Chained: Reckless Desires (Dragon's Heart Book 1) (4 page)

As Bella wandered away from the library, she found an ornate hedge maze with the bushes just slightly taller than she was. She absolutely resisted going inside. In fact, she couldn’t imagine a worse idea. It was tempting though, maybe because it was such a terrible idea, or maybe because she’d been cooped up so long. She skirted the edge of the maze, hoping to get a glimpse of the sea or of the main house. She craved magnificence.

She brushed the fingers of her right hand against the plants as she walked widdershins around the maze’s perimeter. Had her father planted it and cared for it? Or did Winterborn have a maze guy he used? How fun would it be to be in charge of planting and growing a maze? Maybe if she decided to change careers she could do that—become the maze builder to the rich and powerful. Because she’d certainly have to change careers, or at least move to a different state. If Black, Cross and Landon wanted to they could blackball her from corporate law. They could get her disbarred. Hell, if they backed up Heath’s story, they could even press harassment charges against her. But they hadn’t yet.

There was a surprising lack of discussion about her firing online. None of the gossipy, quasi-anonymous legal forums had a mention of it. The firm had gone out of their way to make it quiet. She knew what that meant—she’d been the one quieting loud voices more than once. The senior partners knew Heath was lying, but they didn’t care. He was too valuable as a client to shun, whereas she was just another bright, young attorney fresh out of law school. They made more of her every year. The partners wouldn’t say a word about her termination unless she did first. It was a game of reputation chicken. Who would blink first? The threat of Heath was like eyes watching her in the night.

How could she apply for a new position in her circumstances? Any firm that asked her about her last job and why she left—it would mean inviting trouble. No, what she needed was to lay low for a bit. Let everything blow over before she stepped back into the world. She wished she could just stay with her father, living in the shadows of the Winterborns, but it would’t work. The arrangement was temporary and her father did not do well with company. It was only a matter of days before he began pressuring her to find somewhere else to stay. She could see it coming from a mile away.

Being out of the library and in the fresh night air made the world feel more real, even under the silver moon. She couldn’t hide forever. She wasn’t living in a fairy tale bubble—she was a woman standing in the ashes of her old life unsure of where to step next.

Bella was lost in thought when she turned the corner of the outside of the maze and ran straight into Lord Dorian Winterborn. She’d spun around the edge, not paying attention, as he came around the perimeter the other way. Both of them were apparently not brave enough to dare the maze at night. Her nose and chin and breasts and all of the rest of her collided against his hard and unstoppable chest and suddenly she was pinwheeling backwards, falling on her ass.

“Ohmygod,” she said in a rush. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

The man loomed above her. He was tall, taller than she’d expected. The moonlight hid his face in shadows.

“What are you doing in my garden?” the man said, his voice shook with rage. “Are you another thief, come to steal from me?” His body shook and trembled with poorly contained fury. He sounded like a monster. Bella wanted to run, to hide, to do anything to get away from him.

He reached down and seized her wrist in his grip. The man was stronger than she thought possible. He yanked her to her feet and grabbed her other wrist as well. “Tell me, what are you doing here?” he yelled in her face. “Tell me now, or I swear that I will throw you into the sea.” Was there a glimmer of flame in the man’s shadowed eyes? No, of course not, that was impossible.

“You’re hurting me,” Bella said.

“I assure you, the rocks will hurt more, thief.” He spat the words out and his breath was burning hot on her cheeks.

Lord Winterborn dragged her by the wrists past the hedge maze.

He meant it, Bella realized. The beast of a man would do it, he’d hurl her over the cliffs and no one would find her. What would her father assume? That she’d slipped out for a stroll and fallen? That she’d run off in shame? How many others had Winterborn thrown to their deaths? Maybe he was more talented at terror and murder than his brothers, and that’s why he had no record.

“Wait,” Bella pleaded. “Wait.” She gathered her breath and tried to ignore the crushing grip on her wrists. The man’s hands were not only strong, but also oddly hot, like he was fevered. “I’m Bella Hart, Franklin’s daughter. I was just visiting him.”

