Unraveled by Her (15 page)

Chapter Sixteen

The next day at breakfast, Robert asks whether I've ever walked a labyrinth—an ancient and intricate walkway stamped on concrete on the ground, but without walls.

I know that Georgiana walked the labyrinth in the castle grounds on practically a daily basis. The thought of literally following in her footsteps is unthinkable to me.

“A labyrinth is almost older than time, darling. I first walked one in Chartres Cathedral when I was very young and unhappy, and somehow, the act of putting one foot in front of the other, focusing hard so that I didn't cross the lines, miraculously put me into a meditative state,” he says.

Robert, the ultimate man of action, meditating?

I find it difficult to believe.

But then he's so many things, so much the Renaissance man, that I shouldn't be at all surprised that he's spiritual as well.

“I found that state eminently healing. And problem solving, as well. Which is why I've walked the labyrinth's path every day since I first bought the castle and had one installed here,” he finishes.

So it isn't there because of Georgiana at all . . .

“I think it might be good for you to walk it, after . . .” he says, then jumps up, “Let's take a walk there together, and I'll show you.”

I follow him, and while we stroll down to the labyrinth, he gives me a brief lesson on its significance.

“The labyrinth dates back to prehistoric times, when it was believed that the strange pattern was designed in order to trap evil spirits,” he says, and two images swim before my eyes, one dead, one very much alive. I am overcome with the wish that I could trap both of them in the labyrinth to rot in hell.

“One of the best and most famous examples is in Crete, in the palace of Knossos. It was designed for King Minos to contain the minotaur,” he adds, just as we arrive at the edge of the labyrinth, where he points out the intricate pattern, and the heart of it, at the center.

“It's like the petals of a flower, isn't it? Start at the entrance, and then tell the universe what you need, what you want, ask the question to which you need an answer, take a deep breath, and start walking. And when you reach the center, and the mood takes you, spend a few minutes standing on one of the petals and enjoy the moment. Then walk back to the entrance again. By the time I get there, I often find that the answer to my question has come to me,” he says.

“I'd love to do it, then.”

“Take your time, darling, and I'll see you back at the house when you're done.” He kisses me on the cheek and leaves me there alone to ask my question: how can I dispel this nightmare I'm in?

Half an hour later, when I've arrived back at the labyrinth entrance again, I know what I must do. I must confess everything to Robert right away. I must tell him that Georgiana is still alive, that she was the architect of my kidnapping, how she executed that kidnapping and all the twisted intentions that motivated her to unleash such evil upon me

I still struggle with whether to include in my confession her supposed justifications for what she did: sudden poverty, rape, an evil genius manipulating her, and finally, the ultimate blackmail, into which she claims she was coerced on pain of death.

All I know is that the time has come for me to tell Robert the truth and let the chips fall wherever they may . . .

But when I burst into the library, primed to confess everything to Robert, he greets me eagerly. “I so hope you enjoyed walking the labyrinth like I always do, darling. If you did, we can fly to Crete tomorrow and walk the one there together,” he says, and apart from the fact that I'm filled with warmth on hearing the word “we,” I am also reminded of his vast fortune, his jet-set money-is-no-object lifestyle, which means that he can command any one of his pilots to fly him anywhere on earth at a moment's notice.

“That would be lovely,” I say, although I'm not sure that after he listens to my dire confession he'll even want to go to Huntington Mall with me, never mind Crete.

He looks so delighted that I loved the labyrinth that it seems downright cruel for me to immediately launch into the confessional speech I planned.

At dinner, then.

“By the way, I've invited Mary Ellen and Rory to join us for dinner tonight—they can't wait to hear all about Hawaii,” he says.

Okay, after dinner. I'll tell him everything after dinner, when they've gone.

But after dinner, we all watch
Gladiator
, Robert's favorite movie, in the castle theatre, and I am so enthralled by every second of it that it's only when the movie ends that the image of Georgiana in this very same movie theater on that terrible fateful night on which she summoned Robert there and issued her blackmail threats to him suddenly comes to the fore in my mind.

The lights go up, he turns to me and, his eyes shining, declares, “Honor . . . one of the most important things in life.”

If I don't tell him the truth soon, I know that I will lose mine now and for always.

In the morning. I'll tell him the truth in the morning.

But when I wake up, he's gone.

His handwritten note says, “Apologies, darling, but I'm afraid there's been a crisis in our Montreal office, and I've had to fly up there for the day. Should be back early this evening. And I'll have a very special surprise for you . . . Till then, be good . . .”

I spend the day in the library, learning about Napoléon so as to keep up with Robert, and my stepfather as well.

I'm deep in Emil Ludwig's classic Napoléon biography, which Robert highly recommended I read, when a messenger materializes with a large envelope for me.

When I open it, a second envelope falls out, and when I open that, I can hardly believe my eyes. Inside, in a small folder, a key card marked “The Empire Suite” on one side, and “Carlyle” on the other.

