“Perhaps she was loved still.” From what we know so far, Imogen was taken in by her grandfather with the promise that he would hand her over once she turned twenty-one, to be returned to the Brotherhood to do with as they pleased. Perhaps I simply want to believe that she spent the last eighteen years of her life being loved and cared for by someone. If not by hergrandfather, who I would wager is incapable of such emotions, then perhaps by this Larissa woman she told Pierre of. Maybe I just need to believe that because the alternative makes me feel like I can’t breathe. It also makes me want to hunt down Saul DeMotta and carve out his still-beating heart. One day...
“Would you give up a child that you had loved and raised to the Brotherhood, Lincoln?”
“No,” I admit. Her grandfather should be sold at a fucking auction for what he did, no matter what kind of deal he made. “But Larissa? Maybe it was her who showed Imogen kindness? Love?”
“Per’aps.” Then he stands and grabs my bag from the floor. “I’ll take care of these tomorrow.”
“I can do that.”
“Agh! I have always been better at getting blood out of clothes than you are. And what else do I have to do?”
I roll my eyes as he walks toward the door. He pauses, his hand resting on the doorframe and his head bent low. “Did you make him suffer,monami?”
“Of course, Pierre.”
“Bien.”
He disappears from sight, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
So Imogen is being the perfectly behaved houseguest. Now that I have time to think, I tell myself that’s to be expected, given that she’s been here for less than a week. And even more so, given that she was quite clearly prepared for an auction. The way she stood on that stage, stoic and defiant proved to me that she had been well primed for what was to come, and if that was the case, she’d have been prepared for the aftermath too. So her obedience actually makes perfect sense.
I can imagine what that kind of training must have been like. Do what you’re told when you’re told. Be obedient. Don’t cause trouble. Look for any opportunity to escape and then take it—the lot’s handbook for survival. I can’t imagine the horrors shewas coached to endure though. She’s probably terrified out of her mind, wondering when something awful is going to happen to her.
I should do something about that, but I imagine that no amount of reassurance from me will make her feel at ease, and I suspect only time will do that. Still, I’ll try anyway.
Chapter 10
Imogen
Lincoln must have returned in the middle of the night. I knew he was here before I saw him or even heard his voice. The house smelled of him—of rain and leather and freshly turned earth. I don’t know how I feel about him being back here. Pierre and I seem to have settled into something of a routine, and I’ve found a reassurance in knowing how the day would play out. Now that Lincoln is back, that comfort is gone, and he left so soon after my arrival that I have no idea what the atmosphere in the house will be like with him here.
“What would you like for breakfast, mademoiselle?” Pierre asks me, as he does every morning when I walk into the kitchen. I consider trying something else. Perhaps the waffles I saw in the freezer. Or the bacon I saw in the fridge. One day, I definitely will, but maybe it’s Lincoln’s return which is making me feel uneasy and out of my comfort zone again, so I choose familiarity and order—oatmeal.
Like he’s done the past six mornings, he wrinkles his nose in disgust and then he mutters something in French.
“Why oatmeal?” Lincoln’s voice comes up behind me, washing over me and sending a shiver down my spine. I wish I didn’t have this kind of response to just his voice, but it’s so deep andgruff—always laced with a hint of danger. There were always men at my grandfather’s house, and I spent a lot of time in their company, albeit being seen and not heard, but none of them ever affected me in the same way that Lincoln Knight does. I’m not sure why I seem to find some kind of thrill in the way his presence sets me on edge, but what I do know is that it’s confusing.
He goes to the counter and pours himself a coffee. He’s wearing his mask like usual and all that’s visible are those intensely dark eyes beneath his thick crop of black hair.
“It’s healthy and nutritious,” I reply to his odd question.Why not oatmeal?
“Interesting,” he mutters. Then he turns to Pierre. “I’ll take some eggs and toast in my study.”
“Of course, sir.”
My stomach growls. Eggs and toast sounds good. Better than oatmeal, but I keep my lips clamped shut. I’ve asked for oatmeal and that’s what I’ll eat. If I ask to change now, I could look spoiled. Or weak, which would be even worse.
Without another word, Lincoln leaves and heads to his study. As soon as he’s gone, Pierre says, “I’m aware you’ve enjoyed exploring many of the rooms of the house this past week, mademoiselle.”
I freeze. My heart stops beating. I have indeed tried every door in this house, with the exception of Pierre’s quarters, which are out of bounds, and discovered all of them but the door to the basement to be unlocked. I found nothing but empty rooms or ones filled with old dusty furniture. But I had no idea Pierre knew I’d been doing that, assuming I’d been quiet enough to avoid detection. How the hell did he know, and what is he planning on doing about it?
Panic surges through my core and I brace myself for whatever punishment is surely headed my way. But Pierre continuesbusying himself with preparing breakfast. “You will have no doubt noted the absence of a designated study, and that is because Mr. Knight’s study is the library, where you enjoy spending most of your days.” His voice retains its usual calm and pleasant tone.
So he’s not going to reprimand me for snooping? Relief floods my chest and I breathe again. Of course he’s not. I was specifically told that I could enter any room of the house that wasn’t locked, but I still felt like I was doing something wrong when I was poking through old writing desks and antique dressers. My relief is followed swiftly by disappointment. “Does that means I should stay out of the library now?”
Pierre shakes his head. “Non. Not unless he has prohibited you from going in there?”
I recall the conversation I had with Lincoln before he left. “No, he said I could use it as I please.”
