The Ward Ch. 10

"No, Edmund," Lucille said with alarm. "You can understand I wish to avoid my association with Stephan becoming known."

Edmund glanced around and continued in a lower tone. "I have a connection that could be your best opportunity to free yourself. They are very discreet and very powerful. I would avoid revealing your name at all costs, but it may end up necessary."

"Who is your connection?" Lucille asked uncertainly.

Edmund shook his head. "You must trust me, Lucille." His eyes narrowed at the immense bouquet, and Lucille felt his temper rise. "He dared?"

"No, Edmund," Lucille assured him. "They are from a respectable source."

"Good," he said shortly, curious but not wishing to trespass further into Lucille's personal life. He reached for her hand. "Please let me help you, Lucille. It disturbs me immensely and I don't want to imagine what you have been through. You can't continue with this."

Dark eyes troubled, Lucille's face tightened with nervous apprehension. But she nodded, knowing Edmund was right.

***

Edmund rode straight to the Tancredi to find Lord Dacre, only to be informed the Knight had left for a private meeting that was likely to take all day and wasn't expected to return until the evening.

Frustrated, Edmund bit his tongue to avoid swearing in front of the establishment servants and left an urgent note for Alexander to contact him as soon as possible.

***

A time of fearful anticipation passed before Stephan discreetly summoned Lucille.

He didn't greet her at the stable or escort her into his home. Like always, the premises were devoid of servants who could compromise Lucille's reputation by spreading rumours.

As an unwilling party to the bargain, Lucille was far from a shrinking maiden. She met Stephan in the dining hall with her head high and served him a steady, hostile gaze.

Stephan had been drinking, but there was little to indicate he was not of a sober mind. Unlike their usual meetings, he was still in the sombre black uniform, which didn't fit well with the comfortable surrounds of his home. He watched her with a small smile and inclined his head to suggest she sit down.

After briskly removing her riding gloves, Lucille joined him without hesitation, abruptly smoothing her violet skirts and carelessly checking her velvet-lace bodice was perfect; or perhaps a last glance before it was irretrievably ruined.

"You look beautiful, Lucille," Stephan murmured, his green eyes dark with lust on her stoic face. "Our last liaison I noted you had been quite social as of late," he began, drawing a slow, invisible circle onto the glossy table. "I hadn't realised the...depth of it."

Lucille remained watchfully silent.

"Lord Alexander Dacre!" Stephan proclaimed with dramatic flair. "The King's most trusted, favoured knight."

"What of him, Sir?" Lucille said through her teeth.

"Why, you're to be congratulated. I couldn't imagine a better prize," Stephan buoyantly replied, pouring himself another glass of red wine.

Lucille eyed his motions, feeling the tension behind his cheerful performance, the threat of his daunting physique. She imagined he might employ a similar tactic on prisoners before torturing them. "My societal connections are no concern of yours, that was our agreement," she retorted. "And if I marry..."

"If you married Dacre, you would leave for Therondia and I'd be deprived of the very sight of you. I cannot help but feel you managed to twist our arrangement to your advantage," Stephan grinned, the gesture not touching his eyes.

"There has never been any advantage to this arrangement," Lucille sneered, her eyes beautifully flared as her temper snapped when Stephan laughed. She stood from the chair, unable to contain her frustration.

"What did you envision the future would hold for us?" she demanded. "That you would claim your noble name and court me? That we would grow old together in this arrangement and marry?"

Stephan's mocking smile faded, and anger crept into his eyes. Lucille disregarded the warning and continued her tirade.

"Did you fool yourself that I had somehow changed my mind about you? That I would become attached to your company?" she spat the last word with such hatred that Stephan straightened forebodingly in his chair.

Lucille bit off more words when Stephan's palms loudly slapped the table. He slowly stood to his towering height, the mirth on his face gone and now very menacing.

In silence, his eyes raked Lucille's lovely face, her figure, the titillating fire of her temper, a vision that enraged him because she would seek a way to take it from him.

Fighting the urge to run, Lucille nervously sat down when he approached. Stephan took her hand and kissed it. "It's time for us to bed, my love. But before that, I have questions."

Lucille didn't have the option to follow or be led, Stephan abruptly collected her into his arms and carried her off, down the familiar hallways and up the stairs. Except this time, he bypassed his bed chamber and they entered a different room.

