This took a little longer than I thought it would. Oops. Between the holidays and my perfectionist tendencies, I'm posting this later than I would've liked to. So to make up for lost time, I'll have the next chapter up later this week.

And I'm going to be listing songs at the end of each chapter (there will be some exceptions) that have either inspired parts of that particular chapter or just remind me of that chapter in general. My brain works in references and connections, so instead of chapter titles, I have songs.

Thank you for reading!

Chapter Two

After depositing our traveling cloaks, coats, and hats with the servants, the Laurents' butler led us through the stately entrance framed in rich dark wood and classic furniture that supported elegant muted florals in sculptural and delicately painted vases. Gilded gold frames displayed large portraits and landscapes all down the main corridor, each one as exquisite as the next. Our footfalls were muffled by the soft, ornate rug that ran the length of the main corridor over the wood floors. Everywhere our gaze fell, some small accent or piece of furniture sought to impress upon us the true and very tangible importance of their owner; the air even seemed weighted with legacy and money.

We were led upstairs where most of the family's rooms were, and the parlour we were received in did not disappoint. Elegant wallpaper covered the walls above crisp white wainscoting, beautifully framing several more paintings. The simple wood-framed fireplace stood on one side of the room with a lively fire inside while its mantle displayed charming figurines and pottery. Large windows lined the rest of the room, each with elegant drapes, displaying the fading light of the gloomy day outside. There were two long settees, upholstered in lovely light blue velvet, facing each other in the center of the room within the confines of a large rug with two plush armchairs sitting beside each other on the end of the rug closest to the windows. Luxurious vases of flowers - lavender, yellow roses, and hydrangeas, curiously enough - peppered the room, all light and natural beauty in a room otherwise completely manufactured and almost heavy in its prepossessing desire to impress. There was balance, however slight, which was an achievement on its own as these old estates were notoriously difficult to decorate and make anew.

The butler came to a halt and cleared his throat. "Mr. Swan, Mrs. Swan, and Miss Swan, sir," he said as Sir James rose off a settee, and we bowed and curtsied in greeting.

Sir James, dressed in an elegant black suit with his blonde hair smoothed back and away from his face, smiled amiably, bowed, and extended a hand toward us as he approached us. "My good friend, Mr. Swan, I'm so very pleased you could join us this evening. And how lovely it is to see your beautiful family again. Mrs. Swan, might I take the liberty of telling you once more what a wonderful asset your husband has been to us all. I cannot begin to tell you how many times his wit and scholarly dedication have come to my salvation after some rather ill-advised business endeavors," he said to my parents, glowing with good humor and affection.

My mother radiated with pride in front of me, shoulders squared and chin raised, and glanced at my father with a suppressed smile before turning back to Sir James. "Sir, I must confess that I am rather proud of his achievements myself. Thank you very much for inviting us. You have a lovely home."

Sir James waved a hand of dismissal and said, "You are most kind, but do call me James, will you not? I am confident we shall all be good friends." After my mother nodded and requested he treat her with equal frankness, Sir James finally turned to me and said, "Miss Swan, it is a pleasure to see you again. You are as beautiful as your lovely mother - and not unlike her to be sure!"

His eyes, a clear and cool blue, were pleasing in appearance, but there was almost a hollow look to them, as though the mind were reciting rehearsed thoughts for an audience. His smile, while also pleasing in its evenness and brightness, was equally hollow and did not reach his eyes. Before I could put any more thought as to what these observations could mean, I saw those hollow eyes dip past my face and rest on my chest for a moment, after which that hollow smile deepened, crinkling the skin around the eyes as they returned suddenly rejuvenated to mine.

Doing my utmost best to keep a natural smile on my face despite the chill that crept up my spine and outward to every limb, I politely replied, "Likewise, Sir James". I tried to reason with myself that some people were not as refined as myself, regardless of financial resources, and were not in complete possession of their actions and reflexes. I was also acutely aware of the scooped neck of my dress that exposed my collar bone. I would just have to take care with the top of my dress and cover my exposed skin whenever I could. After all, it was not proper for a woman to tempt a man, married or not, and men would be men in the face of temptation.

I heard my father make his apologies to Sir James for Brianna's absence and Sir James begin to introduce us to the rest of the guests while I reclaimed my wits. I looked about the parlour and saw Lady Laurent sitting on one of the settees. She should have greeted us alongside her husband, rather than remain seated like another guest. I could tell that we were all about to experience Lady Laurent's superb manners in fine form this evening, as they were already off to a marvelous start.

Count Volturi, his beautiful wife Countess Sulpicia Volturi, and their children Alec and Jane, who were both a little younger than I, were seated on one settee, a group of distinguished guests dressed in deep rich tones of velvet and silk, lace and chiffon, all perfectly tailored and draped in the new and sophisticated French high fashion. Not a wrinkle was apparent on their fine and fair faces, boasting of kind features and good breeding, and not a dark hair was out of place. They were all so poised with calm but friendly smiles as they all bowed and curtsied in greeting during the introductions.

