Tender Mercies - By Kitty Thomas Page 0,18

the real Asher to come out, the one she’d seen evidence of in Lucas’s dungeon with those angry eyes.

He released her and his footsteps receded, starting up the steps. “Come,” he said. “You don’t want to stay here all day. It’s too cold, especially with no shoes.”

“What?” Somehow in her head she was going to manage to keep her mouth shut and not say a single word until she knew exactly what he expected from her, but the shock was too much. She’d assumed once they descended the stairs into the dungeon that the tour was over and he’d leave her there.

“So. She speaks.” If not for the humor in his voice, she likely would have begged and cried and made a complete fool of herself.

Of course she wasn’t staying in the dungeon right now. He’d said something about her cooking. He wanted a maid and a cook. He hadn’t bought her for sex. He’d bought a domestic slave. He probably hadn’t had to pay much, as eager as Lucas had seemed to sell her. Or maybe Lucas couldn’t get much for her. A part of her was relieved he seemed to only want her for domestic duties, but another part was aware of just how far removed this was from the life she’d thought she was coming to, back when she’d been much more naïve.

“I’ll show you your room now.”

“Room?”

“Two whole words now,” he teased her. “I think we’re making progress already.”

Grace followed him up the stairs, questions spinning through her head over whether he could possibly mean that she’d have a real room. It turned out to be on the second floor, across from his. In the grand scheme, it seemed less like a room and more like a studio apartment. It certainly wasn’t like her room had been in her apartment before Eleu.

It wasn’t set up as a bedroom, more of a sitting room. There was furniture, though no bed, and a closet, and a little bathroom. The carpet was soft and lovely. The room was warm and tastefully decorated with a vanity table, mirror, and bottles of perfumes and little containers of makeup along one wall. Another wall boasted a television. Sunlight filtered through windows and glass French doors that opened out onto a balcony with a lounger and table.

Please, God, let this not be a trick. Lucas had never gone this far to make her believe. She couldn’t imagine the cruelty of a person who would go to this much trouble only to rip it all away. But Lucas had spent a whole year whispering naughty things to her over webcam, telling her all sorts of stories about what her life would be like, maintaining it so long that she’d believed what had seemed like honest eyes on the few occasions he’d shown her his face on the screen.

In hindsight, he’d given her so little opportunity to truly read him. He’d controlled their interactions from afar to a degree where she’d seen only what he’d carefully orchestrated for her to see. Was Asher doing the same thing? Would he build her hopes and her trust in him just so he could rip them down and watch and laugh as she cried? It seemed a high probability. Still, she couldn’t help the feeling of gratitude that rushed into her, even for what was probably a short illusion.

If this could be true, she didn’t even mind not having a bed. “If this is real . . . thank you.” She couldn’t help the tear that slipped down her cheek.

He cocked his head to the side and regarded her as if trying to determine what was going on in her head. The part of her that hoped this wasn’t a lie, wished he could read her thoughts, because she couldn’t imagine a situation in which she could ever trust him enough to truly express herself. No matter what he did, there was always another shoe that could fall.

“Get cleaned up and dressed. You can wear whatever you’re comfortable in. There are clothes in the closets and PJs in the drawer. We aren’t leaving the house today so whatever you want to wear right now is fine. Hurry, though. I want you to help me in the kitchen. Twenty minutes, all right?” He pointed, indicating the clock.

Grace stood there for a full minute as the second hand crawled over the numbers on the wall. It was too much for her brain to process. Clothes. Really? She tried not to