It had been recently cleared of furniture and was mostly bare, but for a few disconcerting items. A wooden chair with restraints. A table of implements and a small candle slowly burning down, casting a sinister flickering light through the room.

"S-Stephan...no!"

Lucille was forced into the chair and failed to stop Stephan's purposeful movements as he strapped her in.

She hated the chair. It was a grotesque, crudely made seat obviously taken from the Guard compound. It was reserved for the lowest crust of society. For thieves, criminal peasants, whores, not aristocracy. There was a rank smell from it, like years-old blood among other matter Lucille didn't want to think about.

Stephan had made kind adjustments. Leather straps looped through the wrist and ankle sections instead of spiked chains or biting, circular metal. He had removed the severe metal neck restraint but placed it aside in full view.

The seat was otherwise bare and simple and felt like death, because that's what it was for. Being attached to the ugly item was shameful, unsettling and traumatic for Lucille, the offensive treatment so far from her privileged world.

After smoothing his hands down her shoulders in a semi-comforting gesture, Stephan had stepped back to watch her writhe irritably against the bindings.

"What is the point of this?" Lucille demanded.

"My brave Lucille," Stephan mused, lightly crossing his arms, appreciating her spirit. "I'm afraid this is the quickest way for me to get an honest answer from you, to a rather important question. I'd hoped to avoid showing this side of me."

"I'd already known you're a cur!" Lucille said hotly.

Stephan arched an eyebrow. "I feel I need to remind you what I am capable of doing to those you are striving to protect."

Lucille swallowed and looked away as Stephan walked to the table and picked up a knife.

"This," he said softly, considering its strangely serrated edges, "I used on a small child to extract a confession from the father. Everyone has their own fear, and it's not always physical. You just have to discover what it is to have your way. I might enjoy suspending you by rope and lightly whipping you, but that wouldn't serve today's purpose at all."

"You're despicable!" Lucille shouted, squirming in the seat.

"So, you've said," Stephan smiled, coming near her with the blade held steady.

Lucille stared up at the ceiling as he began to slice her bodice away.

"I considered marking you, privately, where only your future husband would see." He tilted his head, considering the intricate detail of her dress. "My initials perhaps. A novel deterrent for your endeavour to leave our agreement."

The knife trailed down her figure, lightly snagging on the material as he reached her skirts. Watching her sullen features, he slowly bunched the fine garment up her legs to the hips and guided her knees apart.

"Don't move," he warned, and turned his attention between her legs. The blade travelled up one smooth limb, light as a feather, pausing at her inner thigh.

"Would your new husband be amused, do you think, to find my name here?" he murmured, turning the knife slightly into a point.

"My future husband will love me as I am," Lucille said challengingly, staring at the wall ahead. "Carve away, Stephan."

Stephan's eyes narrowed at her defiance, watching a tiny bead of blood spring from the tip of the weapon. When Lucille didn't react to the sting, he retreated from between her legs.

"I am going to keep your dress in pieces, as a trophy, and provide a new one I've had made for you," he told her, conversationally, as though she weren't strapped to a chair and being threatened with a knife. "It will look divine with your colouring." He paused, his eyes darting to her tense face, admiring her smooth cheeks that were still dry, for now. "And you are going to publicly wear it."

Lucille irritably jerked in her restraints.

Stephan leaned closer, caressing her uncovered breasts, the wicked knife still balanced in one hand. The flat edge lightly touched Lucille's soft skin, sending a horrible chill through her. "Say you will wear it," he whispered by her temple, his eyes wide and calculating. "Promise me."

"You promised not to jeopardize my reputation," Lucille argued sarcastically. "How could I not draw attention by wearing a frock stitched by a commoner?"

Stephan showed his teeth. "There is a girl, at the compound. I sentenced her ten lashes for spitting in the path of the Governor. If I increased it to fifty, she wouldn't survive it."

Lucille angrily rolled her eyes. "I promise to wear your damned dress!"

"Good," Stephan purred, gently kissing her jawline, down her neck to lick the swell of her breasts. "And not to any mundane tea party," he muttered against her skin. "You will wear the gown to the next important social event certain to have Lord Dacre attend. Am I understood, Lucille?"

"Yes," she snarled.