And then there was Lady Laurent, sitting on the opposite settee alone, clearly meant to be sharing the space with her husband and my parents. She wore a simple pale green dress that was clearly better suited for daytime and a pile of curly red hair that looked as though it hadn't seen a brush yet that day. She looked like she had been outside in the wilderness playing in the moors with her child as she remained seated with a dour expression on her face. She regarded me with slightly narrowed eyes, the fair young skin of her face looking aged beyond her years around her blue eyes.

"You'll have to forgive me for not rising to greet you. I'm afraid I don't rise as easily as I used to," she said, smoothing her hands over her very pregnant stomach before casually embracing it with her arms on her lap.

My parents politely accepted her sentiment, and I gave an equally polite smile, before we took our seats at Sir James' direction. My parents sat with the Laurents and I sat in one of the armchairs. As apparent as the empty second chair was in this room, I could only imagine how terribly an empty chair would appear in the dining room. I could not wait to tell Jessica and hoped no one could see my gloating smile.

Returning to his seat, Sir James said to the room, "Mr. Swan's youngest daughter is in Paris at present. I understand you have family there, Mrs. Swan."

My mother was clearly thrilled to be spoken to first, but her natural poise and good breeding kept her neutral. "Oh, yes. I was born there but now it is just my mother and my sister and her family. They have a lovely estate in Provence and a charming house in Paris. That is where Brianna is now." Even after just over twenty years of living in England and a lifetime of speaking English, my mother's native French accent resonated strongly in her speech.

"I think France is a lovely place," Count Volturi said with an air of genuine interest, his own strong Italian accent shining through. "We've been to Paris many times for business and have been fortunate to have been invited to a number of estates. It's a marvelous country."

Past experiences in France and current events, political and social, were then discussed in the way that adults always find necessary when speaking of another place. They all exchanged polite remarks in response to various anecdotes, and I found myself growing bored with the conversation. I did not care very much to hear about someone's memories and pretend their stories were of any interest.

"I wish my family and I could go to France more often. I have the sudden desire to go," said Sir Laurent. He spoke with a strange tone that I could not decipher and that belied the kind smile on his face.

My mother, ever the party-loving hostess, predictably sprang into action. "Well perhaps one day my family could entertain you and your family in Provence. I am sure we would all enjoy your company if you so desire. And you of course, Count Volturi. Any time you feel the need for some French culture, please allow us to oblige."

"What a very kind offer, Mrs. Swan. I shall remember your generosity kindly," said Count Volturi with a kind smile and a nod of his head. "I do believe we are well overdue for a trip to France," he said with a questioning glance at his wife.

"Yes, very generous indeed," Sir Laurent agreed. "I know my wife would be delighted. We have just added an assortment of French literature into our family library and it is all she talks about anymore." He spoke with that strange tone again which began to hint at some marital discord.

Lady Laurent's voice suddenly cut through the air, not even attempting to veil her acidic tone for the sake of her guests. "Yes, I'm afraid I must be bothering my husband talking about all the reading I've been doing of late. I've been reading the works of a fascinating poet lately - Charles Baudelaire. Have you heard of him? He has an incredible collection of poetry that was just published last year called Fleurs du mal. It is so very vivid and the stories are just fascinating. My favorite so far is called Une Charogne, a carcass. It's about a couple who find a carcass in a dreadful state and -"

"Victoria," Sir James interrupted with a tone of warning and looking absolutely scandalized. It was a highly inappropriate topic; what sane person would speak of such things at a dinner party?

Lady Laurent shrugged in indifference but I saw a small smirk twist her mouth. "Well to be quite honest, dear, I would not like to go to France. Why go somewhere so far when I clearly only belong here?" Pointed glares and honest hatred were plainly evident in her speech and were starting to make everyone uncomfortable.

Countess Sulpicia spoke for the first time, calm and dignified, the perfect image of nobility. "Lady Laurent, let me assure you that there is one piece of France that all ladies from any country desire more than anything: the dresses. French fashion is truly unlike any other." I suddenly knew without a doubt the two of us would get along nicely after hearing her talk about my favorite thing in the world in such a way.

And as expected, my mother joined in. "My family is very close to Charles Worth, the designer in Paris? Well my husband is actually his cousin come to think of it. He was how we met," she said with a small smile at my father. "His designs are just exquisite."

Countess Sulpicia suddenly came to life, her face lit up with a grand smile. "I own a number of his creations. What a small world it is. Do you get first choice with his new designs?"

"Sometimes," my mother replied. "When I still lived in France before I married my Charles, he would very often come to the house with dresses he made and ask our opinion and sometimes he'd give us the originals once he mastered the look." At this point she was absolutely gloating, with that light look in her eyes and wry smile, and I suppressed my proud laughter.

