Destroyed Destiny (Crowne Point Book 4) Read online

  The du Lacs don’t care about bastards. No one will think twice if you have mine.

  It suddenly felt too. Fucking. Real.

  If we had to tell the world my child was West’s for a little while…I could handle that. I could work past the knots in my stomach. But that was always because I had hope. Hope of getting out.

  How would we ever untangle ourselves if his name was on the birth certificate?

  If they made me give our child his last name?

  “I think…” I swallowed. “Just maybe not option one.”

  Her brows skyrocketed. “That’s…” She glanced at the papers. “Well…moving on. The wife generally sets the rules, but as he is unmarried…” She exhaled and scribbled something in the margins. “To be filled in later.”

  I thought of West’s fiancée. I still didn’t know who she was, but I was certain she would most likely hate my guts for merely existing, as had Tansy with Josephine, and Lynette with all of Arthur’s mistresses.

  The woman stood. “I will get started on this.”

  “Wait!” I called out, standing after her. She paused, waiting. “Um…listen. Do you have a phone I can borrow?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Mr. du Lac will provide you with one, if he sees fit.”

  Ice swept the room with her tone. Just like that, I was reminded where I was, and what position I held. Forget options, she wasn’t my friend and she didn’t work for me.

  “Oh, well, he did…” I pushed the knots in the wood with the tip of my toe, aiming at nonchalance, grasping at straws for a good explanation.

  I remembered how being a servant, it was always shoot the messenger.

  “I broke it and since…”

  Since…

  Since…what?

  I’m not allowed to speak unless spoken to.

  Josephine’s words popped into my head.

  “He did but it broke. I was hoping to order a new one. Fix the problem before he found out, but you know, I won’t be allowed to talk to anyone…” I tested the words on my lips, a line forming between my brow, a cavern in my chest.

  I won’t be allowed to speak.

  To. Speak.

  I cleared my throat past the ache. “Well, the last person who was involved in something like this, he was fired…or maybe deported? I can never remember, you know how they get.”

  She blanched. “Yes. I do.”

  “But I guess, since I’m allowed to talk to you…when he asks, should I say you told me to wait for him?” I shrugged, while inside, fire ants were crawling on my skeleton.

  She froze for a split second.

  Then dove into her purse so quick a few pens fell out and clattered to the floor.

  “Take—take this. It won’t work internationally but it will get you internet connection. Don’t mention me.”

  I took the phone with both hands. “Thanks.”

  Holy shit.

  It was one step closer to Grayson.

  “One more word of advice, Story. This is the most important decision you will make in your life. After you leave this place, all your decisions belong to the du Lacs. But this…” She patted her briefcase. “This will always be yours. You have until the end of your training.”

  All your decisions belong to the du Lacs.

  What would that even look like?

  I watched her leave, waiting a few moments until I was certain she wasn’t coming back, before I turned the phone on to see if I could message Grayson.

  The phone only had fifty percent power and I realized too late that I had nothing to charge it with. She said it didn’t work internationally, but I could figure something out, even if I didn’t have his email…

  “Storybook Hale.”

  I startled at yet another voice. I quickly shoved the phone into the nearest hiding space—a pot of fresh primroses—before turning to greet my newest mystery.

  She reminded me a little of Ms. Barn, in that she had the same stern eyes and engraved frown lines, but she was petite where Ms. Barn was tall, and her voice was soft.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  She scowled at my question, then said, “The du Lac head of mistresses.”

  “What—they have a head for that?”

  Ignoring me, she said, “You may call me Madame.”

  Behind her, two women only a little older than me came into the room. Madame was dressed in the same starched blue uniform I’d grown accustomed to seeing, while the two younger girls were in matching diaphanous white gowns. Madame made a motion with her wrist, and the two girls came behind me, yanking me up.

  “I—what—Hey!” I squeaked, as the girl behind me reached for my arms, pulling them above my head. The second girl dropped to her feet, reaching for the hem of my nightgown.

  Madame came closer to me, eyes narrowing. I held my dress tight to my chest as the two at my feet fought with it robotically. They went for my thighs, and I shoved them off so fast I knocked over the tea. It shattered to the ground, honey liquid spilling over the antique floorboards.

  I realized I’d made a grave mistake when their eyes grew like saucers.

  Seconds ticked like minutes, three strangers staring at me, waiting for me to let them undress me. I wanted to take the steaming tea kettle at my back and chuck it at their faces. And then what? Run? Abandon Grayson?

  A poem my uncle had read aloud to me came to mind, one by Robert Frost.

  Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

  And sorry I could not travel both

  I’d already made my decision on which road I would take. I told Grayson I would be Atlas, and I would shoulder the burden.

  Whatever that might be…

  I slowly raised my arms, eyes down, as they lifted my dress above my head.

  I stood naked in the center of the room, holding my arms to my chest. Madame walked a circle around me, gray eyes sharp.

  Calculating.

  She eyed my rounded stomach way too long for my liking. I’d been hiding my pregnancy under shapeless dresses, but when I was naked, it was obvious. Unavoidable. Inevitable. I was a little over three months along, after all.

  I worked my jaw.

