Page 48 of Hooked

When I was primped for the day, Helen fixed her eyes on the floor. “I will go get your breakfast tray.”

My chin pulled back in surprise. “I am to eat here?”

“Yes, my lady. The captain wished you to have the day to yourself. He encourages you to reflect on your life before as well as the new life that lies before you.”

“Oh.” Part of me rejoiced at the prospect. An entire day when I would not be forced to be in the captain’s presence sounded wonderful. But after Helen left and the silence set in, I realized how insidious such an edict was. If I were to try to leave, I was positive that I would not be allowed. This was Huckley’s way of showing his power over me.

And it worked. I had nothing to occupy me except for the meals that were brought. There were no books in my room, no embroidery to be done, no paper to write on. I had nothing but my own thoughts, which spiraled into deeper and darker depths as the hours passed. I resorted to telling myself stories as I drew faint patterns in the rug. Story after story about a band of lost boys led by a boy who refused to grow up, who wanted nothing but adventure and to defeat the evil captain.

***

I awoke the next morning, dreading the prospect of another solitary day and yet terrified of what else the captain might have in store for me.

Helen again helped me into a gown that felt heavy and restricting, doing my hair even more prettily than the day before. “You are to partake of your morning meal in the dining room with the captain,” she said.

Obeying such a summons contradicted my every instinct, but between my need to escape the prison of my room and the captain’s very real threat of moving up the day of our marriage, I could not risk displeasing him. I needed these two weeks. I needed time to find a way out of this.

I descended the stairs, dragging my feet on purpose, prolonging the moment when I would have to occupy the same room as he. But eventually I arrived at the dining room and entered to find Captain Huckley standing by the far window, a letter in hand.

I remained hovering in the doorway, taking the opportunity to observe him without him watching me in return. I did my best to assess him objectively. Calculating quickly, I realized he was forty-five years old. He was tall, with a strong chin, and his hair was starting to gray at the temples. He was only a little rounded at the middle, and he carried himself with confidence. He was considered handsome and I wondered for a strange moment if I might have found him attractive if I didn’t know any more about him, but realized I couldn’t imagine myself outside the situation enough to even guess what my response might have been. He would always be the man who’d seen me at fourteen years old and decided to buy me from my family. I was like a pretty, exotic horse. One he would no doubt take pains to break.

My breath stuttered when I next tried to breathe in, and that small sound caught his attention. He turned to look at me, his eyes taking me in, from my coiffed hair, to the bodice of my dress which hugged my shape, and down the length of my skirts. I cringed when the sight of me made him smile.

“Well,” he said, sauntering toward me. “I did well in choosing your gowns, did I not?”

I didn’t say a word. It was all I could do simply to not run away.

“Come.” He held out a hand and I could do nothing but set my own fingers in his and allow him to lead me to the table. “Let us enjoy our first true meal together.”

I sat in the chair he offered. I ate the food. I listened to him blather. I managed to answer with a nod here and a few words there.

“Now,” he said, reaching over to toy with my fingers. “As delightful as this has been, I’m afraid I must leave you for the present and go about my duties. They’ve been a bit neglected the past several days, you understand.” His look was chastising, like a parent admonishing a recalcitrant child. His meaning was clear. He had not attended to his duties because he’d been forced to come after me.

Fortunately, he left to go about his business without any more false niceties or unwelcome attempts at affection. I wiped the fingers he’d been touching on a napkin, trying to rid my skin of the feeling.

My fortune continued when he left me to my own devices for lunch, not requiring my presence until dinner was served.

I spent the majority of my day exploring the house, trying to get a feel for the layout so that if a chance to leave presented itself, I would at least know which way to go. Captain Huckley employed enough guards to have one stationed at each exit I encountered. I tried not to linger at the doors that led to the outside, instead taking note of them in just a glance while pretending interest in the painted ceilings and elaborate tapestries that adorned the walls.

I heard the captain’s voice echoing from down the hall a few times. I was always grateful for the warning and quick to turn the other way.

I looked out the windows, realizing for the first time that Huckley’s house didn’t just sit near the Alayan Sea, but directly on it. Water stretched out, endless before me. From my vantage point on the third floor, it appeared that the house sat only a couple minutes’ walk from the cliff’s edge. There would be no escape in that direction. I would have to take the road that had brought me here.

Continuing through the house, I took note of any decoration that might be used as a weapon. I picked up vases and candlesticks, testing their weight. There were a few actual weapons that adorned the walls, but I knew that any sword would be too heavy for me to wield.

I returned to my room regularly, hopefully giving the impression that I was going to stay put, that I was embracing my new circumstances.

Helen came to my room before the dinner hour, informing me that I needed to change. I blinked. Of course, I knew it was often expected that nobility dress for dinner, but that was usually when guests came. It didn’t make sense to dress up for only one other person, but I didn’t have a say. So I changed. I let her hang a jeweled necklace around my throat. And I went to dinner, trussed up like a sacrificial offering.

“Ah, there you are,” Captain Huckley proclaimed the moment I entered. Then he came to me, taking hold of both my hands and lifting them out to my sides so that he could ogle me up close.

I stood stiff and did my best to breathe evenly. If I were to look at him, I’d likely not be able to resist the urge to snatch my hand away and use it to mark his face with my hand print. Such action would no doubt result in his renewed determination to stamp the life out of me.

He let go of my hands and instead circled around me, making noises of appreciation. A man examining the wares he had purchased and congratulating himself on the acquisition.

I’d never been made to feel so low or so dirty. I was a thing, an ornament he’d polished and planned to display in his window.

“It is long that I have awaited the opportunity to appreciate all the beauty you have to offer.” He ran a finger along the gems of the necklace lying at my throat. I didn’t know if I could resist the urge to fight back if he continued in this way. His fingers continued to trail along my collarbone and up to my jaw. My fists clenched as I pinched my eyes shut, and just at the moment I felt I would break, he seemed to shake himself from a stupor. “Now.” He took my hand and gestured toward the table. “Shall we dine, my angel?”