Page 8 of The Tyranny of our Longing

She raised her brows, waiting.

“Since you will be residing here for the foreseeable future, I must make clear that the west wing of the house is strictly off-limits. For obvious reasons. Any other rooms you may visit, as well as the garden and the grounds of the estate. Although with the weather we are having, I’m not sure you will find any pleasure outside.”

Phaedra blinked, pinpricks blooming across her skin despite the heat of the fire beside her. Did he truly say she had free reign of Brackenhurst Hall? Allowed to roam and study and endlessly marvel at all she would find?

“I wouldn’t worry, Mr. Hawthorn,” she said, barely able to hold back the joyous smile threatening her lips. “I am most certain I will find enough to entertain me inside.”

“Very well.” He leaned back in his chair, amusement blinking to life in his eyes. “As I am aware, artists live with an altogether different notion of time than the mere mortals around them, so I shall not expect your presence at mealtimes. I would, of course, be very much pleased to have your company, but I do understand if you would find yourself otherwise engaged. And should you be hungry or need anything at all, my staff is available for your every request.”

Phaedra placed the document back onto the table, no longer able to fight her smile. “Thank you.”

He nodded. “Then, I believe that would be all. Unless you would have any questions for me?”

“Only one,” she said. “Where do I sign?”

CHAPTER 5

The contract signed, Phaedra put together a peremptory list of supplies she would need to begin her work, and Nathaniel took it with the assurance that he would have them procured on the morrow. With that he gave her leave, and she wandered back to her room, her steps meandering, as if she would already be half-asleep. Yet it was not fatigue that made her move in such languid fashion, but the tumult of thoughts whirling through her head.

She had been eager to accept the assignment, thrilled to be staying at such a notable place, yet she could not evict the singular idea, that wisp of a thought that tangled and untangled like an irresolute noose around the delicate neck of her delight.

Doubt.

She turned into the foyer and slowly made her way up the staircase, her hand sliding on the smooth, polished wood of the banister. She had rejected Nathaniel’s offer to light the gas sconces for her, asking only for a candle to illuminate her way to the room she would find by herself. She had wanted to feel it, the silence and solitude of the manor, as it settled onto her. To allow her thoughts to drift and sway on the minute noises awakening among the shadows.

When she finally stepped into her room, she found herself soothed and her mind tamed, every errant thought dismantled and rearranged until she no longer felt the irksome prick of that singular thorn.

Because, in the end, it did not matter. Whatever Nathaniel was hiding, whatever he would not tell her, it would not hinder her in any way. She could stay and do her work, and marvel at the things he could not. She could be content here. Utterly.

She settled into her sheets below the rich, dark canopy of her bed, and her eyes drifted over the walls that almost shimmered with the last feeble light of her candle.

No. Even if this contract seemed too good to be true, even if she would eventually find out whatever dark secret hid under the guise of such handsome features, it did not matter.

The only thing that did, the thing that finally lulled her to sleep, its weight settling on her like bone-deep exhaustion, was the satisfaction that she was finally here.

CHAPTER 6

Phaedra stared at the door at the end of the hallway. It hung open, darkness spilling onto the soft carpet, drinking up the feeble light. She watched it swirl and billow, moving to a rhythm seeming to emanate from the very walls around her. An emerald pulse beckoning her forward.

She stepped closer, uncertain, her eyes drifting over the dark frames suspended on the silken wallpaper. Whispers seeped from the canvases, the words bleeding into echoes, drowning in the rush of blood in her ears.

She laid her hand against her chest, wondering at the thunderous beat hammering against her palm. Wondering why her breath came ragged and short from lungs that burned as if she had been running. Her throat aching as if she had been screaming. And then she heard it, the thud of footsteps rumbling through the hallway behind her, their pace slow, deliberate. Menacing.

Fear rose in her like burning bile, and she whirled back toward the open doorway, toward the rippling void that seemed to flow closer with every violent beat of her heart, almost as if it would meet her half-way. As if it wished to help her.

She took a step, and then another, the onset of panic fueling her into frantic action until she was running, dashing toward the awaiting black, knowing that a fate far worse than mere darkness would await her should she not reach it in time.

She could hear him behind her, the steps ringing louder—closer—despite her rapid pace, and she urged the feet she no longer felt toward the only safety she could hope for. But just as she would reach it, ready to cast herself into the depths of the concealing gloom, the swirling tendrils pulled back, retreating swiftly into the chamber beyond the door.

“No,” she breathed, the word lost to the gathering sounds around her, and she shot out her hand, reaching, grasping for the hold that was no longer there. Her eyes darted to the door, and it was all she could do not to stumble as a flash of emerald light pierced the room, dispersing her only ally like so much smoke.

“No, no, no…” Her voice broke, dread dripping lead into her veins as the heavy air of the hallway rushed by her and into the room, banging the door shut before her. “No!”

Phaedra’s eyes flew open to gray morning light spilling through her window. She stiffened, the unfamiliar surroundings flooding her senses, and her gaze swept over the papered walls, the drum of their pulse echoing through her head.

No frames broke up the embellished green, and for a moment she had the panicked notion of being utterly alone, imprisoned in a barren place. Trapped.

But as she pushed herself up, the world tilting back into focus, clarity finally rushed in to claim her.