Lucille's chest heaved as she panted, incidentally lifting a nipple toward Stephan's hungry mouth. He accepted it, sucking, letting his tongue trace the shape, the delectable soft edges swelling tighter in his mouth.

When he'd stalked her at the party, the most terrible jealousy had twisted through Stephan's gut, seeing the way Lucille had looked at Lord Dacre. There was an admiration in her pretty dark eyes that wasn't there when he looked into them.

Lucille's frustrated groan brought him back, and Stephan retreated. There was a small stool by the table, and he picked it up so he might be closer to Lucille without continually crouching over her. When he drew near, Lucille turned her face away.

"No," he ordered, his fingers gently turning her face back to him. "There is only one matter left."

Feeling vulnerably exposed with her bodice cut open, Lucille glared, wishing Stephan could be engulfed in an unholy fire for the way he tormented her, for the injustice of all the pain and suffering he'd inflicted on helpless peasants.

"What more do you want from me?" Lucille snapped.

"That is a very dangerous question to ask, Lucille." Stephan scooted closer, his legs straddling the chair, immersing her in his body heat. He tilted her chin up to meet his warm gaze, ready to gauge her honesty.

"Are you falling in love with Lord Dacre?" he asked sharply.

Lucille's face tightened.

Stephan's hold on her chin constricted. "Answer me, Lucille."

"I'm not falling in love with him!" Lucille insisted through a sob.

Stephan sternly watched Lucille cry, tears spilling down her cheeks and trailing along his fingers into his palm. He released her face, his hand curled to a fist as though to retain her tears. He drew a slow breath.

"A clever truth, Lucille. You are not falling in love with him," he grimly determined. "You are already in love with him."

He shifted back on the stool; his hands rested on his spread thighs. His eyes lingered on Lucille's bound wrists and ankles. Then he released her from the chair, and she didn't fight when he picked her up again.

Lucille composed herself by the time her feet met the floor. She wiped her eyes and vaguely fidgeted with the ruined fastenings of her gown, instinctively trying to cover her breasts.

Stephan went to a light-brown cupboard, not his personal wardrobe. It was new and built for light travel. He opened it to display a stunning rose-gown with gold lace flowers embroidered across the skirt and a sprinkling of diamonds artfully layering the chest and shoulders.

There were matching shoes, dusky pink satin with solid gold heels, pale rubies along the arch. Stephan had clearly spared no expense. The outfit was royally elegant, and Lucille knew it would look breathtaking on her. Worst of all, without trialling it, she could tell it was tailored perfectly for her figure. She hated Stephan more than ever.

"It's too much," Lucille said spitefully. "It's pretentious."

"I believe that is the defining quality of aristocratic fashion," Stephan grinned with a bow that Lucille found offensively flirtatious. "You appreciate the finery, Lucille. I can see it in your eyes."

Lucille shook her head with disgust.

Stephan shifted against the cupboard as his heart quickened; his eyes hungry again, moving from Lucille's round breasts mostly covered by her hands, to the bed, and back to her distraught face. "And I think I will have to wait to see you try it on. Get on the bed, my love."

Lucille directed a hateful glare at Stephan but obeyed. She lay back on the wide bed and waited. Soon Stephan loomed over her, his face satisfied and lustful. He removed the rest of her clothes.

Naked and bitter, Lucille ignored his hands stroking her body and glanced to the side, opting to focus on anything else than the present moment.

Stephan cupped her breasts and pressed his face between them, his tongue licked up the centre. He continued to kiss the soft flesh, his hands moved down and under to cup her buttocks and draw her tight against him. He kissed her neck slowly, grinding against her, rubbing the bulge of his erection between her legs though his pants.

Lucille suddenly laughed without humour. "You never intended to honour the bargain, did you?"

"Bard and his fiancé are entirely off my list," Stephan huskily answered, busily kissing her shoulder, his fingers working through her hair to release the dark, sleek strands from their elaborate confinement.

"I meant my release by marriage," Lucille said acidly.

Stephan paused and looked at her. "I may have underestimated how much I would enjoy your company."

Seething, Lucille didn't bother with anything further, watching the ceiling as Stephan withdrew to undress and returned, manoeuvring her body to his satisfaction, spitting into his hand and slathering her pussy with it, the same for the length of his shaft.