Winterborn stopped. “Franklin’s daughter? But he didn’t tell me. He didn’t ask me. He knows the rules about visitors. Maybe I’ll hurl him to the sea as well. No, no. Can’t do that. That’s no way to treat one’s people.” The man’s voice was calm one moment and bursting with rage the next. Was he ill? Did he need medication? Bella was gripped at once by an intense fear of him, and also an intense pity.

“Please, your grip. You’re hurting me.”

Winterborn looked down at his hands on her wrists and let go. She couldn’t see his face, but she sensed surprise from him, like he didn’t know what he was doing. Bella stumbled backwards and sat hard in the gravel. He stepped closer, looming above her, placing himself between her and the moon.

“When did you arrive? I didn’t hear a car.”

Bella opened her mouth, about to lie, when she thought better of it. “Two weeks ago, sir. When Franklin went out for groceries.”

“I knew the man was up to something,” he hissed. “You’ve been here for two weeks? Holed up like a rat, eh? Well, you must leave immediately, of course. Of course. Of course,” he ranted, pulling at his hair. “I’ll escort you to the gate and you can find your way down the mountain in the dark. How does that sound?”

“Impossible,” Bella said.

“Oh, not so impossible, the bears do it every evening. As do the mountain lions, the snakes, the spiders.” Winterborn laughed a cruel, crazed laugh.

“Can I at least get my things first?”

“Of course, you have
things
. They will have to be searched. We can’t have the possibility that you may be smuggling out something precious now, can we?” Winterborn seemed to grow larger as he spoke, which was impossible, surely. “But maybe you should just leave now. I can give your clothes to the fish to wear. Don’t worry, I’ll send your father down after you. I have no need for sneaks in this household.”

Her father. He’d be so disappointed. If he ever spoke to her again it’d be a miracle.

“Please, don’t. It’s not his fault, sir. You see, I was abruptly fired from my last position and I gave him no choice. You can’t fire him. This job is all he has, it’s all he loves in the world.”

Winterborn was silent for a moment. Bella’s ass stung from landing hard on the gravel, but she didn’t dare move. It was like she was facing down some wild creature. There was no else around. If it came to it, it was his word against hers. Was this how Dorian Winterborn avoided getting caught?

“I know all about the lengths a father will go to in order to protect his children,” he said, his voice shockingly reasonable again, almost pleasant. His body eased down, his shoulders sloping. But then he tensed and he spat out, “Two weeks you’ve lived here. What food have you eaten, thief? What air have you breathed? What soil have you trod on? You owe me, thief. You’ve stolen two weeks of water and air, food and comfort. How will you make that right?”

A thought occurred to her. And before she could stop herself, she said, “I could work it off, sir. My dad said you needed more help on the estate.” What was she saying? She had wanted a place to lay low, but like this?

“Can you cook?”

“No,” Bella said.

“Very well, because we already have an excellent cook,” he said, his voice irritable and fiery. “What was your trade, thief?”

“I was—am—an attorney.”

Dorian Winterborn let loose a loud, mocking laugh. “So you are a thief, you admit it. And useless in service as well, I suspect. What kind of attorney were you? No, it doesn’t matter. You’re all the same. You take reasonable words and twist them to mean the very opposite of their intention. You put yourself between brothers and goad them into loathing each other. Lawyers, you poison every interaction,” he growled. “But your father is right, we do need help. Report at dawn to Miss Agatha in the main house. She’ll put you to work.”

“Thank you, sir,” Bella said, then got to her feet.

Winterborn marched her to the library and dismissed her. She hid in her bedroom on the third floor and fell asleep to the sounds of her new employer berating her father’s treachery.

T
he old-fashioned
alarm clock sprang to life, hollering the start of Bella’s new life. Not even six in the morning and her day had begun.

She’d expected to see her father at the breakfast table, but he’d risen earlier than usual and left. He hadn’t even saved her any breakfast. He had every right to be furious with her. She’d broken the rules. She’d gone out and exposed herself to Winterborn’s cruel temper. If he didn’t want to speak to her or feed her, well she couldn’t really blame him, could she? He’d get over it. He had to. Bella didn’t know how long Winterborn expected her to work for him to pay off her debt. Later she’d ask for a contract, something proper that spelled out her fees and duties. She began drafting it in her head as she walked across the grounds to the main house.

