Blackbird (A Stepbrother Romance #1)(25)

I ended up doing the first two, but I never came to him to order food and he never sought me out. I knew better than to risk some petty slight angering him. He only called me that when he was truly enraged.

It was my fault. I brought it on myself. I should have known better. Boys were all bad, they were all poison. He told me over and over to stay away from them, or I’d end up like my mother. I should have known, but…

I liked him. He was nice. He wanted to show me his car. I liked it, too.

I sat at my vanity and scrubbed my face with a warm cloth. Showering after a whipping would be agony. I turned on the padded stool and looked at my back. I had to sit on the very edge; at least he didn’t hit my backside with belt. My back was a network of angry red welts, some already turning black. I limped back to the bed and put on long cotton shirt, and laid face down on the bed. I pressed my face into the pillow and wept softly, wondering if I could hold my breath until I passed out and smother myself, just disappear. I needed a diversion but I didn’t dare risk exposing the box of books under the back. If Father came back for whatever reason and caught me reading Ravished by the Outlaw Duke, I might be in for a second whipping.

It could be worse. At least I wasn’t bleeding.

Somehow I managed to curl up in a ball and sleep. The next day I forced myself not to limp, not to scream in agony when he kissed my cheek and touched my back.

He was only looking out for me.

Six weeks later, the wedding was announced. We moved in to the Amsel estate beforehand.

I resolved never to be alone with Victor. I would peek outside my room and make sure he wasn’t waiting before I emerged, I spent all my free time either locked behind my new door or with Father or his mother or with someone, even a member of the staff. I walked in fear, and the expansive halls of the house felt like a prison.

All except the library. There was a library and no one cared to stop me from exploring it. The room alone was as big as our house in the city, and full of more books than I’d ever seen in my life. They were organized by subject in shelves so tall I had to climb a ladder to reach the top shelves. Left to my own devices, I spent half of June exploring, learning where the books were. There was a whole section of paperback romance novels-they belonged to Victor’s mother, and one at a time I snuck them out of the library and back to my room to read, stuck between stacks of books related to my business studies. There was an expansive library of business and financial texts in the library.

I found it all about as interesting as the paint on the walls, but things were expected of me. I would major in business and I would go to a top tier master’s program. I would, end of story.

My bruises had faded into yellow marks the day I walked into the library and headed for the romances to slip back the book I’d borrowed.

“Oh my God, you read those?”

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

The room was all dark colors, earth tones, antique furniture and Persian carpets. Victor looked totally out of place on a padded leather chaise, a book propped on his lap. He sat so the light streamed through the windows behind him, motes of dust dancing in the rays. It made his hair glow, somehow.

I swallowed.

“Yes.”

I hurriedly grabbed another book without looking and rushed for the door.

“Don’t tell my father. Please.”

“Tell him what?”

“Anything.”

I pushed through the doors and scurried back to my room, praying. Don’t let him see me. Don’t let him see me. Don’t let him see me. Only when I was back inside and the door locked did my heart stop pounding.

I was curled up in a side chair reading when a piece of lined notebook paper, folded in half, slipped up under my door.

Widow’s Walk. Two AM, it read.

I opened the door and looked both ways, but there was no one there. I locked it again, looked at the clock.

Time for dinner.





Chapter Nine





Evelyn





I thought I was going to throw up.

The staircase to the widow’s walk was in a closet. I’m sure it was just a door at some point, but it was converted to a closet, with the winding spiral staircase itself behind a false wall the swung open with a touch. It was dark inside, but clean. I was surprised. I expected a mouldering secret passage filled with cobwebs and critters. Three turns up, and there was another door that led out onto a long path that crossed the entire roof of the main house, lined with a tall wrought-iron railing tipped with wicked looking spikes. I touched one, and felt the sharpness of the edge, like a spear point. To my left was the big round cupola over the office, a room belonging to Victor’s father that I never entered, having only seen it once when his mother gave me a tour. To the right, the woods and the road, further off.

Cicadas buzzed in the night. It was dark up here, but the moon and stars were out. More stars than I’d ever seen, so far away from the city.

Then, there was Victor. He leaned against the railing, arms folded over his chest.

I walked over, glancing either side, terrified someone would spot me. Victor was all in black. I wore a long, demure nightgown of heavy cotton. Would someone looking up think I was a ghost with bright blue eyes?

He looked over at me and stood up, towering over me.

“What’s with you?”

I swallowed. “Nothing. I shouldn’t be here. I’m sorry.”