Lucille slightly winced when his cock lined up and pushed into her, the suffocating heat of his body, ignoring Stephan's breathless grunting while he had his way.

When Stephan had opened the small cupboard to display the exquisite dress, Lucille suddenly realised the situation had turned deeper than she could contend with. Certain members of her household would immediately know the gown was new and not of her making.

It was only the beginning. Stephan's demands were slowly increasing, it was now obvious his motivations went beyond fleeting pleasures of the flesh. If she distanced herself, he would respond in turn; threaten more innocents, compromise her reputation, encroach on her daily life, mark her physically. He would eventually ruin her to prevent her from leaving.

It wasn't going to stop until she put an end to it. There was no way to reason with a corrupted, infatuated man. He would never let her go.

Stephan's breath hitched and he moaned, thrusting harder. Lucille closed her eyes to it, her thoughts turning inward.

There were only three options in her mind that could potentially work. She could utilise her money and influence to dispose of Stephan. Conspire to commit the murder of an established Guard member.

Stephan pulled Lucille's hair and hungrily kissed her; his mouth moved demandingly, insistent at the same time he groaned and roughly sheathed himself inside her while he came.

Lucille twisted angrily in his embrace as her pussy was filled, wishing she could destroy Stephan but knowing at heart she wasn't a murderer.

Edmund was determined to rescue her, but she couldn't know how long that would take, or whether it would work at all. She wasn't willing to wait.

This left one very shameful option. She had to confess everything to Alexander and pray that he'd help her.

***

"Lord Dacre?"

Alexander looked up from the scrolls to find Everett in the doorway.

"The hour is getting late, my Lord. Do you require supper for the evening?"

"Just wine, thank you," Alexander straightened in the seat, stretching his broad shoulders after a time hunched over paperwork.

When Everett returned with the beverage, Alexander held out a hand opposite. "Sit, please. I have some questions."

Everett took a seat and watched Alexander curiously. "Those are the only records we have of the event, my Lord. I believe you spoke with all officials today."

"The Stiles have been involved in more than one incident," Alexander frowned at a hand-written list. "Reports of imprisoning slaves, no penalties-"

"That was prior to the abolition," Everett hastily explained.

"And another fire which claimed the lives of Lord Stiles, and Lord and Lady Bard," Alexander finished softly, sipping his wine.

Everett solemnly nodded.

"I notice one name is rather prominent in aristocratic matters." Alexander checked his list. "Stephan Ulric."

Everett perked up. "Why, yes. Stephan is an esteemed Guard official, you met him on your arrival here. Nobles have a preference for him, he has a good rapport with them," he clarified.

Alexander frowned, remembering his first arrival. "He is a very tall official? I remember he struck me as rather young for his seniority. I meant to interview all relevant staff today, but I did not see him at the compound."

"He must have attended business elsewhere," Everett shrugged dismissively. "I will have him report to you tomorrow, my Lord."

"Very well. At first glance your records are in order, but on closer inspection the documents are quite lacking, Everett," Alexander stated. He sipped his wine and gently placed the glass down.

"L-Lacking?" Everett echoed nervously. "My Lord, we are diligent with our records, and-"

"The servants' testimonies from the night of the Stiles' deaths are strangely uniform," Alexander softly interjected. "Almost identical, to be precise. And there is no information of where they were resettled after the tragedy. My men have been unable to locate them."

"Well, my Lord, servants are not prioritised after an investigation is concluded," Everett said with slight defensiveness.

"Not even in a matter of noble deaths?" Alexander questioned; his eyes intense on Everett's. "An event where an entire unit of soldiers in the Stiles' employ vanished?"

Everett turned red. He had never found reason to mistrust his senior generals and they had, to his knowledge, always behaved with dutiful responsibility. For the first time he was feeling uneasy about the independence he allowed them.

As with any disaster of significance Everett had carefully revised the details presented to him and signed paperwork accordingly, but it had never occurred to him that such critical information would be completely omitted by one of his most trusted officers.

Observing Everett's embarrassment, Alexander relaxed his posture, though his eyes remained alert. "I suppose our processes are different in the King's Land, though I cannot say his Majesty would be pleased by this. I also wonder why there was no record of the women that were imprisoned in the Stiles' dungeon."