Creatures of the Chase - Richard. L. M. Ollie
stairs. Carl caught her arm just as she was about to descend. ‘As I have said, the stairs are dangerous. Please, take my arm so that I might conduct you down in safety.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Igor,’ Sarah purred.
‘It’s Carl, Miss Churchill,’ he growled between clenched teeth.
‘Yes, of course.’
*****
Carl opened the door leading into the library then stood back. ‘Go right in Miss Churchill, Mr. Develin is waiting.’
Sarah hesitated for a moment then entered. The door closed silently behind her. The room was immense. Books reached from floor to ceiling, covering most of the walls, while soft, tan colored leather sofas and chairs waited, ready to embrace even the most casual reader beneath lamps that glowed softly. Sarah was on her second pass of the room before she saw him at the far end, resting against the edge of a large desk, his arms folded across his chest. She froze.
‘Come closer,’ he said, the tone neutral.
She moved forward carefully, not taking her eyes from him for a moment. He watched her with great interest - the movement, the grace, the natural progression of the female of the species. Ten feet from him she stopped abruptly prepared for anything, but as his eyes met hers she grew weak at the knees. Pale, pale blue they were. More like the eyes of a predator than anything human. Instinctively she drew back a pace.
‘Good evening, Miss Churchill. I am Richard Develin. Welcome to Cavendish Hall.’ An English accent pitched low and evenly modulated; soothing yet precise.
Sarah had mentally prepared a speech, rehearsing the more strident words and phrases with gestures of moral indignation and disgust. The text was punctuated with “who the hell do you think you are”, the occasional “how dare you”, finally ending with a tightfisted threat that unless she was released immediately there would be the very devil to pay. The exercise was a total waste however as she stared helplessly at perhaps the most attractive man she had ever seen. This was not the way it should be and that thought suddenly horrified her, crippling her into total inaction.
Carefully, methodically his eyes explored every inch of her before he moved closer to finish his inspection with a slow pass beside her, then behind. He stopped just beyond the periphery of Sarah’s vision on the right side. She stood as if rooted to the spot; afraid to turn the few degrees it would take to confront him.
‘You are more beautiful than the pictures I have received recently.’
‘Yeah, well, pimps are notoriously poor photographers.’ The words were out before she had a chance to think.
‘Are they, Miss Churchill?’ The voice was suddenly cool, level and unmistakably menacing. Slowly he drew a pocket watch from the vest of his three-piece suit, consulted the time then slipped it back into its small pocket. Sarah stood ramrod straight, watching as he returned to the desk and picked up a black leather folder which he tucked under his arm before turning.
Six feet tall, slender, fifty if he was a day, his black hair was combed straight back and lightly oiled. The face was narrow, the nose slightly aquiline, which only served to heighten the overall impression of a predator. The eyes, set wide apart beneath arched brows, would miss nothing. One slight movement would be all it would take to …
‘Your accommodation; I trust you have found your rooms comfortable?’
‘Yes, thank you, very nice,’ she managed.
‘Good. Miss Penjan has informed me that you had a reasonable lunch. Chef worked especially hard to provide you with those foods that you favour. He does, however, have a tendency to become somewhat petulant when his efforts are not appreciated.’ He stared at Sarah pointedly. ‘You are too thin, Miss Churchill. The gown you are wearing was made especially for you, yet it fails to fit you properly. You must make every effort to regain the weight you have lost. I do not like bony females.’
‘Female?’ The word just blurted out.
‘Yes, female Miss Churchill. Surely you do not consider yourself a lady? I am kept remarkably well informed, as you will soon discover, and one of the traits I have learned of you is your colourful use of words and phrases. I think you will agree that such language is more suitable to the Bowery than in the mouth of an otherwise attractive young … female.’ There was a discreet knock on the door then it opened slowly. ‘Come in, Laird.’
‘Sorry I’m late, sir. The Stevens boy’s injury was far worse than originally thought. It was necessary to administer several stitches. Miss Churchill.’ He bowed slightly in her direction then smiled, lingering perhaps a second or two too long as his eyes washed over her.
Fresh from the outdoors, his face was flushed, his soft brown eyes delightfully merry, his manner generous and open. His sandy-colored hair, still moist from a hurried shower, had begun to curl at the back Sarah noted as he turned towards Develin.
‘If you had been much later, Laird, we would have started without you.’ Develin turned to Sarah and extended his arm. ‘Shall we?’
*****
The dining room was perhaps the most beautiful room Sarah had ever seen. Painted in eggshell white accented with Wedgwood blue, the color was repeated again and again in the Oriental carpets, the paintings and the wallpapered panels. The table was polished Honduras mahogany. Large enough to easily seat twelve, three intricate place settings had been arranged at the far end.
A staff member dressed in formal evening clothes eased Sarah into her seat on Develin’s right side. Laird sat across from her. Sarah found the profusion of cutlery alarming. She wasn’t up to a large meal, not now, not tonight.
Develin set the black folder on the edge of the table on Laird’s side.
‘How pale his skin is,’ she thought. The fingers were long and tapered, the nails finely manicured. His left hand carried two rings, one a diamond, the other a blood red ruby. She shuddered convulsively at the thought of him touching her. Desperately she tried to calm herself with several deep breaths.
She sat demurely, head down so as to avoid his eyes although she knew he was studying her intently.
‘Miss Churchill, I believe you have a particular fondness for avocados. Is that correct?’ His voice this time was all too charming as he forced her in the politest possible way to not only respond verbally but to acknowledge his presence by looking up or risk answering into her lap.
She hedged with a brief glance in his direction followed by a nod and a quick yes before she retreated.
‘Really, Miss Churchill, you are not wont to be so reticent.’ Develin’s manner remained polite, his smile unseen by Sarah. ‘Let me assure you that you are completely safe here and that both Doctor Laird and I have nothing but your best interests at heart.’
Sarah’s head shot up. ‘Then you will have no objection if I choose to leave right now?’
‘Leave? To go where?’ Develin asked, genuinely surprised.
‘Wherever I wish to go, thank you very much. You will excuse me please if I feel the loss of my personal freedom keenly. It is, however, a normal human emotion.’ Sarah emphasized the word normal as she confronted Develin openly, her anger and moral indignation obvious.
His eyes narrowed. ‘Miss Churchill, you have within these walls every comfort. The library is liberally stocked with books, including a great many that relate to your current studies. On the grounds you will find a tennis court, a swimming pool and a riding stable. Every whim that you may have will be catered for, every luxury indulged. There will be no further discussion tonight, nor any other night, regarding the past. If you choose not to take advantage of the situation, if you choose to remain obdurate, then I will have