places. It had reminded her of those summers spent in the country, exploring new desires and passions with her dashing neighbor. In fact, those exploits proved fodder worthy of an erotic novel themselves.
She’d smiled to herself while reading, wondering if she could ever be bold enough to chronicle her own exploits. They might not be as salacious as the contents ofVenus, but they certainly made her pulse race whenever she thought of them. Besides, by the end of her thirty days with Adam, perhaps she’d have even more material for such a project. The thought had dampened her excitement a bit. If she was going to explore her own sensuality with a man, she would never have chosen Lord Hartmoor with which to do it.
She’d had someone once, but had not seen him in years. Now that her family stood on the fringes of high society, he would likely shun her should they cross paths again. The notion made her chest ache, but she steeled herself against the sensation of heartbreak. She might never marry now that she had given herself over to Adam to be ruined, but she would be the savior of her family. It was all that mattered.
Morning seemed to arrive far too quickly after she’d finally set the novel aside to sleep, but once Maeve entered and threw open her curtains to allow in sunlight, Daphne could not coerce herself back to sleep. The maid cheerfully announced that her new wardrobe had arrived, before ushering in an army of footmen, all of whom toted shop packages wrapped in brown paper. Her eyes widened as the boxes slowly filled the room—covering the bed and every other available surface. Maeve turned in circles, her smile wide as she seemed to try to decide which to open first.
Approaching the bed, Daphne began tearing the paper off the first box her hand fell upon. “Why so many?”
Maeve joined her at the bed, lifting the lid off a hatbox and revealing a straw bonnet adorned with flowers along the brim. “The Master wanted you to have clothing for every possible contingency.”
Frowning, she lifted a morning gown from her own box. “I cannot imagine why. I had thought I’d spend most of my time …”
She paused and cleared her throat, pushing the first box aside to reach for a second. Maeve hummed quietly as she went about opening another. The unspoken thought lingered between them unsaid. Daphne had expected to spend most of her time nude in Adam’s bed. It would seem her captor had other ideas. Not knowing what he could be thinking made her blood run cold, her mouth becoming dry while her head spun at the possibilities.
“Allow me to dress you and finish this on my own while you have breakfast and explore a bit, my lady,” Maeve chirped, pulling a pair of slippers out of her hands.
Restlessness and the urge to leave this room caused Daphne to acquiesce. Perhaps some time spent exploring the castle would help pass the time until Adam decided he wanted her.
“Where is Lord Hartmoor?” she asked while the maid helped her out of her nightgown and into one of the new morning gowns—without undergarments.
“Had a bit of business to attend this morning,” the maid replied. “He says you’re to have breakfast on your own and occupy yourself until he’s finished.”
Maeve brushed her hair and secured a jeweled pink comb into one side, sweeping the hair away from her ear. Then came her stockings and slippers, before another ribbon tied around her throat—pink trimmed in white lace. Inside one of the boxes, she spied several spools of ribbon in an array colors—some trimmed in lace, others with false gemstones. Also Adam’s doing, she supposed. He’d seemed to like the blue ribbon she’d worn yesterday. With a disdainful snort, she realized that, of course, he’d enjoyed a piece of clothing meant to make her look like a pet. A possession. His to use and toy with.
Giving her a curious glance, Maeve announced she was finished and that breakfast would be served in the adjoining drawing room as before. She left the maid to her work and walked into the drawing room to find the table laden with several dishes and the same silver tea service. Only, this time, she ate alone, without even the imposing presence of Niall to disturb her. Once she’d eaten her fill, she left the drawing room through a door leading into the corridor. Pausing, she glanced toward the sharp turn leading to a different wing of the castle. The forbidden corridor.
Realizing Adam would likely become angry if he caught her even contemplating going down there, she turned the way she’d gone with him the day before. Walking at a leisurely pace, she opened doors and peered into the rooms to familiarize herself further with this wing of the palace.
Most of them turned out to be guest chambers with adjoining sitting rooms, but one door not far from her own room drew her in. Stepping through the doorway, her eyes wide and jaw slack with awe, she observed the impressive collection of instruments making up a music room. A long, low table against one wall held several violins, flutes, a clarinet, and a lute. A collection of polished brass music stands gleamed in the light of several lamps, while stacks of sheet music littered the end tables situated between oversized pieces of furniture. A harpsichord and spinet took up opposite corners of the room.
However, the two instruments filling the center of the room drew her eye and held her attention. The first was a large, golden harp—the most beautiful she’d ever seen. Its pillar had been adorned with the painted figures of angels taking flight. As she came closer, unable to keep her hands off the instrument, her gaze roamed over the angelic fixtures, their hair billowing as if they flew into the wind, their golden wings stretched behind them. She smiled as memories of learning the instrument came back to her. It had been ages since she’d touched a harp, but as she caressed the strings of this one, something within her resounded with overwhelming force. Should she decide to attempt it, she had a feeling her fingers would return to the practice with stunning accuracy. A part of her, clearly, had not forgotten.
Beside the harp rested the largest, most beautiful pianoforte she’d ever seen. Its polished surface, the worn cushion of the bench resting before it, and the lit lamps told her someone used this room quite often. Obviously, the servants took care to ensure it would be ready for said person’s use.
Adam, perhaps? Or someone else in his household?
Was there even a household here at Dunnottar? From what she’d seen, Lord Hartmoor resided here alone.
