Chained: Reckless Desires (Dragon's Heart Book 1) (6 page)

“What are these?” she asked.

“Our little secret,” Rodney said. He was hidden in shadow and she was blinded by the light, but the smirk in his voice was unmistakable. “If you keep it our secret, there’ll be a bonus for you.”

“You’re stealing these? From
him
? You must be mad.”

“What’s mad, love, is working for a madman. The pay isn’t worth this treatment. I could make more and be treated better in service at any other estate in the country. I could be a concierge at a hotel or work public relations. I have the skillset for it. If the madman expects me to stay on here as his footstool and lackey, there will be added compensation.” He held up one of the gold coins to illustrate his point.

It was the kind of speech that you recite to yourself as justification for doing what you knew was wrong. Every attorney had one of their own that they practiced, to convince themselves helping the rich get richer or the guilty avoid justice was the right thing to do.

Was this how she wanted to live her life?

Rodney’s voice changed, getting serious and honest for once. All trace of the smirk was gone. “If you tell him, he will kill me. If you tell him that I’ve stolen from him, you will have killed me. Please, promise me you won’t.”

“Tell me what his sickness is,” Bella said. If Rodney was going to candid for once, she was going to take advantage of it. She’d never worked a trial—if she did her job right, they stayed out of the courtroom—but she remembered the mock trials from law school and how good it felt to crack a witness. She had a taste of that feeling again.

Rodney shrugged. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Best to leave it alone, love.”

Bella held one of the coins in her hand. The weight felt good and the metal was cool and calming.

“You can keep that one,” Rodney said.

“No, no I can’t.” She placed it back on the table, next to a pile of its brothers. There must have been a hundred of those gold coins. If they were actually gold, which she suspected they were, the value just in the metal would be staggering. “Tell me. I need to know. What’s going on?”

Rodney snatched the coin and added it to one of the stacks so that they were all even. “I don’t really know. But he wasn’t always like this. I’ve been here almost five years and I remember him from before. He was always the kind one. The nice one of the family, not like his bastard brothers. But then just before old Octavian passed, something changed. The man became unstable. Most everyone wrote it off as grief over the old man’s passing, but I saw it happen before he died.”

“What’s your theory, Rodney? A smart guy like you always has a theory.”

“I think he was poisoned. I think whoever killed the old man tried before, but Winterborn stumbled into it, whatever it was.”

“But you don’t know?”

Rodney shook his head. “If you’re smart, you’ll never ask him about it. There’s no faster way to see him lose it than to ask about it.” He paused for a moment, staring at his pile of gold coins. “You really won’t turn me in?”

“I won’t,” Bella said. “That’s not me.”

Rodney nodded and then smiled. “Well, here’s for your troubles then.” He reached into his pocket, peeled off some bills from a wad of cash and pressed them into her hand. It was ten hundred dollar bills. He slipped her a grand, just like that. “I have a guy, a buyer. Up in Mercy Springs. He gives me two thousand dollars per coin,” Rodney said. “If you keep quiet, there’ll be more of this.”

Bella wanted to say no, to throw the money in his face. She didn’t want to be his accomplice. She didn’t want anything. She wanted to lose herself in her work, to read a book at night until she fell asleep and to do the whole thing again the next day. There was a comfort in the routine. She could obliterate herself with it. She could pretend she hadn’t burned her life down, because she had no life. But this—the money was grubby but it provided a path. She could save enough to get a car. A home. New clothes. A new start. Money made it possible.

She wanted to be righteous and tell Rodney to go screw, but instead she nodded and tucked the money down into her bra.

“There’s a good girl,” Rodney said. “And look, we all know Winterborn isn’t long for this world. When he goes, I’m gone too. I have a stash of these,” he said, nodding at the coins. “And a tidy sum of cash. You could come with me. Get away from here. Because, trust me, you don’t want to be around when Winterborn’s brothers show up.”

T
he next day
when she reported for work, Agatha had no tasks written for her on the little chalkboard in the break room. Usually it would say “Clean foyer” or “Scrub lower eastern toilets” but that day it just said, “See Me (urgent).”

