Does that explain the mysterious noises I swore I heard earlier?
I’m lost in these questions when I notice a note card tucked in a fold of the lacy fabric. Two simple words scribbled in elegant script:
For you.
I quickly close the box, as if shutting the lid will also shut down the insanely disturbing possibilities.
I place it on the dresser and draw a steadying breath, trying to reason my way out of the unease clenching at my ribs.
It has to be some misunderstanding. There has to be some rational explanation.
But the truth pushes to the forefront no matter how much I try to deny it.
The lingerie wasn’t here when I left the room earlier. Someone crossed this threshold after I walked away and put it exactly where I would see it the moment I came back.
The wind rattles the bedroom window, prompting another instinctive flinch out of me.
“Damn,” I breathe. “Am I losing my mind? What’s going on?”
Even as I ask myself the question, I’m almost afraid to find out.
CHAPTER FOUR
The morning greetsme with a flood of bright light.
I stir from under the covers, stretching into the emptiness of the antique four-poster bed, muscles loose but tinged with unease—like I’ve spent the night steeped in a horrible nightmare I can’t remember.
As I slowly sit up and rub sleep from my eyes, distantly I realize it’s not a nightmare from my dreams that’s caused the unease. It’s the waking moments I experienced beforehand that have brought it on.
My first night on Mr. Taylor’s estate was… disturbing, to put it mildly.
I spent the evening trying to focus on the job at hand when creaks and groans sounded from different parts of the house. Footsteps thudded from the entryway hall and on the stairs, only to turn up no results when I investigated.
The black glass that was the windows made it feel like eyes were watching me from the outside—and someone was on the inside with me.
There was no escaping the attention of whoever—or whatever—I had attracted.
Then, as if matters couldn’t get any worse, I came up to my bedroom to find a gift waiting for me on the bed.
Sheer, lacy lingerie that left little to the imagination.
For you.
A shudder works through me even thinking about it. For a while, I sit up in bed and stare around the quiet room bathed in bright morning light and process the fact that I’m not imagining these things.
They really happened.
…right?
I shake my head and push aside the covers to get out of bed.
The house looks decidedly less haunted in the morning.
I shower, luxuriating in the hot water and rolling steam, and then change into a thick cable-knit sweater and leggings. Snow boots are the final touch as I grab my sketchbook and venture outside my room for the first time since last night.
The air in the hall carries the same woody, smoky smell as last night. Except in the light of day it’s slightly less intense and intimidating.
That turns out to be the case with most of my perceptions of the Taylor estate. In the light of day, what felt like a creaking, unnervingly spooky mansion last night seems totally harmless.
