“Lincoln, is everything okay?” I can hear the pain in her voice and that only makes this harder.
I nod, avoiding her gaze while I pull a pair of sweatpants from the dresser drawer and yank them on. “You’ll stay in your own room from now on, Imogen.”
“What? But why? You just said—”
“I know what I said, but trust me. This is for the best. I’ll leave you to get dressed.”
“Sir?” She calls after me, but I’ve already left. Already headed down the stairs and away from the temptation of her lying naked in my bed.
I’m a sick piece of shit. Telling myself that I brought her here for her protection when I’m taking horrible advantage of her naive nature. Jesus Christ, I robbed her of her fucking innocence. I picture her blood rubbing down my palm that night in my office. That should have been enough to shock me into stopping, but no, then I took her virginity too. My own fucking...
“Would you like some breakfast, sir?” Pierre’s voice interrupts my self-flagellation... for now, at least.
“Why do you insist on calling me sir?” It comes out in a snarl.
He falls into step beside me and we make our way to the kitchen. “Because I know it pisses you off.”
At least he’s honest.
“Anyway, which name would I use?” His voice has dropped to a whisper. “Sir is easier. Less likely to get any of us killed.” He offers me a wry smile and I can’t deny the truth of that. Unfortunately.
We step into the kitchen and I take a seat at the table while he makes a start on breakfast. Inevitably my thoughts drift to Imogen making her way back to her room naked. Or maybe she’ll have taken one of my shirts, and maybe it will smell of her scent and therefore I’ll never wash it again.
Recalling the pain and confusion in her voice when I walkedout of the room has guilt burning in my chest. She did nothing wrong and I should assure her of that fact, but it’s more important for my sanity and her well-being that I just stay the hell away from her.
With that goal in mind, I ask Pierre to serve me my breakfast in my study. Making a start on the research for my next trip will be the perfect distraction. Perhaps one day I’ll redeem myself enough to give Imogen the truth about our pasts. But until then, she’s much better off without me.
Chapter 46
Imogen
I eat breakfast alone. Well, Pierre is nearby, but he’s busy puttering in the pantry and stores, doing an inventory before Lincoln’s next visit to town. But I feel very alone. This is my fifth day eating breakfast without him, yet today his absence is even more acute. Because the past four days he was away, but this morning he’s here somewhere in this house, yet he’s choosing to purposely avoid me. And that hurts me so much that it causes an actual physical ache in my heart.
Leaving me alone in his bed was so abrupt, and so unlike him to be that cruel. One minute he was lying on top of me, all fire and yearning. And then he was cold and distant. I know it was something to do with what I said about him owning me, but I didn’t intend to hurt him. I was simply stating a fact, at least in that moment I was. It was only afterward that I realized to a man like Lincoln, the fact that he bought me doesn’t mean the same thing as him owning my body. He’s not like those other men who go to those auctions. I can understand now how hurt he would be by my assumption. He didn’t bring me here to his house to use me for his own pleasure. He says he did that for my protection, and while I still don’t understand the why of that, I do believe him.
“Have you eaten enough,monchou?” Pierre’s comforting voice washes over me. I’ve barely eaten anything, but I can’t face food. I feel lost and desperately sad. That’s what’s filling me up right now.
“Yes.Merci, Pierre.”
He busies himself clearing my plates away and I watch him for a few moments. He always seems so content, locked away here in this mansion with so little company. I used to be content that way too, in my grandfather’s house, having learned to be so happy with small comforts in life from as early as I can remember. But do I want to keep doing that for the rest of my life? I used to dream that if I ever did get my freedom, I would use it to see as much of the world as I could. But for now, my world is right here, and the most vibrant part of it is refusing to talk to me.
Sliding off my stool, I bid farewell to Pierre and then I go in search of Lincoln. As expected, I find him in his study in the library, his head bent over his desk, the light from his laptop illuminating his handsome features. He doesn’t look up when I walk in, nor when I wait patiently in front of his desk, as I imagine a naughty student would wait in their principal’s office.
“Sir?”
He finally looks up. “What is it, Imogen? I’m busy.”
Imogen? He very rarely calls me that. Usually angel or baby, the latter being my favorite. I’m sure it means something that he uses my name now instead of one of those sweet nicknames. “I’d like to know what I did wrong, sir?”
His right eye twitches. “Nothing.”
I hold his gaze and summon all my courage to ask, “So why are you ignoring me? Why did you leave your bed so quickly this morning?”
His throat works. “You did nothing wrong, Imogen. I, on the other hand, have done all manner of things wrong.”
“Like what, sir?”
His dark brown eyes seem to flash with anger. “Too many things to count, but most of all the things I have done to you.”
