I kissed her inner thigh. “Perfect. I have a way to solve both of our problems.”
CHAPTER 35
MADISON
The driveway twisted tighter with each turn, loose gravel shifting beneath my ruined shoes.
Then the trees parted.
V. C. Andrewscould have written this place.
The mansion stood at the top of the hill. Stone and iron and too many windows to count. Gargoyles crouched along the roofline. The wrought iron gates stood wide, though everything about them—the spear-tipped finials, the thorned scrollwork—said they were built to keep something in, more than anyone out. The stone had gone black where the rain soaked it. Turrets and gables stacked on top of one another until the uppermost peaks seemed to vanish into the clouds.
Lightning cracked above the mansion, silhouetting the trees around it. For one frozen second, every window, every gargoyle, every branch went white against the sky. Then gone.
My gaze went to the upper floors, scanning the dark panes.I half expecteda face to appear up there.A woman in a Victorian gown or a child in a flowing nightdress.Houses with this many locked rooms and sealed wings always came with tragedy. With mysterious death. The kind no one in the family spoke about at dinner.
Pierce gently pushed me forward, his hand on my lower back.
I knew better than to think it was a protective gesture.
He was escorting me deeper into hell, like some dark and twisted Virgil leading me to a cage.
The double doors at the top of the wide, carved stone staircase opened when we were still several yards away. An older gentleman in a crisp black suit with tails stood at attention.
Jesus Christ, the man was a butler.
Pierce wasrichrich.
Butlerrich.
I should have known.
Was the rest of the staff about to pour out of the doors like you would see on Downton Abbey? All dressed in smart maid and footman uniforms with the Worthington family crest on them, holding matching black umbrellas to shield the master of the house from the inconvenience of Mother Nature.
I sighed and rolled my eyes before I grasped the torn edges of my soiled blouse, pulling them more tightly over my exposed bra as I smoothed down my wet, wind-tangled hair.
I glanced over at Pierce.
He looked like a feral businessman; a cross betweenFifty Shades of GrayandLord of the Flies. His expertly tailored suit pants were torn and filthy. His muscled chest was bare and covered in red scratches from the tree branches that whipped at him as we crossed through the dense forest. A few of the scratches may have been from me, but I wasn’t sure. Then there were the drips of dried blood on his shoulder and down the side of his head from the gash on his forehead from the car accident…which I had caused.
“Are you sure I shouldn’t walk around to the stables or the servant’s entrance?” I grumbled. “I’d hate to get commoner’s blood on the Persian carpets.”
Pierce leaned in to whisper against my ear. “Behave yourself.”
I turned my head and smirked. “I’m a murderess, remember? You can’t expect criminals to behave like anything other than criminals.”
He shifted his hand lower to squeeze my ass.
The butler bowed, low. “Good evening, sir. May I say, on behalf of myself and the staff, we were very concerned about your welfare.” The sentiment rang hollow as disapproval of Pierce’s appearance radiated off him, from his tight lips to the way he raised his chin and sniffed the air.
I raised both eyebrows. This was what concerned looked like on the man?
“Thank you, Elijah. It was just a minor accident. The storm and all.”
I snorted then covered it with a cough.
Pierce squeezed my ass again.