The air outside was colder than Bella had expected. There was a bite to it. The sun may have been shining already, but it had done little to drive away the teeth of the night. She stuffed her hands into her hoodie pockets and trudged around the maze towards the main house.

It was the first time she’d seen it in real life, and the sight was breathtaking in its immensity. The sketches and photos didn’t do it justice. The painting had captured the size, but not the magnificence. The house filled hugged the mountain—it was built right into the stone like some old temple. It was not any taller than the library, and narrow, as if the builder had begun too close to the mountain and realized it too late. It had a classic style, with greek columns and a pale marble exterior, but the architecture was unique. Parts looked Victorian, others much older. Hundreds of windows gazed down on Bella, as she also gazed into them. The effect was somewhat macabre, as if the building was a row of enormous skulls sunk halfway into the mountain stone.

Bella headed towards the front door, a ridiculously large double-hinged affair built of some oily-looking blackened wood. A statue shaped like a dragon loomed over the front steps like an awning made of stone, shielding them from rain and wind with its massive outstretched wings, but with a look that suggested he’d much rather be roasting peasants or sitting atop a golden hoard. A chill ran down Bella’s spine at the sight of the dragon. It looked like nothing she’d ever seen before, like a hint of the madness that dwelt in Winterborn had always been in the family.

On her way up the steps, Bella heard a hissing noise. No, it was a “Psst! Psst!” She turned and saw a girl with blue hair leaning out of a nearly-hidden ground floor door, a hundred feet away to the west.

“Are you
pssting
at me?” Bella asked.

“Girl, you don’t go in the front door,” the blue-haired girl replied. “This is the servant’s entrance. And yeah, I know dude, I don’t like the name either.”

Bella stopped and eyed the front doors. She had a creeping sensation, like if she’d gone through them the stone dragon would have swiveled its neck down and swallowed her whole. She shivered and walked back down the steps and along the front of the marble exterior to the servant’s entrance.

“Thank you,” Bella said, giving the girl a smile. “Winterborn already hates me enough as it is.”

“No worries. We all made that mistake on our first days, too. Okay, not
all
of us. But I did, and hundreds before me too.” She grabbed Bella’s hand and shook it. “Chloe, by the way. Chloe Meadows.”

The girl had a funny look in her eyes, like she was listening to some distant conversation only she could hear. Her eyes flicked around the room, never staying still. Was she mad? Was everyone in the house crazy? Chloe was dressed in jeans, muddy hiking boots, and a blue blazer the exact same shade as her hair.

“Bella Hart, pleased to meet you.”

“Oh yeah, you’re Frankenstein’s daughter,” Chloe grinned. Then she stopped when she saw Bella’s pained expression. “Sorry, wait, I don’t mean that in a pejorative way at all. It’s just the way Franklin sort of grunts at everyone when he’s working. It’s like the old monster movies, y’know?”

Bella did know. She really did.

Chloe showed her into the house. The servant’s entrance lead to the kitchen on one side, and to the servant’s hall on the other. The passages were wide enough to cart supplies through, but with low ceilings, as if the architect thought the working class was naturally shorter. The girl spoke in a Northern Californian drawl, marking her as a local. She showed Bella to the break room, to the kitchen, and to the locker room. All of them were as plain as could be, with stuccoed walls and blond wood floors.

“Your uniform is here,” Chloe said, pointing to a locker with the name “Harnap” on it.

“Doesn’t this belong to someone else?” The locker still had things in it. A photo of a smiling woman, Bella’s size, hugging a little boy.

“Not any more. Helen quit last week. Another one bites the dust, y’know?” Chloe opened a locker not far from Bella’s and changed into her work clothes. “There used to be dozens of us keeping this place together, they say, now it’s just five.”

“Five?” Bella said. “How can five people keep this estate together?”

“Oh, we can’t. Not even slightly.” Chloe shrugged with a smile. “But it’s fun to try.”

