behind him.
She was alone. When Lydia padded cautiously downstairs the following morning, her bottom still burning from the leather lashing, she found both the solarium and the drawing room empty.
She had long overslept, as they took breakfast at precisely seven in the morning and now it was ten minutes to eleven. Usually Gabriel roused her in time for breakfast, but he had obviously recognized how exhausted she had been and allowed her to sleep.
Lydia went through the porch to the gardens, stepping onto the soft grass. Although her weary mind still couldn’t process the utter confusion of pain and pleasure she had endured last night, she had slept heavily enough to replenish both her poise and sense of balance.
She filled her lungs with warm, humid air as she searched the gardens and stables, but she found no sign of the three men. Bewildered and slightly alarmed, Lydia returned to the house and peeked into the kitchen.
It was a vast, airy room with long, wooden countertops, a huge, glistening steel range and refrigerator, and a polished, tile floor. One door led to what Lydia assumed was the basement, and another led to the gardens. Copper pots and dried herbs hung from the ceiling, infusing the air with the spicy scents of rosemary, sage, and thyme.
Her belly rumbled with hunger. She selected a ripe peach from a bowl of fruit before she left the kitchen and went to the library. She had never been in the library before, but the moment she stepped inside, she caught her breath with delight.
The ceiling was immensely high, composed of two floors and lined from top to bottom with all manner of books. A spiral staircase led to a mezzanine that encircled the room and allowed access to the upper floor, while wooden ladders were attached to sliding racks to reach the top shelves. Buttery, leather chairs and a sofa were arranged around a marble fireplace, and a massive oak desk sat at one end of the room.
Lydia walked around the library, trailing her fingers over the spines of the books. She had loved to read as a child and adolescent, but when she began working in the corporate world, she simply lost both the time and desire to read.
She had been so immersed in projects, accounts, and budgets that reading seemed almost like a frivolous pursuit. She hadn’t realized until this very moment how deeply she missed the pleasure of stories. And what a joy to think that she now had an endless supply of time in which to immerse herself in books!
The thought alone was nearly enough to wipe away the pain and shame of the previous few days. When her fingers paused on an edition of Dumas’s The Count of Monte Cristo , she pulled it from the shelf and tucked it underneath her arm. Even if she wasn’t allowed to take items from the library, none of the men would miss just one book. She made a mental note to ask Gabriel about her privileges when she next saw him.
After finishing her exploration of the library, Lydia went into the drawing room. A door at the other end of the room had caught her attention the first evening she arrived, and she pushed it open curiously. A huge ballroom adjoined the drawing room, lined with windows along one side and with a painted, coffered ceiling. She wondered when the ballroom had last hosted an actual ball. Years ago, probably.
She ascended the stairs again, the carpet soft beneath her bare feet. Her bedroom was located midway down a corridor on the second floor of the house, but the staircase continued to a third floor. Deciding she had a right to explore the house in which she would be living indefinitely, Lydia went to the next floor.
She opened the first door, which revealed a large bedroom dominated by an enormous, four-poster wooden bed layered with pillows. The high windows were covered with light, airy curtains that contrasted sharply with the masculine tones of rust and amber.
Framed oil paintings of naked, supine women hung on the walls. Discarded clothing lay scattered over the
She was alone. When Lydia padded cautiously downstairs the following morning, her bottom still burning from the leather lashing, she found both the solarium and the drawing room empty.
She had long overslept, as they took breakfast at precisely seven in the morning and now it was ten minutes to eleven. Usually Gabriel roused her in time for breakfast, but he had obviously recognized how exhausted she had been and allowed her to sleep.
Lydia went through the porch to the gardens, stepping onto the soft grass. Although her weary mind still couldn’t process the utter confusion of pain and pleasure she had endured last night, she had slept heavily enough to replenish both her poise and sense of balance.
She filled her lungs with warm, humid air as she searched the gardens and stables, but she found no sign of the three men. Bewildered and slightly alarmed, Lydia returned to the house and peeked into the kitchen.
It was a vast, airy room with long, wooden countertops, a huge, glistening steel range and refrigerator, and a polished, tile floor. One door led to what Lydia assumed was the basement, and another led to the gardens. Copper pots and dried herbs hung from the ceiling, infusing the air with the spicy scents of rosemary, sage, and thyme.
Her belly rumbled with hunger. She selected a ripe peach from a bowl of fruit before she left the kitchen and went to the library. She had never been in the library before, but the moment she stepped inside, she caught her breath with delight.
The ceiling was immensely high, composed of two floors and lined from top to bottom with all manner of books. A spiral staircase led to a mezzanine that encircled the room and allowed access to the upper floor, while wooden ladders were attached to sliding racks to reach the top shelves. Buttery, leather chairs and a sofa were arranged around a marble fireplace, and a massive oak desk sat at one end of the room.
Lydia walked around the library, trailing her fingers over the spines of the books. She had loved to read as a child and adolescent, but when she began working in the corporate world, she simply lost both the time and desire to read.
She had been so immersed in projects, accounts, and budgets that reading seemed almost like a frivolous pursuit. She hadn’t realized until this very moment how deeply she missed the pleasure of stories. And what a joy to think that she now had an endless supply of time in which to immerse herself in books!
The thought alone was nearly enough to wipe away the pain and shame of the previous few days. When her fingers paused on an edition of Dumas’s The Count of Monte Cristo , she pulled it from the shelf and tucked it underneath her arm. Even if she wasn’t allowed to take items from the library, none of the men would miss just one book. She made a mental note to ask Gabriel about her privileges when she next saw him.
After finishing her exploration of the library, Lydia went into the drawing room. A door at the other end of the room had caught her attention the first evening she arrived, and she pushed it open curiously. A huge ballroom adjoined the drawing room, lined with windows along one side and with a painted, coffered ceiling. She wondered when the ballroom had last hosted an actual ball. Years ago, probably.
She ascended the stairs again, the carpet soft beneath her bare feet. Her bedroom was located midway down a corridor on the second floor of the house, but the staircase continued to a third floor. Deciding she had a right to explore the house in which she would be living indefinitely, Lydia went to the next floor.
She opened the first door, which revealed a large bedroom dominated by an enormous, four-poster wooden bed layered with pillows. The high windows were covered with light, airy curtains that contrasted sharply with the masculine tones of rust and amber.
Framed oil paintings of naked, supine women hung on the walls. Discarded clothing lay scattered over the
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