As I approach it, I spot a cluster of men with torches. My arrival draws exclamations of relief from them.
“We were about to go look for you, my lady,” says Chezney, Beresford’s valet. “Are you all right?” He looks me up and down, and I realize how dirty and disheveled I must be.
“Thank you for your concern. I’m fine.” I don’t offer any further explanation, and he doesn’t press for one.
“Mrs. Nanterre left some dinner for you in the oven,” he says. “It should still be warm.”
“I’m grateful.” I lick my dry lips, hesitating over my next question. “Have you heard from my husband?”
“He sent word that he might return late tonight or early tomorrow morning.”
“And did my mother and sister come by?”
“They visited briefly while you were out.”
“Good. And is everyone finished in the house? I’m going to lock up for the night.”
“We’re all done,” he confirms. “I made the rounds, checking all the doors and windows, so the front entrance is the only one left to secure for the night.”
“Thank you, Chezney.” I walk past the men into the house and haul the great door shut behind me. I fasten the locks, fetchmy food from the kitchen, and head upstairs to my huge, empty bedroom.
After hanging up my cloak, I remove the golden key from the pocket of my trousers and wedge it behind the leg of a dresser, against the wall, near the floor. I strip down to my bare skin, placing my soiled clothes in the basket by the closet.
While my bath is running, I take bites of my dinner while perusing my array of new clothes. I select a short, lacy nightgown that’s barely long enough to hide my pussy and so thin my breasts are visible through the soft, gauzy material. If Beresford does return tonight, I want to look as alluring as possible, to put him off his guard while we talk about his secrets.
After a good meal and a hot bath, I feel slightly better equipped to deal with the nightmare that my life has become. And with that renewed energy comes a fresh surge of anger at my husband.
I keep thinking of him asBeresford, as the man I know… but he might not be a man at all. He could be a sorcerer, a monster, a murderer, a shape-changer. I’ve read tales of such things, lore of ancient times and other worlds. Why shouldn’t those stories be real? I’ve summoned a wide variety of creatures, so it doesn’t take much faith to accommodate the possibility of an entity that can alter its shape and take on someone else’s form.
Having slept all day, I don’t feel like going to bed, so I explore the house thoroughly again, this time with an eye for incongruities I might have missed when I breezed through the place as an eager bride.
There’s a clear difference in the style of the rooms Beresford redecorated and the rooms that haven’t been redone. On the surface, that’s to be expected, but the style of the original rooms is startlingly different. The furniture is old, the carpeting worn, and the décor so sparse as to be practically nonexistent.There’s a stark asceticism that contrasts wildly with the cozy luxury of the redecorated rooms.
And then there’s the matter of the books. The poorly stocked library with the business-related volumes. Beresford didn’t seem interested in those books at all. In fact, he barely seemed familiar with them.
What of the rumor that he was married? By all accounts, he was a recluse from the time he moved onto the estate until several months ago, when he begin hosting fine dinner parties and secret orgies.
Human beings are multifaceted. One person can be several things at once. And yet, I can’t reconcile the sparse, businesslike, reclusive Beresford with the jovial, generous, hedonistic Beresford.
If I could drag my husband back here and force an explanation out of him, I would. Until then, all I can do is prowl and prepare for his arrival, whenever that may be.
With my hands clasped behind my back, I pace the library from end to end, frowning as I read the titles of the books over and over.
A loudthunkcomes from the first floor, and my stomach shoots straight into my throat.
That sounded like the front door. The only people who have the keys to those locks are Chezney, Mrs. Nanterre, me… and Beresford himself. At least, I assume he took copies of the door keys with him. Surely he wouldn’t have given me his only set.
I grab my robe from the chair where I left it and wrap it around my body. Now that Beresford might actually be downstairs, my strategy with the revealing nightgown seems foolish, and I desperately wish I were dressed in something more substantial.
What if the sound I heard wasn’t him? What if it’s a burglar or a monster? Maybe I was mistaken about the source, and thenoise had nothing to do with the front door. What if I summoned something and it appeared downstairs?
I pick up the lamp from the library table and bring it with me into the hall. This particular lamp has become my favorite—it’s easy to light, holds a decent amount of oil, and is portable enough to carry around without tiring my arm too much. I hold it high as I approach the stairway and hesitate at the top.
“Hello?” I call softly.
When no one answers, I descend slowly, my gaze darting into the shadowed corners of the entry hall. A row of pillars separates the main area of the hall from the front entrance, and that part of the room is cloaked in deep darkness. There’s a whistling sound coming from the shadows.
I advance, holding the lamp forward, and I peek around the first pillar, whispering, “Beresford?”