  Madame touched my hair. “Unruly.” She exhaled through her nostrils like Tansy did when examining the silver. “Come find me when you’re finished.”

  The girls nodded. I watched the old woman leave the room out of the corner of my eye, her shadow reflecting in the spilled honey tea.

  The girls dragged me into the en suite bathroom and shoved me into a clawfoot tub centered on the dark hardwood. It smelled like lavender and was filled with so many oils my skin shone like glass. They grabbed my arms, stretching to rub me raw.

  Then they moved to go between my thighs.

  I slapped their hands away. They shared a look, rolling their eyes.

  “Miss, if you don’t behave, it will be worse for all of us,” the one with jade eyes said.

  But they didn’t try again.

  Floral-smelling shampoo was squeezed and lathered roughly into my hair. For a while the only sound was the splash of water.

  I studied them. I was finally alone, and they seemed young. Not tough and imperious like the others I’d encountered. Maybe I could finally start getting useful information.

  I closed one eye against the sting of shampoo. “Do you work for the du Lacs?”

  They shrugged. “Kind of. We work for Madame.”

  “So you live here?”

  “Not here.” They lowered their voice. “This is Scotland.”

  “So?”

  “The du Lacs aren’t supposed to be—”

  I heard a wet-sounding smack, and she stopped speaking.

  It’s the last place he’ll look for you. He’d never think to check under his own fucking nose.

  West’s cryptic words just before we left Crowne Hall popped into my head.

  “They’re not supposed to be here? Here like Scotland? Or here like…” I glanced around, at the cobblestone walls and long-stemmed candle
s dripping black wax on to crystal votives. “Like this place?”

  They didn’t respond.

  After the bath, a silk blue robe was waiting for me. I slid one arm in, then the next, stretching the silk against my chest to see the du Lac fleur-de-lis symbol embroidered in white.

  Next came my hair. While I sat on a soft, velvet vanity, they oiled it until the curls shone and draped down my back.

  “Where is West sleeping?” I asked while they fingered more product into my curls.

  They shared a look. “You mean Mr. du Lac.”

  I sucked in a breath. “Where is Mr. du Lac sleeping? Is he here?”

  “If he decides to sleep here, then he’ll be in your bed.”

  I went rigid at the thought. I don’t care what he decided, he wasn’t sleeping in my fucking bed.

  They kept looking at one another as they braided white gold into my hair. Whispering and then shoving each other. I felt like I was back at Crowne Hall, playing games with the servants as we worked together.

  I’d done many a similar ritual to Abigail, and even Lottie, but in those scenarios I was never scribbling in a notebook.

  “What are you writing?” I asked.

  They shared a look, but only scribbled more.

  And then we descended into silence.

  “Is it true you’re the Cinderella of Crowne Hall?” one of them blurted, the blonde one with light brown eyes, while the one with eyes like gemstones shoved her.

  This time, I didn’t answer.

  They finished their grooming and went to stand guard by the door, while I stayed seated on the vanity. My wild curls were braided with diamonds and white gold hoops. My skin was soft and had a subtle shine. I looked more like Lottie than I ever had before.

  “I don’t think it’s her,” one of them whispered. It was low enough, I think they thought I couldn’t hear, but I was a servant, and I was trained in whispers. I kept my eyes down, catching glimpses of them reflected in the vanity.

  The blonde one leaned slightly to whisper to her friend. “Then why does she have the locket?”

  I touched my locket absently.

  I’d avoided as much of the internet as I could after the attack. I didn’t need the world deciding if I was Cinderella or the Stepsister Slut—but just because I avoided it, didn’t make it go away. These two girls were proof. I listened harder as they discussed the possibility of my identity, and what that meant. Who was right, who was wrong…my life’s facts twisted in fiction.

  My very real heartbreak someone’s fan fiction.

  “If she were really her, Mr. Grayson would have come—”

  “Mr. Grayson can’t exactly leave at the moment…”

  I lifted my head, heart skipping a thousand beats at word of Grayson, spinning to meet their eyes. “Grayson? Grayson Crowne? What did you hear?”

  They shared a look.

  “Shall we begin?”

  Madame had returned, cutting our conversation off at the quick. She held a foot-long ruler in one hand. I eyed it warily—I really didn’t want to go through more measurements.

  Madame stepped between the girls and they lowered their heads, taking their place behind her. They handed Madame the notebook, along with whatever they’d been writing inside it. I followed them with my eyes, wishing they could tell me something.

  Mr. Grayson can’t exactly leave at the moment…

  What the hell did that mean?

  Madame slammed the notebook shut with a snap. “On your knees, Storybook.”

  Her cement-colored eyes bore into mine, waiting.

  I could do this.

  If anything, I’d been training years for this.

  Dignity in the face of indignity.

  But for the first time…I didn’t want to give in.

  There was a time when I wouldn’t think twice about asking someone like West to throw away my gum wrapper; now I don’t think twice about getting on my knees.

  Thwack. The foot-long ruler crop she held landed with a sting between my shoulder blades. I sucked in a hollow breath at the radiating pain.

  “What the hell?”

  When had she walked around me?

