Page 9 of Redemption (Favorite Malady Duet #2)

ABIGAIL

Now

Y ou’re perfect for me.

I press my lips together to hold back the defiant words that burn my tongue. Or maybe that’s the bile that’s creeping up my throat.

I swallow hard against my rising nausea and wrench my gaze from his burning green stare.

The possessiveness in his eyes is terrifyingly potent, and I can’t bear to maintain the intense connection for one second longer.

He truly believes what he’s saying. I’m not sure if it’ll be possible to convince him that he’s completely delusional.

He’s decided that I belong to him.

When I look into his fiercely handsome face, I see the man I fell in love with. It’s beyond horrific to know that man was never real. Everything moment we’ve shared has been a manipulation.

I hug my arms around my aching chest, as though I can hold the shattered pieces of my heart together.

“You must be hungry,” he says, voice warm with concern.

I can’t trust in that warmth. I’ve seen his cold, merciless soul now. Any display of tenderness must be just another lie to lure me in.

I’ve always known that Dane is wickedly intelligent. I just didn’t realize that he was using that razor sharp mind against me. He’s a convincing enough actor that he tricked me into falling in love with him.

If I hadn’t gone into the powder blue house and found out what he really is, I would still be in love with him. I’d be in his bed back in Charleston, calling him Master and giving my body to him eagerly.

I shudder at the thought. Because part of me wishes I could be that version of me—ignorant to Dane’s true nature. His crimes against me.

“I don’t feel like eating anything,” I say truthfully.

I’m not sure if I can keep food down when my gut is churning so violently.

“You haven’t eaten in nearly twenty-four hours.” His voice is heavy with admonishment now. “Come with me.”

He reaches for me, and I recoil. His hand clenches to a fist, then withdraws.

“You’ll feel better once you’ve had food.” He says it like I’m being unreasonable and providing me with sustenance will make me less cranky. “You will eat, Abigail.”

I bristle at the command, and I keep my eyes trained on the black and white tiles beneath my feet. After a tense moment, I manage to force my head to dip in a jerky nod.

Remaining in this bathroom won’t get me closer to freedom.

If we truly are alone and isolated on his estate, I need to explore my cage.

I won’t try to run again unless I’m certain that I have a chance of evading him.

For now, I’ll remain complaint. He can compel my actions, but he can’t rule my heart.

The sooner he accepts the fact that I will never love him—that I feel nothing but revulsion for him—the sooner he’ll tire of me and release me.

He doesn’t reach for me again, and I huff out a small, relieved breath.

I keep my eyes averted from his powerful body as I follow him through the bedroom.

My gaze catches on the shattered remnants of the colorful, stained-glass lampshade that litter the rug, and for an insane moment, I consider snatching up one of the jagged shards to wield it as a weapon.

I grit my teeth and force my reluctant feet to carry me away from temptation. I can’t afford to attack him and lose.

We make our way down the long corridor, heading toward the staircase I never quite reached during my mad escape attempt. I focus on the layout of my surroundings, noting three closed doors that interrupt the lines of portraits on either side of me.

Dane notices my swinging gaze and explains, “There are four bedrooms in this wing. My brother, James, and I have rooms here. My parents occupy the east wing, although there are a further six guest rooms that remain empty. Not including the additional accommodations in the carriage house.”

My heart sinks at the sprawling description of the manor. I’ll have to rely on Dane to navigate the space.

We descend the wide staircase and cross a cavernous foyer. Natural light pours through large windows on either side of what I assume is the front door, making the wood paneled walls glow like they’re burnished.

Dane leads me through a maze of rooms, and I commit the grand spaces to memory.

There’s a robin’s egg blue sitting room with intricate crown molding.

A dining room with a table long enough to host a feast like something out of a period drama.

A library with thousands of books lining every wall on intricately carved shelves.

“I’ll show you the billiards room and the indoor pool later,” he says, making genial conversation. “There’s a fully equipped gym, too, but we can exercise outdoors if you prefer. The Yorkshire Dales are too beautiful to waste time on a treadmill.”

We enter a massive kitchen with modern appliances that have been tastefully chosen to complement the historic character of the space.

Dark wood beams accent the cream ceiling overhead, and the massive stone fireplace beside a large, oval dining table is swept clean for summer.

Across from the marble-topped island, the kitchen opens up into a glass-walled conservatory.

My breath catches when I get my first look at the stunning countryside.

Verdant, grassy hills roll to the horizon, and a narrow river is a shining blue ribbon that meanders between them.

It spills into a huge lake that must be several miles away.

I don’t see any other houses; only dry-stone walls crisscrossing the hills, which are dotted with distant white sheep.

We truly are isolated in this gorgeous landscape.

My fingers itch for my paintbrush even as my stomach turns. The urge to capture the way the sunlight dapples the green hills is an ever-present, irrepressible artistic calling.

But the rural setting fills my heart with dread.

There’s no one here to help me. No neighbors to hear me if I scream.

“I’ll make us a proper fry-up,” Dane says, calling my attention away from the terribly beautiful countryside.

“It might take me a moment to get my bearings. Cooking in this kitchen is a novelty. All of my meals were prepared for me when I was a boy. In the years since I moved to America, I’ve learned to take care of myself. ”

His lopsided smile is so perfectly charming that I marvel at his ability to mask his monstrous nature.

“I can make a decent meal for you.” He says it like a reassurance. “I doubt my brother could manage it. He’s never worked at anything a day in his life.”

“You brother still lives here? With your parents?” I try to keep my tone casual, politely interested.

