Tender Mercies - By Kitty Thomas Page 0,17
brief bit of warmth and light for the few minutes it lasted. Asher told her about the history of the house as they went, but she remained silent, following along behind him, holding the cloak firmly around her.
Aside from the driver, she noticed one other servant in the place, a tall, lanky, middle-aged man with blond hair and kind eyes that had lines in the corners. When they reached the kitchen, he introduced himself.
“I’m William. If you need anything, just ask.”
She looked quickly to Asher, but he just nodded. She had no idea what to do with that. If she needed anything? Was he serious? Was he planning on bringing her room service in the dungeon?
“Does she speak, sir?” William asked, confusion creasing his brow.
“Indeed she does. Just hasn’t worked up to it yet. Give her time. It’s new. She’s scared.”
Eight months ago, she would have been annoyed by even the idea of someone speaking in front of her as if she wasn’t in the room. But that was then.
“Will you need me to prepare breakfast?” William asked.
“Not today,” Asher said. “And I may let Grace take over some of the cooking.”
“Very good, sir.” William made a little bow and left them alone in the kitchen.
Grace stared at him. He knew her name. He’d used her name. That word that had become so disconnected, finally reattaching itself to her. For one brief moment she felt like a person. She might have enjoyed the feeling for longer, but Asher was leading her through the house again.
As they walked down a long hall, she berated herself. He’d just said her name. It wasn’t as if he’d called her that directly. It didn’t mean anything except that she’d become so piteous that hearing her name cross another person’s lips was suddenly cause for celebration.
He took her through a study with dark wood paneling and walls of books. He pulled one out. She looked away when she saw the title of a kinky erotic novel. She wanted to forget she had a kink that could ever lead her into a situation like this. The bookcase shifted a little to reveal a door and steps going down.
Oh. The dungeon. Now it begins.
He was looking back at her now and seemed disappointed by something yet again. She could already see him returning her to Lucas and demanding his money back. She shuddered, thinking of what would become of her if that happened. Whatever the risk with Asher, she couldn’t displease him enough to get sent back. At this point, either of them might kill her.
He held his hand out and she took it. Her feet were cold as he led her down the stone steps to the dungeon. It was nicer than the one Lucas had. There were several chests around the room as well as high-end bondage equipment. But even if it was nicer, it still had a cold, stone floor. And it still didn’t have a window.
How long could she live without sunlight? Weren’t all living things supposed to have sunshine? She’d grown pale the past few months, and she suspected she had a vitamin deficiency, partly due to how little she was fed, and partly due to being locked away all day in a windowless cell.
He let go of her hand and stepped back to let her explore the room. Her eyes fell on a bullwhip hanging on the wall. She took a few steps back when she saw it, just out in the open like it was his favorite. Asher’s body stopped her retreat as she backed into him. His arms went around her, making her feel claustrophobic.
Instinctively she started to struggle, but almost the moment she did, his words rang out in her head: Do. Not. Fight me. And she went lax in his arms.
“Easy, kitten. I’m not going to use that on you.”
Yeah, right. Then why was it down here? She wouldn’t ask the question, of course. It had been ages since she’d communicated in any open way. Free verbal expression had been taken from her, leaving her only with her thoughts, running around and around in her head like a hamster on a wheel.
A part of her wished he’d give her some kind of speech rules, so she’d know what she could say and when. Some kind of any rules. This strange gentleness was too unnerving and uncertain. She kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to grow bored with the ruse of being kind. For