I inwardly flinched at his name. I had hoped that she had abandoned that particular subject.
‘For all that outward sophistication, he possesses such a naïve soul – I honestly believe he thought he stood a chance with you, and as beautiful as Finn is, I hardly think he’s in the same league as Gabriel James.’
‘Goodness, word travels fast.’
Blaine took a leisurely sip of her champagne. ‘Well, if you will perform fellatio at thirty-eight thousand feet with the star of the moment, I think you’ll find that word will get out.’
I sighed. Blaine’s ban on technology didn’t extend to herself. Word of my latest encounter would no doubt have been on every gossip site on the internet before we had even touched down.
‘Anyway, I digress. What I want to say is that Albermarle can offer you a greater opportunity for release than most could ever dream. Why don’t you come with me? It’s far easier to experience than to explain.’ Blaine stood and reached out her hand to lead me back through the doorway.
No amount of honeyed words could have prepared me for what I saw. My earlier comment about dungeons was no longer funny, because that was exactly what Blaine Albermarle had constructed in the cellars of her warped fairytale home, complete with bare stone walls, a rack holding a selection of whips and implements I didn’t want to take a guess at, and a colossal bed that dominated the far end of the chamber.
A massive black wooden Saint Andrew’s cross was bolted to the opposite wall and from its beautifully polished leather cuffs, forehead pressed to harsh stone and entirely naked, hung Finn.
Before I could run Blaine stepped between me and the door. In her hand she held a heavy, hand-stitched crop. ‘Imagine, Lilith. Imagine what it’s like to live out any fantasy you’ve ever had without fear of censure or discovery. He can be whoever you want him to be, and you can do whatever you like to him.’
I could say nothing at all, and Blaine took this as permission to continue. ‘Try it.’ She pressed the crop into my hand. ‘You’ve been a very bad boy, haven’t you, Finn? I’m sure Lilith is capable of teaching you an important lesson.’
He slowly turned to face me so his head was forced to one side against the smooth wood. The huge eyes that had sparked with a life beyond this place were dull and dilated.
‘I’m sorry, I really can’t do this,’ I managed to whisper.
Blaine eased the whip from my clenched fingers. ‘First time nerves. Don’t worry, you’ll soon get the technique with those talented hands of yours. Let me show you.’ She raised the crop and brought it down with all her strength across Finn’s exposed shoulders and I knew that this was no consensual role-play. He gave a soft, muffled uh in response and pushed his forehead against the wood. His eyes closed and I was glad.
‘See? The trick is not to be too gentle. If you hold back, you foul the blow. Just one clean movement.’
Too slow, I realised Blaine was still teaching me. Once again the heavily stitched crop fell across Finn, lower this time so that a welt rose across his buttocks. Livid flesh turned to scarlet as I watched.
‘No. Just... no.’ I turned and ran from the room.
Chapter Eight
Lilith
I didn’t relish the idea of a court case, but by seven the next morning I had a half-decent campaign plan in mind. There had to be some lawyer somewhere willing to take on the fight with my father and challenge the bastard in the way I should have done from the start, and then I could try to forget that these past three days had ever happened and I could get my life back.
It was hard to believe that only days ago this approach had seemed so impossible – that I would choose even an hour in this lunatic asylum over the insignificant hassle of legal proceedings.
I was so confident that my cases were already packed by the time I stormed upstairs for a meeting with Blaine, and the nearer I got to her room, the more bullish I felt. After all, aside from the latest clash with my father, I had not lost a fight in fifteen years.
She was already at her desk, fully made-up and wearing a delicate pink silk dressing gown, when I walked into her room unannounced. I was annoyed with myself for being surprised when I saw the three telephones and computer that took up most of the green-leathered surface, when I now knew that Albermarle Hall - ‘The romance of candlelight and open fires’ - was nothing more than a cheap, cynical construct. She glanced up from the screen. ‘Good morning Lilith. I was expecting you. Would you like Henry to bring you tea?’