He sees right through me. “Like I said, they’re summering abroad.

And no, my brother has his faults, but he has no desire to remain close to our parents.

I believe he prefers to spend his time in the Wensleydale lodge.

It’s only about a half hour’s drive from here, but it permits him some distance from our mother. ”

“You said you left your family behind when you moved to America for college,” I say carefully. “Won’t they want to see you now that you’re back home?”

He scoffs. “If they knew I was here, they’d try to find a way to lock me down and prevent me from leaving. But don’t worry. I paid the staff to keep quiet. They were happy to take an extended holiday.”

“So, you’re not planning to stay.”

I have to get a sense of his plans for me. Does he intend to return to Charleston at some point? It certainly sounds as though he doesn’t want to stay here for long.

He frowns and turns his attention to the fridge.

He doesn’t look at me when he replies, “You and I need to come to an understanding before we go back to the States. Meadows is pissed that I fucked off to England without notice, but he’ll have to manage the practice without me for a while.

I told him my grandmother had passed away. I just didn’t specify when.”

He keeps his focus on finding the pans he needs rather than looking at me.

“You think I’ll turn you in for what you did to me,” I surmise quietly.

In profile, I note the downward twist of his sensual lips, as though he’s bitten into something sour.

“I don’t intend to go to prison.” His voice is smooth and cultured as ever, entirely unruffled except for his frown. “You need some time to process what you saw. I understand that. It’s regrettable that I had to bring you here, but it was the best option.”

“You think kidnapping me was the best option.” It’s a dull, flat statement. I have to keep the shrill accusation from my tone if I’m going to reason with him. He has to hear how insane this is when I put it in clear, plain language.

He places several fat sausages and four rashers of thick bacon onto a hot pan, and the meat instantly begins to sizzle. He continues to focus on cooking, his movements smooth and utterly casual, as though this is a normal morning and nothing is troubling him.

“You don’t have to continue with your menial job to make ends meet anymore,” he reasons. “You can spend all your time focusing on your art. That’s what you want, isn’t it? I can give that to you, Abigail. I have given it to you. You’re free to reach your full potential now.”

“You stole my phone and quit my job for me.” It takes all my willpower to remain calm and rational. “You made my friends believe that I’m willingly on vacation with you. But you drugged me, and you’re holding me against my will. That’s not freedom, Dane. That’s captivity.”

He shrugs, a physical dismissal of my words. “You’ll be much happier now. You just need some time to adjust. I know what you saw upset you. I never intended to frighten you.”

I can’t hold back my bitter laugh. “Didn’t you? You terrified me when you put on that skull mask and assaulted me in the dark. You threatened me with a knife.”

“Just like you told me in your fantasies.” He bites out the words, clearly agitated. “I acted out your deepest desires.”

I breathe through my nose and suppress the urge to vomit.

He knows all of my secrets because he positioned himself as GentAnon.

“I confessed those fucked-up fantasies because I thought it was a safe space to express them. I thought I was talking to someone anonymous. Someone who understood me. I trusted you.”

I told my illicit pen pal my most vulnerable secrets, and I’d felt secure in purging my inner darkness with him.

Instead, I made myself a target for a sadistic psychopath.

“How did you find my screenname?” I ask through numb lips.

My mind spins as I try to piece together what’s happened to me. How long has Dane been watching me?

“You said we met at the bar before you came into the café for the first time. That was a few weeks before GentAnon messaged me. How did you find my erotica?”

He cracks an egg over the pan, a little too sharply. “You don’t want to know that.”

“Yes, I do,” I insist, even though I really would prefer not to hear the sickening extent of his stalking.

But I have to understand him. I can’t talk my way to freedom if I don’t know everything about my situation.

“I’ve been watching over you ever since the night we met,” he admits. “I think that much is obvious now.”

“ Watching over me? ” I repeat, incredulous. “You mean stalking me .”

His jaw tenses, but his movements are deft as he removes the cooked food from the pan. He places a full plate on the island in front of me, along with a glass of water.

Then he takes a knife and fork to cut my food into bite-sized pieces. He places the knife in the sink, well out of my reach.

Clearly, he’s not going to tempt me with a potential weapon. Not after I attacked him with the heavy brass lamp almost as soon as I woke up from the drugs.

“Eat,” he commands.

My stomach rumbles as the rich scent of bacon suffuses my senses. Even though I still feel queasy, I’m painfully aware of the fact that I haven’t eaten in a full day. I have to keep my strength up and my wits sharp.

I take a bite of eggs. It tastes like ashes on my tongue, but I force myself to chew and swallow.

“Are you going to answer my question?” I press when half my plate is empty. “How did you know to position yourself as GentAnon?”

“No.” He takes a bite of his own bacon, and I realize he’s not planning to say more.

“No, what?”

“No, I’m not going to answer your question.”

I gape at him. “You owe me the truth, Dane.”

His brow furrows, as though he’s struggling to process my declaration. It occurs to me that he probably doesn’t think he owes me anything. Judging by his puzzled expression, he’s never owed anything to anyone, in his mind.

“You’re upset,” he says after a long moment. “I don’t want to tell you when it will only make you more upset. I don’t like how you’re looking at me.”

“And how am I looking at you? Like you’re a monster who stalked and kidnapped me? Does that make you uncomfortable? Because I’m not remotely sorry.”

I fix him with the full force of my defiant glower. I won’t make this easy for him. If the way I look at him disturbs him, he’ll be eager to let me go soon enough.