He hesitated where he stood next to the bed. She looked up at him so trustingly. Elysse had once regarded him thus, until she’d fully understood what he was. Then disgust—and worse, fear—had entered her clear, blue eyes. She’d been destroyed by that knowledge, ending her own life because she couldn’t bear the idea of having lain with him.
“What is it?” Isabel asked, and he realized his doubt and disbelief over what had occurred between them had entered his expression. Before she could ask him any more questions, before she had the opportunity to become repulsed, he placed his hand on her temple.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered roughly, not allowing himself to look into the wells of her dark, velvety eyes. He used his power to will her to forget everything that had occurred since she’d first entered his quarters earlier that evening.
Chapter Six
The next morning, Isabel recalled nothing about the night before. It only struck her as strange for a brief moment that she was not anxious about this. Her consciousness seemed to bounce and skitter off the vacant spot in her memory like a drop of water on a spot of oil.
She rose to the sound of water running in the distance and the smell of coffee, cinnamon and fresh-baked rolls. Her mouth watered. She pulled the covers around her breasts, sat up and stretched.
“I’ve started you a nice, hot bath, dear,” Margaret Turr
ow said as she stepped into the room and marched over to the table where she’d laid out the breakfast things. “And I’ve made you fresh cinnamon rolls.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Isabel mumbled. She placed her hand on her throat in surprise. Her voice had sounded rough and hoarse, as though she were getting a cold. Margaret glanced around, coffee carafe in her hand.
“Are you getting ill?”
“No,” Isabel said honestly as she got out of bed. “I feel good. Really good,” she added under her breath as she examined the brown silk nightgown she wore. Confusion flickered through her. She couldn’t recall putting it on last night.
“Here’s your robe, dear,” Margaret said, grabbing the silk confection at the foot of the bed. “Lord Delraven was right again, I see. He chose this gown special for you. You look scrumptious in this chocolate-brown color.”
Heat inexplicably flooded her cheeks at the sound of Delraven’s name. She suddenly became highly conscious of how sticky things felt between her thighs. For a moment, she felt disoriented, but then she suppressed the dizzy feeling and focused on the mundane details of the room and the woman bustling toward her.
“That’s all right, Margaret,” she said with a weak smile when the little woman held up the robe. “I think I’ll just have some coffee and get in the bath.”
“I’ll get it, dear,” Margaret insisted when Isabel headed toward the table and the carafe of coffee.
Isabel gave a small laugh. “You don’t have to wait on me, Margaret.”
“On the contrary, I do,” Margaret said as she poured the black, aromatic fluid into an elegant white porcelain cup. She glanced up as she handed over the coffee and noticed Isabel’s wry expression. “But of course I want this particular duty, as well.”
“I’m a duty?”
Margaret poured a splash of fresh cream into her coffee. “Lord Delraven wants me to see to you personally, and I told him I was glad to do it. He probably thinks you’ll grow lonely here, without the company of another mortal.”
“You make it sound like I’m going to spend the rest my life in this weird place,” Isabel said sharply. She waited for panic to rise in her—why wouldn’t she grow anxious at the idea of being kept a prisoner for her whole life because of the bizarre whim of a paranormal creature?—but nothing happened. She remained calm, an actress portraying panic rather than actually feeling it.
When had this change been wrought? Why did the opposite—the idea of leaving Sanctuary—suddenly disorient her?
Margaret’s blue eyes flickered over her before she set down the creamer. “There’s no telling what the future will bring, but you’re here now. May as well make the most of it. You’re free to access almost all of Sanctuary, which—trust me, Miss—contains a lifetime of interesting amusements. Lord Delraven told me before he left this morning to tell you that you may have run of the place, although he did ask that I accompany you until you become used to the premises. One can easily get lost here and wander for hours. Jessie told me he never got a chance to show you Delraven’s library, which is truly spectacular. Perhaps today you could pick out a book or two and relax poolside. At your word, I’ll send for a masseuse and you could get a nice massage—”
“Massage,” Isabel repeated incredulously. She broke into laughter at Margaret’s wide-eyed look of innocence. “Margaret, you’re priceless. You mention that my captor is offering to treat me to a spa experience so nonchalantly.” She continued to laugh under her breath as she walked toward the bathroom, sipping her coffee.
“There’s lotion, shampoo and conditioner beneath the sink, dear, and bath salts next to the tub. I put your towels on the warmer.”
Isabel paused and glanced around. Margaret’s face was completely serious, but the sparkle in her eyes hinted that she was every bit as aware of the humor and strangeness of the situation as Isabel was.
After she bathed and dressed, Margaret and she spent a lovely day. Isabel had suspended her sense of judgment as best she could and found herself truly enjoying Margaret’s company.
They’d wandered around a library that seemed as vast and impressive to her as the Library of Congress. Afterward, Margaret mysteriously told her she wanted her to see something. The older woman led her to a pair of ornately carved, white-painted doors and opened them. Isabel squinted, trying to see in the pitch blackness. Suddenly the room was illuminated.
She gasped in stunned pleasure.
It wasn’t a room at all—it was a theatre. A perfect, majestic little theatre.
“It’s a miniature of the Gielgud,” she said hollowly, referring to the London theatre designed in the ornate, Louis XVI style. She’d attended a play for the first time at the Gielgud with Lester Dee just days ago. She stared in wonder at the ornate gilt and wood carvings, not really believing what she was saying.