At this revelation, Countess Sulpicia's jaw dropped. After regaining her composure, she said, "Well, I suddenly find myself sharing my husband's interest about a trip to France. Such an experience would be absolutely incredible."

"I now regret scheduling business meetings for next month," Count Volturi remarked with a laugh. Turning to my mother, he said, "If I didn't have to return home so soon I dare say we might have been able to accept your offer."

My mother was visibly affected by this comment, and my father took advantage of her silence and said, "How has your holiday been, Count Volturi? I trust Yorkshire has treated you well during your stay?"

"Oh, yes, indeed it has. This is beautiful country here. We saw the North York Moors yesterday and they were lovely. Alec wants to go riding there tomorrow. Seeing it through a carriage window was not enough for him." Alec nodded in confirmation, but did not look altogether pleased to be spoken of, and his father added, "And your neighbors have all been very welcoming. The day after tomorrow we will be dining with the Stanleys."

"The Stanleys are dear friends of ours," said my mother. "My Isabella is a close friend with Miss Jessica Stanley." Her broad smile at me brought several pairs of eyes to me, whereas I had otherwise been ignored so far.

"Is that so?" said Count Volturi. "We met them at another dinner party the other day and found them to be charming people. I do hope my brother is feeling better by then. It would be a shame for him to miss two wonderful evenings." He looked down at his hands as he spoke, suggesting that what he said was a lie. So the rumors were true then...

"Yes, I wish we all could have dined together one last time before your departure," Sir James said, sounding genuinely disappointed. "My wife and I have found your family to be wonderful company," he said to the Count.

Before anyone could say anything more, a servant came into the parlour and bowed before waiting for Sir James to notice him. Upon recognition, the servant said, "Dinner is served."

At this announcement, Sir James rose and helped his wife off of the settee before holding out his elbow in invitation for his wife to walk with him to the dining room. However, Lady Laurent shook off his hands as quickly as she could and ignored his proffered arm while walking as quickly as her heavily rounded form would allow. I could tell Sir James was frustrated with her behavior - who wouldn't be? - but quickly shook it off and stepped closer to me, arm still in an open invitation.

"If you would allow me to escort you, Miss Swan?" he asked with a cordial smile. After I graciously accepted, he walked me slowly to the dining room. "And how do you find Paris? The same as my wife - not interesting and too foreign?"

His opinion on the topic was so very clear to me, and I could not help the fact that his wife was so easy to disagree with. However, I was their guest and could not insult the lady of the house, so I summoned an indifferent attitude and said, "Not at all, Sir James. I love Paris. I plan on joining my sister in a week."

Out of the corner of my eye I could see him facing forward, but a bit unfocused, as he replied, "Indeed? Well, how lovely. And what is it about Paris that you enjoy so much?"

With so many thoughts and mannerisms to balance and so much on my mind, I was caught unprepared by his question. How could I dissect my second home? But I was well trained in the art of civilized conversation and would never let him aware of my unease. I spoke slowly so as to give myself more time to think of a proper response worthy of my station and current company. "There are so many things, but if I must choose I shall have to say shopping on the Champs-Élysées and seeing the art in the Musee du Louvre."

I heard a deep chuckle escape him as he quickly turned to me and turned back forward. "While I am not surprised to hear that a pretty girl such as yourself enjoys shopping in Paris, I am quite surprised that you enjoy looking at art."

Did he not believe me to be educated? Art was a sophisticated intellectual endeavor that I knew was popular among the upper classes. Not wanting to assume his intelligence or damage his opinion of me, I mustered as moderate an answer as I could find. "I am very interested in art. I might also suggest that fashion is a wearable art form. Anyone can possess art bound by canvas and a frame with names like Francois Boucher or Jean-Honore Fragonard written on them, but art expressed through fine fabric and embellishments is even better. You can go anywhere in the world and everyone will know who you are just by looking at you."

By this time we had reached the dining room, standing beside our chairs - his at the head, mine at his right hand - and waiting for the rest of our party to find their seats. As he stared at me with narrowed eyes, he said, "Quite the intellectual I see, Miss Swan."

The dining room was a fairly large space, with dark, warm wood-paneled walls with decorative designs, paintings, and tapestries hanging on them. A marble fireplace stood on one side of the room flanked on either side by sideboards where fine sculptures were displayed. Windows lined the opposite wall, framed by rich velvet drapes. A long dark wood table in the middle of the room commanded everyone's attention, surrounded by plush chairs and laden with fine china and candles, and an ornate rug blanketed everyone's footfalls as they all approached it.