  Thwack.

  “Don’t speak unless spoken to,” she said. “Knees.”

  But he couldn’t save me from everything. From rituals dating back centuries.

  Josephine’s words were a death knell, echoing somberly in my mind as I dropped to my knees.

  Numb.

  “You will never call him by his name, only his title, Mr. du Lac or sir.”

  “That seems—”

  Thwack.

  “Don’t speak unless spoken to,” she repeated, eyes hard.

  Josephine jumped into my head again. Had she gone through this? Been forced to her knees while some woman calling herself Madame drilled draconian rules into her head?

  She said she did it for her children.

  I grasped my rounded stomach.

  “If you absolutely have to speak, you are allowed one question: Sir, how may I please you?”

  Servants were allowed one question to ask the Crownes…

  My uncle had told me to swallow my indignity.

  Maybe that was the problem.

  Maybe I’d become used to it.

  “Did you hear me?”

  I blinked out of the memory, and nodded.

  “You will learn all things necessary to be a member of high society and blend in among the du Lac world. You will be the perfect companion, seen and not heard. There is one cardinal rule for you to remember: the mistress comes second.”

  I covered my body, hands to my shoulders in a crisscross. “What happens if I break these rules?”

  There was a pause. The girls in front of me gave me a desperate, pleading look like seriously?

  Thwack.

  Madame slammed the ruler down on my knuckles.

  “Do not speak unless spoken to. The only person you will be allowed to speak without question to is your girl. You may only discuss with her matters of dress, as she will help you be appropriately attired.”

  I rubbed my sore knuckles. Fucking catholic school nun wannabe.

  “You will be appropriately rewarded, and expected to uphold your end of the bargain. You can pick two items to cross off.” She held out her hand, and the blonde scrambled out of the room, returning moments later to place a clipboard in Madame’s hand. Madame gave it to me.

  I glanced at it—a list.

  Anal. Fisting. Anal fis—

  I reeled. “W-what the hell is this?”

  I braced for another hit, and sure enough it came.

  Thwack.

  Right between the shoulder blades again.

  She stared back at me, stone-faced. “What do you think a mistress does, Miss Hale? You can pick two things to say no to.”

  I opened my mouth to object, but paused at the gleam in her eyes.

  I stared at the list, it must have a thousand items on it.

  Once upon a time, Grayson had demanded a contract of me. This is what I’d feared then…this is what I’d imagined in the dark recesses of my mind.

  Except…Grayson was always the exception to the rule.

  He gave me a safe word so I could be safe. He never took what I wasn’t prepared to give. In the end, the most dangerous item on the list was love.

  “You will learn everything, Storybook,” she continued. “Everything required to be the perfect companion to Mr. du Lac.”

  “So like a corrupt, fucked-up Emily Post training,” I muttered. “Cool.”

  I closed my eyes, bracing for her stick. When it didn’t come, I slowly opened one eye.

  The ruler she used was suspended midair, held in a vice grip—in West’s hand.

  The wood looked ready to snap under his hand. Veins throbbed down the back of his hand and wrist, disappearing beneath the fabric of his suit.

  The muscle in his clenched jaw pulsed. The shadow beneath his jaw dark and cut like glass. His warm brown eyes burned, focuse
d on me.

  I’d only ever seen West like this once, the night his father attacked me.

  “Mr.—Mr. du Lac,” Madame stammered.

  He yanked the stick out of her hand, breaking it over his knee in one motion. The wood cracked in half, a few stray splinters hitting me in the face.

  The two girls gasped.

  “I…” Madame gulped. “I wasn’t expecting you for another two weeks.”

  “Get. Out.”

  They didn’t ask twice, shuffling out of the room in seconds.

  And then we were alone.

  Three

  STORY

  West ran soft fingers along the welts on my knuckles, cursing low.

  I didn’t trust him.

  I was too aware that I was barely dressed, only in a silk robe.

  “Two weeks isn’t enough time…” he said low, under breath.

  All at once he stood up, leaving the room. I sucked in lungfuls of air. Hoping he was gone for good, but moments later, he came back with a first aid kit.

  He tugged at the back collar of my silk robe; I held it tighter.

  “What are you doing?” My voice pitched in fear, and I hated that.

  “I need to see your back.”

  “No.”

  “You were hit—”

  “I can do it myself,” I snapped. I yanked my robe away, but he held firm, refusing. “I don’t need you.”

  “You do, Angel. You need me.” I could hear the mean smile in his voice. “Even if you don’t want me, you need me.”

  Still, he let me go. He came around, setting down the ointment and bandages on the nightstand. That stupid, cocky trademark West smirk on his plush lips.

  “Go ahead.” He waved a hand at the first aid. “Do it yourself, then.”

  “I will…later.”

  I stared at the ground, but his knuckles came to my chin, lifting so my glare collided with his mocking gaze.

  His lips curved up. “You’re going to need more training. I can see your disdain for me clearly.” A moment later, he added, “You’re asking questions.”

  My neck heated. Shit. “No, I’m not.”

  He tilted his head. “Where am I sleeping? Why can’t we du Lacs come to Scotland?”

  Those little snitches.