Was the money thing with Rodney a test? Had she failed, or passed? If Winterborn fired her, what could she do? A thousand dollars and a hoodie was all she had to her name.

She found Agatha waiting for her in the woman’s tiny office. Agatha lived on the estate, unlike Chloe or Rodney, who both lived in the nearby-ish town of Bearfield. Agatha’s office doubled as a bedroom, with a Murphy bed cleverly hidden in one of the oak-panelled walls.

“You wanted to see me?” Bella said, keeping her voice neutral. She could have run. She
wanted
to run.

“Oh it’s not me, my girl, who wants to see you. It’s the Lord Winterborn himself. He asked me early in the morning how you were getting on as a maid and, well, I’m sorry girl, but I had not had my cup of coffee yet, you see.”

Bella felt all the color drain from her face. “What did you say?”

“I told him the truth: you’re a lousy maid. You work much too slow. You daydream. You spend too much time gabbing with Chloe or flirting with Rodney and require constant supervision. If we had a full staff, I daresay you would’ve been out on your ear on day one.” Agatha sighed, her blonde curls bouncing with the motion. “Don’t take it so hard, dear. This is a hard life we’ve chosen and it’s not for everyone. There’s no shame in trying a path and finding it too rocky and overgrown for your feet.”

“Am I fired?” Bella asked, her voice almost a croak. She wouldn’t tell her dad. She’d gather her things and catch a ride with Chloe. Maybe she could find work in Bearfield?

“That’s for Winterborn to decide. He’s asked to see you first thing. Please go upstairs and don’t dillydally. You know how much he dislikes tardiness.” Agatha’s voice was kind and her eyes shone with sympathy, but she may as well have said, “Go jump into the lion’s mouth, dearie, and hurry up. He gets hungry in the mornings.”

Bella left the woman’s office and stood frozen in the hall. He couldn’t make her come to him. She could have left right then, taken her things and walked down off the mountain. She didn’t have to subject herself to his abuse. But what about her father? If she vanished without a word, Winterborn would take it out on Franklin. And her father might have been a cold, stubborn man, but he didn’t deserve to have his life ruined, too. Bella had ruined enough lives lately.

She composed herself, smoothing her itchy maid’s uniform down as best she could, and walked through the lower quarters to the foyer and then up the grand stairs. The house changed as she rose. More light spilled through the windows. The walls were brighter, with fewer glowering family portraits. Did they keep all the scary pictures down with the servants to frighten them into working faster? The ornamentation also grew more elaborate, with bronze dragon heads forming the tops of the bannisters and the detail work on the doors growing more elaborate. If downstairs seemed expansive and wealthy, then upstairs was opulent enough to shame a king.

Bella paused at the large door that led to Winterborn’s private drawing room. Before she could knock, his voice said, “Come in.” At least he sounded like her was in reasonable moon. Her knees shook at the sound. Her nightmares came back to her, the sight of him as a grotesque monstrosity, devouring servant after servant with his mangled mouth. He couldn’t be that bad, right? Sure, he pummeled attorneys, but who didn’t from time to time? Yes, he scared old witchy ladies so bad they nearly left their shoes behind, but didn’t old ladies scare easily?

She opened the door and entered, eyes downcast. Better to get it over with. Rip the bandage off all at once. Take her medicine. All that.

“Miss Agatha says you’re a very poor maid,” he said. “Possibly the worst she’s seen.” Winterborn’s voice was calm, almost wry. Was he smiling? Bella risked a glance up. The drawing room wasn’t as large as she’d imagined. Winterborn had hauled furniture in from elsewhere and turned it into a sort of office, while pushing the existing furniture—including a grand piano—off to one side. The effect was odd, like it was a movie set, with half the room a cluttered mess of cozy chairs and table and bookshelves, all shoved against a fireplace, and the other half a tidy corporate office with a laptop that seemed out of place in the turn-of-the-century decor.

Lamps shone from behind Winterborn, hiding him in deep shadow. Bella could make nothing out about him, other than that he had quite large hands. A bracelet dangled on his right wrist that looked very out of place on the man. It was made of rough, rusted iron links and clung tightly to his skin like it was too small for him. The rust colored his shirt cuff and flaked off onto the top of his desk. The chain would have looked at home on a disused garden gate, or locking a forgotten door. It shouldn’t have been wrapped around any living person. Did Winterborn have tetanus? Was that why he was so moody?