And in the large envelope a note from Robert, in his distinctive handwriting:

Miranda, the time has come for me to eradicate from your mind your past sexual experience at the Carlyle, and to replace it with one that I promise will prove far, far more potent and satisfying for you. Don your burgundy boots, your mink with the fox collar, and nothing else. Present yourself at the castle portal at 7:25 and not a second later.

And prepare to embark on the adventure of your life.

R

Chapter Seventeen

The white stretch limo that awaits me at the castle portal is unfamiliar to me—and a garish departure from Robert's usual Rolls—but I guess he wanted me to make the journey to the Carlyle in a stretch limo driven by a stranger. Otherwise I'd have spent the entire time chatting with one of the drivers I am beginning to know so well, thus distracting me from my trepidation and my anticipation of what lies ahead of me.

This driver is startlingly handsome, blond with dark blue eyes and an otherworldly air.

Instinctively, I remain silent during the journey, and so does he.

As we near the hotel, I can't help smiling to myself.

Robert is so competitive, trust him to want to replay the Carlyle scene I wrote about in
Unraveled,
and to want to do it a thousand times better than the other Master did that night. I have no doubt whatsoever that he'll succeed, and triumph over the memory of that night and that Master.

At the same time, when the car pulls up in front of the Carlyle and the doorman opens the door, I am struck by a strong sense of déjà vu, and don't relish the sensation.

I should, because my last visit here was dramatic and exciting, and afforded me more sexual satisfaction than I ever imagined I'd enjoy. Since then, though, Robert has mastered every aspect of me: my body, my mind, my heart, my soul, my fantasies, and my sexuality, and it pains me slightly to remember that another man once mastered me in this very same hotel.

Which is no doubt why Robert wants me to retrace my steps and play out the same scene again, only with him this time. I have every confidence that he will execute it with far more panache, style, and sexual magic than did the other Master.

While the elevator carries me up to the twenty-eighth floor, I suddenly remember that once before, in Dungeon 1, on the night of the first test of my submission, Robert initially appeared to have re-created my night here at the Carlyle with the other Master. But then it turned out that while he had laid on all the trappings of that night in the Carlyle, the scene he actually acted out with me was much hotter, heavier, as it would be, given that he is the Master of all Masters.

So what will he do to me here tonight?

Surely not exactly the same scene?

My guess is that he'll improve on it vastly, and I'll luxuriate in every second of whatever he plans to do to me, with me, for me.

I hug my mink coat close to me and feel more loved and cherished than ever.

Outside the Empire Suite, I pause for a second to fix my face and my hair.

Even if none of it is destined to stay in place once Robert takes me firmly in hand, I still want to look as good as I can when I make my entrance and put myself in his power once more.

I flush with pleasure at the thought of him waiting for me inside the Empire Suite, resplendent in all his macho glory, poised to dominate me to the maximum extent of his power. With a final glance in the mirror, I turn the knob and open the door.

As I expected, candles are placed strategically all around the suite.

But instead of the air being redolent with the fragrance of iris, musk, and vanilla, it is filled with Robert's own special masculine aroma, an aroma that makes me hot with desire.

I unzip my boots, put them in a corner, let my coat drop to the floor, but then spy the note propped up against a gold vase filled with pink roses, and which stands on the grand piano. Next to it, a black velvet blindfold.

In thick capital letters, Robert has written: “TAKE THE BLINDFOLD. PUT ON YOUR BOOTS. AND YOUR COAT AND FASTEN ALL THE CLASPS SECURELY. THEN ENTER THE ADJOINING SUITE. FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS WILL AWAIT YOU THERE.”

A treasure hunt! He is sending me on a treasure hunt!

I feel as if I'm five years old again, with a new Raggedy Ann doll to play with to my heart's content, and I bask in the tender emotions.

I open the door of the adjoining suite, and inside, to my horror, I am faced with the grim apparition of a wheelchair.

On it, a large sign: “Your chariot awaits . . . be seated.”

A smaller sign in front of it, with the words “And then the blindfold . . .”

I sit down in the wheelchair, attach the blindfold securely around my eyes, and I am imprisoned in darkness.

Then I brace myself for a long wait.

He'll make me wait.

Of course he will.

What feels like hours later but could be mere minutes, I hear the faint footfall of someone approaching over the lush carpet of the suite. Robert! Strong hands fasten the shackles tightly around my wrists and ankles, the collar around my neck, and I breathe a sigh of relief that any second now, I'll feel his insistent fingers roam all over my naked body and hear his breath quicken with desire for me.

Instead, I feel the heaviness of some kind of a blanket thrown over my knees, then pulled up to my neck.

Then the sensation of a bonnet placed on my head, then a knot tied under my chin.

Little Red Riding Hood!

Robert has outfitted me as Little Red Riding Hood, about to be ravaged by the big, bad, masterful wolf!

And I sit there, waiting impatiently for him to growl and do his worst to me.

Only to meet with silence.

The sting of something piercing my neck. And then . . .

“Delighted to have you back again, Miranda. I've missed you. . . .”