I stumble backward, my legs giving out as I collapse into the chair by the window. My gaze drops to my trembling hands as I run through every conversation I had with the massive housekeeper. The way she stared at my cleavage with those judgmental black eyes. How she disappeared for days at a time. That mask covering features I should have questioned.
Meanwhile, I’ve been waving at a corpse. Smiling at a little girl with glass baubles for eyes.
Nausea claws up my throat like a feral animal trying to escape. I press my fist to my mouth, tasting terror and bile. Right now, I can barely look at the man tied to the bed, but I have to know the truth.
“So let me get this straight. Between impersonating the housekeeper, you snuck into my room, sucked my foot, groped me in the bath, and humped my ass at night?” I croak.
Rowland gives me a hesitant nod, still unable to meet my eyes.
“Did you do that with all the... what did you call them? Other victims?”
He shakes his head. “No. You were the only one who waved back.”
“I… was the only one who waved back,” I say, my voice dripping with disbelief.
But that’s not the worst part. The worst part slides into my brain like a knife between ribs, cutting through denial and landing in the soft meat of truth. Because if Rowland was Fairfax only part of the time, then that means...
I stand up so fast the chair tips backward and crashes to the floor. “Now I’m her replacement.”
Ever since that breakfast with Edward Rochester, I’ve been the one cooking. Cleaning. Scrubbing floors, polishing silver, tending to the chickens. Playing the role of the dutiful housekeeper while Rochester entertained his precious fiancée.
I. Am. Mrs. Fairfax.
Terror punches into my stomach and pushes hard. My vision tunnels until all I can see is Rowland’s face, grubby and desperate against the white sheets. The room spins like I’m on a carnival ride that’s lost its brakes.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” I pace, round and round the room like a caged animal looking for a non-existent exit, my bare feet slapping against the wooden floor. I can hear him struggling against his restraints, but he’s no threat.
“This is a madhouse. A fucking house of horrors.” I pause by the window and look out to the lawn, expecting to see another ghost, another stand-in. Is thegroundskeeper in on it? “Should’ve left at the first red flag. I have to get out of here now.”
“Annalisa,” he yells over my gibbering. “Please listen to me?—”
“No! I’ve been living with dead children. Psychopaths. Peeping Toms in black dresses.”
The walls close in. Sweat beads on my forehead and trickles down my spine like ice. Panic pushes my heart past my rib cage. Each beat feels like it might be the last one before it ruptures.
I try to breathe, but my nostrils fill with the smell of dust and decay. It’s like the whole house is rotting from the inside. My stomach heaves, but there’s nothing left to throw up except the bitter taste of fear.
“Annalisa, listen to me!” Rowland’s voice cuts through my spiral like the crack of a whip.
I keep pacing. If I stop, realization might set in and I’ll shatter into pieces so small they’ll never fit back together. “Listen to what? More lies? More bullshit about your psycho brother?”
“You’re in danger!” he yells so loud his voice cracks. “Edward plans to work you to death. When your body gives out and you’re too weak to scrub his floors, you’ll join the other corpses.”
My feet freeze like they’re weighted down with concrete blocks. “What?”
Rowland jerks against his restraints, making the bed frame creak under the strain. “He’s done it with twelve other nannies. All of them thought they were getting an easy paycheck, but they walked into a trap. They all ended up the same. But I need you to survive.”
I sway on my feet, my vision going double as I calculate how much time I have left before he returns from hishoneymoon. He’d planned to kill me anyway, before I messed up his plans.
“No one has ever escaped him.” His black eyes bore into mine, desperate and pleading. “But I can get you out. I’m the only one left who knows how. You have to trust me.”
THIRTY-TWO
I shake my head and back away from the bed, my gaze fixed on the man thrashing against his restraints. This bastard might be telling the truth about his brother’s atrocities, but he’s still a liar. Even if it’s just by omission. This whole house is a death trap, and I’m not sticking around to become the next corpse.
As I reach the door, Rowland rears up and screams, “Annalisa, wait! There’s one more thing you must see.”
The desperation in his voice stops me cold. My fingers freeze on the handle, every muscle in my body going rigid. His black eyes are wild, like terror might strike him dead if I leave. Sweat beads on his forehead, and his huge chest heaves up and down like he’s run a marathon.
