Page 41 of Chain Me

Staring broodingly from the windows, he looked more the stereotypical vampire archetype than ever. Eternally tormented. A snippet of a past conversation crossed my mind, uttered in a woman’s voice.“If you do decide to seek him out, don’t count on me to help you.”

Just who was he trying to avoid?

“Don’t I have a right to know?” I pressed.

“Rumors,” he replied. “Even I have enough pity not to bore you with them.”

But there was more, I suspected. So much more. Not only was he lying, but he was hiding something.

“What kind of rumors—”

“Sir?”

We both spun in the direction of the foyer, where the soft, feminine voice had come from. The blond from last night stood there, framed in shadow, dressed ironically in a light-pink dress. My eye twitched. Dublin would have a conniption if I were to wear such a color.

But in this instance? He inclined his head, his expression neutral. “What is it, Kate?”

There was no scorn lacing the single syllable. No derision. No hate.

Kate.

“Your appointment is here,” she said while folding her hands primly before her. “Should I show them in?”

“No.” Dublin’s eyes flickered in my direction as he spoke. “No… I’ll meet them personally. Thank you, Kate.”

She nodded and left the suite.

“I guess you won’t be joining in on the Gray family history book club,” I deduced, trying and failing to sound civil.

“I didn’t think you’d be so amicable.” The bastard had the nerve to sound surly that I had the gall to thwart his expectations at all. “I will be gone for a few hours.” He seemed to hesitate before moving toward the front door. “Read the book.”

His true command was easy to interpret:Stay here. Stay out of trouble.

Be a good little captive.

“If I have to immerse myself in centuries of dreary family history, it’s only fitting that I commence such torture in Gray Manor,” I pointed out.

Somewhere familiar, far from his beautiful, luxurious high-rise where a stunning blond could enter and exit as she pleased.

Somewhere I could remember my life’s destiny as a grouchy spinster.

“You will stay here,” Dublin said without turning around.

I swallowed, tapping my fingers over the surface of the table. “A short trip wouldn’t be a bother to you. I could call François?”

He gripped the handle of the front door. “That we will discuss when I return.”

I swallowed again, tapping my nails more frantically. So much for remaining cordial; my attempts were straining at the seams.

Desperate, I tried a new line of attack. “We did agree that he would remain as my driver.”

“We will discuss it later.”

Before I could argue, he stormed from the suite, slamming the door in his wake.

So much for cordiality.

Rather than pout, I flipped the book to a fresh page and started to read. It was a surprisingly enthralling task. Who knew that one could find morbid comfort in scanning the many variations of Margaret, Eleanor, and Mary passed down throughout the years?