footboard and on several overstuffed chairs. A high-tech entertainment system rested against one wall, complete with a huge flat-screen television, stereo, and speakers.
Preston’s bedroom. Lydia didn’t have to think twice before coming to that conclusion. She went inside, furtively pleased to think she was invading his personal space without his knowledge. The scent of his cologne lingered like a whisper in the air.
She walked through the room, examining the toiletries spread out on his dressing table, the shirts and jackets hung neatly in the closet, the DVDs stacked on a shelf. As she was heading back to the door, her gaze fell on a worn photograph tucked into a mirror frame.
She looked at it for a moment before picking it up. The truth took a moment to penetrate her shocked brain as she realized she was staring at a photograph of herself. Not merely any photograph, but a photograph of herself as a younger woman.
The photographer had captured her without her knowledge as she strode along the street. She was wearing a white shirt unbuttoned low enough to reveal a hint of cleavage and short, pink skirt that fell to mid-thigh. Her dark hair was long, falling almost to her waist in a shiny waterfall.
With a trembling hand, Lydia replaced the photograph. Preston had taken the photo, of that she had no doubt, and the fact he had kept it all these years—displayed it, no less!—was enough to make her ill.
She remembered what Gabriel had revealed to her last night, when her emotions and strength had been entirely depleted. Just how long had Preston been obsessed with her? And how else would he exact penance for what he thought were wrongs she had committed against him? Despite what Gabriel said, Lydia knew Preston’s fascination with her was threaded with a streak of malice.
She knew Gabriel had been correct, that she must be grateful for the fact that Preston had provided her with a sanctuary where no one could punish her. Well, except for the dark trinity of men who lived here, of course. But the armies of investigators and lawyers could not touch her within the plantation boundaries. All she had to do was submit.
Lydia hurried from the bedroom, pressing a hand against her belly to stop it from swirling.
All right , she told herself. It will be all right. You’re safe here. No matter what Preston does or says, you know that he’ll keep his word. That’s what matters. That’s all that matters.
She opened the door of another room. Kruin’s bedroom. Although as large as Preston’s, Kruin lived in a much sparer environment. His bed was covered with a dark blue, utilitarian coverpane, the shelves only contained a few non-fiction books, and the counter of the adjoining bathroom held just a comb, toothpaste, and a razor. Yet even those meager belongings served to humanize Kruin somewhat in Lydia’s eyes, for she had begun to wonder if he possessed any mortal qualities at all.
She checked the other rooms on the third floor, but they only contained several spare bedrooms and a storage room. Lydia returned to the second floor and opened the door of the bedroom next to hers. She was surprised to realize it was Gabriel’s room, not having known he was lodged so close to her.
Unnerved by the thought, she looked around the room with its colors of deep blues and greens, the large bed covered with a rumpled, feather comforter, the shelf of paperbacks and magazines, the comfortable easy chairs beside the window. Along one wall, a desk held a computer and scattered pieces of paper.
Lydia touched the hairbrush on the bathroom counter, trailed her fingers over a discarded shirt, moved a few pieces on the chessboard.
When she had finally satisfied her curiosity, she returned to her bedroom and closed the door. Her newfound familiarity with her surroundings gave her an odd feeling of calm.
The bizarre happenings within this old plantation were so unsettling that obtaining a basic understanding of the house’s blueprint
Preston’s bedroom. Lydia didn’t have to think twice before coming to that conclusion. She went inside, furtively pleased to think she was invading his personal space without his knowledge. The scent of his cologne lingered like a whisper in the air.
She walked through the room, examining the toiletries spread out on his dressing table, the shirts and jackets hung neatly in the closet, the DVDs stacked on a shelf. As she was heading back to the door, her gaze fell on a worn photograph tucked into a mirror frame.
She looked at it for a moment before picking it up. The truth took a moment to penetrate her shocked brain as she realized she was staring at a photograph of herself. Not merely any photograph, but a photograph of herself as a younger woman.
The photographer had captured her without her knowledge as she strode along the street. She was wearing a white shirt unbuttoned low enough to reveal a hint of cleavage and short, pink skirt that fell to mid-thigh. Her dark hair was long, falling almost to her waist in a shiny waterfall.
With a trembling hand, Lydia replaced the photograph. Preston had taken the photo, of that she had no doubt, and the fact he had kept it all these years—displayed it, no less!—was enough to make her ill.
She remembered what Gabriel had revealed to her last night, when her emotions and strength had been entirely depleted. Just how long had Preston been obsessed with her? And how else would he exact penance for what he thought were wrongs she had committed against him? Despite what Gabriel said, Lydia knew Preston’s fascination with her was threaded with a streak of malice.
She knew Gabriel had been correct, that she must be grateful for the fact that Preston had provided her with a sanctuary where no one could punish her. Well, except for the dark trinity of men who lived here, of course. But the armies of investigators and lawyers could not touch her within the plantation boundaries. All she had to do was submit.
Lydia hurried from the bedroom, pressing a hand against her belly to stop it from swirling.
All right , she told herself. It will be all right. You’re safe here. No matter what Preston does or says, you know that he’ll keep his word. That’s what matters. That’s all that matters.
She opened the door of another room. Kruin’s bedroom. Although as large as Preston’s, Kruin lived in a much sparer environment. His bed was covered with a dark blue, utilitarian coverpane, the shelves only contained a few non-fiction books, and the counter of the adjoining bathroom held just a comb, toothpaste, and a razor. Yet even those meager belongings served to humanize Kruin somewhat in Lydia’s eyes, for she had begun to wonder if he possessed any mortal qualities at all.
She checked the other rooms on the third floor, but they only contained several spare bedrooms and a storage room. Lydia returned to the second floor and opened the door of the bedroom next to hers. She was surprised to realize it was Gabriel’s room, not having known he was lodged so close to her.
Unnerved by the thought, she looked around the room with its colors of deep blues and greens, the large bed covered with a rumpled, feather comforter, the shelf of paperbacks and magazines, the comfortable easy chairs beside the window. Along one wall, a desk held a computer and scattered pieces of paper.
Lydia touched the hairbrush on the bathroom counter, trailed her fingers over a discarded shirt, moved a few pieces on the chessboard.
When she had finally satisfied her curiosity, she returned to her bedroom and closed the door. Her newfound familiarity with her surroundings gave her an odd feeling of calm.
The bizarre happenings within this old plantation were so unsettling that obtaining a basic understanding of the house’s blueprint
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