“Look, I believe we really got off on the wrong foot,” he said. “As you’ve no doubt noticed, I’m not always myself and you found me during one of my bad spells. No, please don’t ask about it. I can’t talk about it. Please trust me, I can’t.” She could hear the smile in his voice, but his face was in darkness. It was like she was in one of those police interrogation rooms you see on TV, only in this case the officer was begging her not to ask any questions.

“Yes,” Bella said. “You were quite frightening. I believe you threatened to hurl me into the sea, Mr. Winterborn.”

Winterborn sighed. “I’m going to make a request of you, and I’d like you to consider it. But please don’t feel pressured. When I was in my mood, I said some nasty things to you and I wish I could take them back but of course that’s impossible, so if you say no, I’ll understand.” He waited as if waiting for an answer, even though he hadn’t asked a question.

“Are you offering me a job?” Bella guessed.

“Excuse me?”

“Well you’re being nice to me, and I know that Vincent just quit. I’m guessing you need a new attorney or amanuensis or something?”

Winterborn laughed in delighted surprise. “Just so. But a bit heavier on the
or something
part I think. I can’t pay you much, but I can offer you your own room and a fantastic letter of recommendation for whatever you choose to do next.”

“Have you been asking around about me?” Bella asked.

From the shadows, Winterborn said, “I have. I need to make sure everyone in my household can be trusted. And I discovered something you. You’ve been lying to me.”

Bella kept quiet, but her mind went to the thousand dollars from Rodney. She’d hidden it in a book in her room. There was no way Winterborn could have known about it, could he?

“When I caught you, you said you were an attorney. You failed to mention that you’d worked for Black, Cross and Landon. They’re possibly the most prestigious firm on the west coast. Did you know they represented my brother? Are you a spy, working here on his behalf?” His tone was casual. He may as well have asked, “Have you ever watched Once Upon A Time?”

“No. I’m not a spy. And it wasn’t like you gave me a chance to explain myself.”

“Fair enough. But I heard a little about what happened to you there. And I bet a letter of recommendation would help.”

Bella thought it over, her mind racing. “Would you tell people that I quit the firm to come work for you? That might actually save my reputation. Being fired because you were harassed looks much worse than quitting to go work as a private attorney.”

Winterborn nodded. “I don’t like lying, as a rule, but it’s close enough to the truth.”

“This could really turn my career around. Thank you.”

“Does that mean you’ll do it?”

“Will you write the letter now?”

“Sure.”

“Do I get my choice of room?”

“Any room on the second floor is yours.”

“Do I get to Chloe’s cooking?”

“She’s a wonder, isn’t she?”

“Why did Vincent quit? Did you hit him? If you lay so much as a finger on me, I’m out that door.”

“He says he wishes to spend more time with his family, but I think I scare him.” Winterborn stood from the desk and walked over to wear Bella was standing. Her skin crawled. She wanted to run from him, before he could seize her and gobble her up. But instead, he came into the light and Bella gasped in surprise. The man was tall, taller than most, with a lock of hair that stuck up from the back of his head. He was no hulking brute, but rather lean and muscled, from what she could tell from his tailored suit. And his face—handsome didn’t begin to describe him. Bella lost all her thoughts and worries when she saw it. He had full lips and a square jaw, like some old-fashioned movie star. His hair was black as night but his eyes were light, impossibly light. Probably he called them “hazel,” but “golden” would have been accurate, if anyone ever had golden eyes.

A half smile played on his lips.

Bella’s knees almost gave out on her.

How? How could this beautiful man with the kind eyes and the wry smile be the same creature she’d dreamt of? Or the same tyrant who’d chased off his entire staff with his temper?

But then a tremor passed through him and his face contorted into a snarl, making him hideous in a moment. “You should go,” he said, his voice almost a snarl. “But tell me you’ll take the job. Please.”

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll take the job. Whatever it pays, I’ll take it.” Some money was better than no money, and she felt a great sadness when she saw the tremors in his body.