“Why haven’t
you
quit?” Bella asked. She removed the uniform from the locker. It was a maid’s uniform in black, made of a scratchy wool/poly blend, complete with a little white hat and a ruffled apron. A month ago she’d been an attorney with suits that cost more than most people’s mortgages. And now she was about to wear the most demeaning outfit she could imagine. Though maybe it could have been worse. At least it was an actual uniform, and not some skimpy Halloween version.

“Oh, his highness doesn’t scare me,” Chloe said, a mysterious look in her eyes. “He’s really a big puppy underneath. And anyway, I’ve seen worse. Much worse. Sometime ask me about my last Halloween, okay? Besides, this place has nice ghosts,” she said with a shrug then nodded with a smile, staring at a space three feet behind Bella.

Chloe’s outfit was better. She was the cook and dressed entirely in white, complete with a large floppy hat.

“You’re the chef?” Bella asked. “Did you make that shepherd’s pie a while ago? I swear it was the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“Oh yeah, that was a good one,” Chloe nodded. “It’s a challenge to get the gravy right without using meat, but I think I nailed it.”

“But you’re like twenty, right?” Bella asked, the subtext being, how can you be a chef and be so young?

“Can I tell you a secret?” Chloe asked, then continued without waiting for an answer. “It’s the ghosts who do all the cooking. I just follow their instructions.” The girl smiled and her eyes crinkled up in pleasure.

Everyone in the house was bananas, Bella decided.

Chloe introduced her to the Head of Service, Agatha Potter. Miss Agatha she liked to be called. She was a no-nonsense woman in her sixties, with blonde hair that fell in natural curls about her wide, scowling face. She’d once been in charge of a fleet of maids and cleaners and cooks and butlers and footmen and drivers, but now her staff consisted entirely of Chloe, Bella, and a man named Rodney who was apparently routinely late for work. Bella’s father, by some old arrangement, operated independently of Miss Agatha, a fact that seemed to give the woman a sense of competition with him, as if the inside help and the outside help were in a sort of cold war with each other.

“I don’t know where he found you,” she chirped when she met Bella. “But by god can we use your help.”

Agatha showed Bella around, walking with fast precise steps so Bella had to almost run to keep up with her. In an impatient monologue, she explained all of Bella’s duties, pointed out each of the rooms she was to clean and explained exactly how they should be cleaned. Too late Bella realized she should have been taking notes. Agatha alternated between explaining how to use a broom properly—as if Bella had never touched one before—to explaining the exact ratio of milk and baking soda she used to get blood stains out of the floors. Agatha was too busy to repeat herself, but if Bella got in trouble she could just google instructions, right?

Her territory as housemaid would cover the entrance and any room that was to be used by Winterborn that day. Agatha enjoyed referring to Winterborn as
the Lord
. She had an English accent, but not the posh kind, and gave the impression that she’d never dreamed of doing anything other than taking care of a great estate. Bella wanted to ask her why she stayed on—the woman was obviously highly skilled at what she did—but she didn’t need to. Agatha gazed at the house like a child staring with loving adoration at her mother. She suspected that if Winterborn left and Chloe left and Agatha was left alone, she’d stay there cleaning and tidying and polishing just because it was the proper thing to do.

You had to respect someone who had mastered their job and loved their work. Had Bella felt that way about her place in the firm? No. Not at all. It had been a means to an end. A way to pay off her mountainous law school debt and get some experience before doing something good. She couldn’t imagine feeling as positive towards her work as Agatha did, and Agatha worked for a mercurial monster.

After Agatha’s tour, Bella was left to dust a sitting room all on her own. The rooms were magnificent. Breathtakingly magnificent, with high ceilings (that she’d need a ladder and the long duster to clean) and chandeliers made of crystal (that required twice-monthly polishings) and marble floors (to be damp mopped, but never waxed) and ornate rugs with golden fibers woven throughout (that required a special brush to clean, never to be vacuumed). The walls were covered in old family portraits, mostly showing the old Lord Octavian Winterborn in a variety of stately poses, but some with his sons in the pictures as well. Bronze plaques adorned each painting. “Lord Winterborn, on the summiting of Kilimanjaro,” one said, showing a glowering man atop a large rock, dressed like an explorer of old. “Lord Winterborn, hunting the Beast of Berengetta,” another said, showing Lord Winterborn wrestling a tiger. They couldn’t be real, could they? “Lord Winterborn, with his sons Hannibal, Alexander, Xerxes, and Valdemar,” another said, with the Lord dressed in a tuxedo and four boys in formal dress—the oldest a young man and the youngest scarcely more than a baby.

