The winding stone staircase seemed to go on forever. Lily’s dress was so long, she had to lift it to avoid stumbling over the hem. The only sound came from her shoes, the shoes of the young woman who’d come for her and the boots of the soldier accompanying them.
The knock on her door had come precisely at 6:55 p.m. By then, Lily had showered and dressed. She’d chosen the black gown. It had seemed only fitting since she was probably going to meet her death in the coming days. The gown was a tad too large, but the silk draped nicely—not that she gave a damn. She’d chosen shoes with low heels—just in case she needed to run for her life.
Once on the ground level, the young woman and soldier escorted her through ancient arched doorways and past darkened stairwells toward a brightly lit chamber at the end of the hall. Just outside the door, they stopped. “General DeBruzkya waits for you in the formal dining hall,” the young woman said.
It was the same woman who’d taken Jack from her an hour earlier. Lily looked into her eyes, searching for a seed of compassion, something she could reach. “Where’s my son?”
“He’s in the nursery, sleeping,” the woman replied.
“I want to see him.”
“The general will see you first.”
“Please, take me to see my son—”
The soldier gave her a warning look. The young woman shook her head. “Please, madame, go to the general. Talk to him about seeing your son. It is out of our hands.”
Frustrated and angry and more frightened than she wanted to admit, Lily turned toward the door and forced herself to walk into the cavernous room. A fire blazed in the giant stone hearth. Lily could feel its warmth even from twenty feet away. Upon its mantel a dozen candles cast soft shadows on the stone walls, lending the room a feeling of warmth and opulence. A glossy mahogany table with a white linen runner down the center stretched like a sleek cat to the left of the hearth. A bouquet of white and red roses adorned the center of the table.
General DeBruzkya sat at one of the high-back chairs with a stemmed wineglass in his hand, watching her with predatory eyes. Lily felt his gaze follow her as she crossed to him, felt the gooseflesh raise on her arms, the chill sweep down her back. The intensity of his gaze unnerved her, so she concentrated on the table. There were two formal place settings. Matching stemmed Waterford wineglasses. Wedgwood china. White linen napkins. Gleaming silverware with ornately designed handles. Expensive French wine. She hated all of it. The opulence. The beauty. The man who watched her as if she were nothing more than a pretty piece of crystal that had caught his fancy, or a rare wine that was to be sampled and then consumed.
DeBruzkya stood. “Ah, Lillian, you look ravishing.”
Her skin crawled when his gaze swept over her. He licked his lips and used his napkin to blot sweat from him forehead. “The black suits you.”
“I want to see my son,” Lily said.
Amusement entered his eyes. “Please, sit down. Share a meal with me. Some of this French wine. I had my chefs prepare the food specially for tonight.”
She looked at the silver servers spread out on the table like gaudy ornaments. Even though she hadn’t eaten the entire day, her mouth soured at the sight of the food.
“Beef Wellington with asparagus and hollandaise,” he said. “Field greens with raspberry vinaigrette. Sorbet if you like. Truffles.”
When she remained standing, he frowned. “Please. I’d like to discuss something important with you.” He leaned closer to her and whispered in a conspiratorial voice. “The sooner you talk with me, the sooner you’ll see your son.”
The words brought a dangerous rush of anger. Lily stared at him, hating that he would try to control her by using her son for leverage. In the back of her mind, she wondered how he would react if she snatched up the silver pitcher of water and splashed it in his face.
“Please.” DeBruzkya rounded the table and pulled out her chair. “Sit.”
Knowing anything but cooperation would be fruitless at this point, Lily lowered herself to the chair.
“Thank you,” he said. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
She watched him round the table, inordinately relieved that he was sitting across from her as opposed to right next to her. She truly didn’t think she could bear to be touched by him. Even a casual touch would send her into a rage she wasn’t sure she would be able to control.
She watched as he spread the white linen napkin in his lap. He reached for the bottle of wine and filled her glass. Topping off his own, he leaned back and studied her.
Lily stared back at him, aware that her heart was pounding. She couldn’t fathom what he could possibly want from her. Couldn’t imagine what was going on in that twisted mind of his. The possibilities made her shudder.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here.”