“Excellent,” he said. “For your first duty, could you please draw up some paperwork to hire yourself?” Winterborn laughed and then clutched the chair beside him.

A long pause stretched between them. Could she stand working with him when no one else could? Working at the law firm, she’d gotten used to the extremely wealthy clients and how fickle and demanding they could be. Was Dorian Winterborn any different?

Yes. Of course he was.

Her other clients had never threatened to throw her into the sea or make her march down a mountain in the dead of night. Her other clients didn’t become raving madmen at the first sign of opposition. And none of her other clients had twisted her belly into knots just with their appearance.

Even if he didn’t kill her or fire her, working for Winterborn would be difficult when her knees refused to move, her mouth went dry and her mind filled with butterflies when she looked upon his handsome face. When had a guy ever had this effect on her? Maybe Nick Bartelle back in seventh grade? But he was her first kiss. Had there been anyone since that made her whole body melt?

“Also, I think that uniform is no longer suited to your position,” he said wryly.

“Should I take it off?” she asked innocently, before realizing what she’d just said.

“Yes, of course,” he replied. Then he too froze as he realized what he’d said. “But perhaps not in here? You do have other clothes, don’t you?”

“Not really.”

“Well, that’s a problem. You’ll be meeting with potential buyers alongside me, soon, and having you dressed as a maid or a cat burglar in your hoodie would not do.” He tapped his lips with a finger and paced around the room, muttering to himself. Bella heard the words shop and closet and naked, but couldn’t follow him.

“I could go into town and purchase some things?” she tried.

And then the other Lord Winterborn reappeared in Dorian’s skin, his face monstrous with rage, his eyes suddenly dark, his hands scrabbling at the edge of the desk as if he wanted to strangle it. “And then never come back, eh? I know that game. You are not the first to pull that trick on me! No, no. You shall not leave. You shall never leave. If you leave, it all falls apart and hope will be entirely lost. Leaving, no, leaving is not the answer.”

Bella stepped back quickly in the face of his tirade, until she was pressed against the wall. Getting further from him seemed to magnify his transformation. Where had the handsome man with the beautiful lips gone? She saw no signs of him in the beast before her.

With a great wracking sob, Dorian collapsed to the floor. Was he crying? Laughing? Bella couldn’t tell. Probably he couldn’t either.

After ten breaths, he regained control of himself and stood again. When he turned toward her, the monster was gone and the man returned.

“Forgive me, please. The day has been exhausting. I can’t keep it in much longer.”

What was his deal? If it was mental illness, it was like nothing she’d seen or heard of before. Growing up, she had an aunt who was diagnosed as schizophrenic who refused her medication nine days out of ten. She knew what it looked like and Winterborn—whatever he had going on did not resemble mental illness on any but a superficial level.

Winterborn moved a pile of papers on his desk and underneath was a key. An old, large key forged of iron and then decorated with golden inscriptions. Winterborn tossed it to her without even looking. The gold had flaked off where the business end of the key was, but the handle was still beautiful. Spread wings, like those of a bat, formed the handle.

“This key will allow you access to the rest of the manse. You will have the run of the estate, but I ask you to please avoid disturbing rooms unless there is great need. Do not explore just for exploration’s sake. Curiosity is not a virtue in Winter’s Breath.”

“Why is it called that?”

“It’s what my father named this place when he had it built back in 1923. He had a rivalry with Hearst, you see. And when Hearst built that eyesore castle down the coast, my father felt compelled to follow suit, but do it better. And when Hearst named his castle, my father also had to. He was competitive. Childishly so.”

Bella tried to do the math on the former Lord’s age, but the sums kept coming up impossible. “If your father built this in 1923, and died just a few years ago, how old was he?”

A mystery sparkled in Dorian’s eyes. “His birth certificate claimed he was born in 1920. But do you know many three-year-olds who have the wherewithal to commission architects? But I am getting off track. I’ll be out for the day. I need to tour the outer buildings with Mister Hart. There’s been some vandalism, you see.” A spasm passed through him and he bent over to grab the desk. His body went rigid with the effort of holding back his madness. “On my desk,” he said through gritted teeth. “A folder. For you. Read it.”