Bella was staring at the painting when a voice made her jump.

“Don’t worry, he won’t eat you.”

Bella spun around and saw a man in a servant’s black suit leaning against the doorframe. He was tall and thin, with immaculately slicked brown hair and brown eyes so dark they were unreadable. The man was polished and professional, and hotter than Bella was comfortable with.

“You’re the new girl,” he said with a wry smile.

“And you must be Rodney?” The servant who was perpetually late, she recalled.

He gave a half-bow, “Here for your pleasure, ma’am.” Then, “If you need anything at all, or require a more thorough orientation than Miss A gave you, do let me know.” His voice dripped with subtext. He undressed her with his warm brown eyes and liked what he saw there. How many maids had he seduced and banged in a hidden closet? And would that really be a bad way to spend her lunch breaks? Bella would never have considered such a thing at the law firm, but after weeks of being cooped up in the library and only an hour of dusting, she was desperate for a human connection.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. How do you flirt again? How do you hook up with someone when you’re not both using an app to do it? She couldn’t remember. But a dirty affair seemed like just the thing to take edge off the melancholy she’d been suffering from.

“You look like a smart girl,” he said, a twinkle in his depthless brown eyes. “There’s opportunities here for a smart girl like you.” Then a voice shouted from deeper in the house—Winterborn’s—and Rodney blanched. “The master calls,” he said.

“It was nice to make your acquaintance,” Bella said.

“I look forward to seeing more of you later.” Rodney winked at her then spun and hurried away.

When he left Bella realized she’d been holding her breath. The room felt ten degrees warmer. She made a note to herself to ask Chloe about Rodney. He reminded her of a certain type from law school—a charmer, a schemer, someone who was always playing an angle. Someone like that could be valuable to know, as long as you didn’t become a victim of their subterfuge.

She was left largely alone at work. Miss Agatha stopped in occasionally to direct her to new projects and Rodney winked at her when he passed on some errand for his master, but otherwise she was alone with her thoughts. But the work occupied her enough to keep her mind off of everything, at least for a while. It felt good to lose herself in a project. It was better than stewing in thoughts of how she should have handled Heath differently, how she should have run to the senior partners right then, how if only she’d left work five minutes earlier she could have slipped away to a nice dinner and not wrecked her life.

She met Chloe, Agatha and Rodney for lunch in the dining hall. It had been built for special occasions, with long beautiful tables each carved from a single felled redwood tree and massive chandliers, but it hadn’t been used by the Winterborns in decades. With its high ceilings and peaceful air, it was a much more pleasant place to take a break than the cramped servant’s dining room. The food was the same as what Winterborn was eating that day—a spicy daal soup with rice and thick slabs of buttery naan. It was the best Indian food Bella had ever had.

The four of them ate hurriedly, in silence. Rodney nearly slurped the bowl down in his urgency. Whereas Agatha wiped her mouth after every bite and carefully reapplied her nude lipstick as soon as her plate was clean.

“I don’t know,” Chloe said, looking at the empty space next to her. “Maybe it could’ve used a bit more cinnamon?”

“Ignore her,” Rodney said. “Creepy Chloe is always talking to the ghosts of this place.”

“Enough of that, Mister Trent,” Agatha snapped. “Our courtesy must extend to one another as surely as to the lord. Then she turned to Bella, “This is only your first day, girl, but your pace is abysmally slow. I expected you to be finished with the east wing by now, and yet you’ve barely cleared one room.” She shook her head, as if it was evidence that Bella would not last long in the position. “Move on to the western wing when you’re done here.” Agatha gave Rodney the stink eye and left. He pulled out his phone and studiously ignored everyone while he finished his coffee.