Jane Volturi stood across from me, at Sir James' left hand, while her brother stood to my right and, since we were an odd-numbered group tonight, the seat across from Alec was left empty. I could see my mother on the other side of the empty chair, next to Count Volturi, who was at the right hand of Lady Laurent at the other end of the table. Once everyone was in place, the servants assisted all the ladies to sit first, followed by all the men, chairs respectfully pushed in.

As I placed my napkin across my lap, carefully smoothing it out, the servants began to serve the soup course. My father, who sat to the left of Lady Laurent, began to speak of his work, a case concerning some mutual friend of his and Sir James. This, of course, was a path of no return, as passionate and proud of his work as my father was, that lasted through the soup and fish courses and well into the venison course. My mother made passing remarks true to her wit, and Countess Sulpicia spoke whenever polite but without much substance, clearly unfamiliar with my father's clients. Sir James was very much invested in the conversation, while Count Volturi was only mildly impressed despite my father's best efforts. Jane, Alec, Lady Laurent, and I were all silent through this conversation, working our way appropriately through the provided silver and carefully sipping soup and sherry and chewing fish in such a way as to politely not make a sound.

As the conversation wound down in the middle of the venison course, it became clear that Lady Laurent's silence was not a result of her lack of knowledge on the subject, but rather she seemed angry with her husband, if the looks she was giving him meant anything. And judging by her husband's increasingly sour expression, he noticed as well. Clueless as to what the true reason might be and uninterested in the topic of conversation, I focused on eating my meal as quietly and gracefully as possible while ignoring much of the conversation itself.

"Miss Swan, do your intellectual pursuits extend to other venues or only to art?" Sir James' voice brought me back to the present, shocked by both his direct address and his focused gaze as he mindlessly twirled his fork on his plate amongst a good portion of uneaten venison.

Seeing how relaxed he was - leaning with one arm on the chair's armrest and head cocked to the side as he looked at me - I took my time swallowing my wine before replying, not ignorant of the way his eyes dipped once again to my neck and chest, as though following the wine's descent down my throat. "I also enjoy reading, sir."

"Might I inquire as to which author has appealed to your intellectual fancy of late? Someone not as risqué as Baudelaire to be sure." He glanced in his wife's direction as though to make sure she was listening to him.

I quite enjoyed reading, about as much as I enjoyed buying new dresses, and while I did not want to embarrass myself or my family by admitting an unpopular author's name, I also did not want to lie about something so dear to my heart. "Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte is my favorite novel, but I have recently finished Our Mutual Friend by Charles Dickens and it was quite good," I said, hoping Sir James at least liked Dickens so that my interest in the semi-scandalous Bronte was not so memorable.

I feared I made a mistake as Sir James immediately frowned and put down his fork with a clatter. "Bronte and Dickens? What, no Jane Austen as well?" He sat up straight in his chair, muttering something that sounded like "sympathizing for the overreaching peasant class", full of disdain, looking as though he tasted something bad.

I was mildly alarmed and was willing my mind to come up with a reply when Lady Laurent spoke.

"Miss Swan, do you have an attachment to Mr. Michael Newton?" I froze every muscle and felt my breath stop short. I slowly turned to look at her as she continued talking. "I saw you dancing with him at our ball for most of the night and could have sworn I saw you two sneak off somewhere alone. But surely a respectable young lady such as yourself wouldn't do such a thing, let alone with a man with whom you have no attachment." Her tone was casual and innocent, but her gaze was anything but.

I felt all my blood simultaneously leave my face and gather to it in full force. How could she have known? Was she the mystery person who intruded on our moment and sent us running for cover outside? Why would she possibly bring this up now, two weeks later, never mind in front of everyone? This kind of story could send a reputation into dangerous waters.

I heard Sir James say "Victoria" in warning again and my father say "I beg your pardon," all in a shocked tone that matched my own feelings. I replied, "No, I do not have an attachment with him and I certainly was not in any such compromising situation as you suggest," hoping that I controlled my voice enough and sounded convincing.

Lady Laurent had a smug look on her face, as though she knew something I did not, or perhaps she could tell that I had lied just then. "Forgive me. I must have been mistaken."

The rest of the dinner party passed without consequence, and the hosts and all the parents resumed some incredibly boring conversation, which I succeeded in ignoring. I was more than a little unsettled by the Laurents' strange behavior all night, fearful of my one selfish transgression becoming common knowledge, and willing Sir James to stop looking at my chest - and Jane's for that matter. It seemed as though he had accepted my seemingly strange taste in books and went back to behaving as he had earlier. I was not certain which mood of his I preferred as they were both unsettling.

Before long and not soon enough, dinner came to an end and dessert was had by all. I had been looking forward to this dinner, in the short amount of time I had known about it, and meeting the Volturi family, and yet I found myself willing our visit to come to a faster end as my discomfort was getting the best of me. As though she could read my mind, Lady Laurent insisted on everyone visiting her son, who was in his own rooms either sleeping or reading, and insisted on everyone going as a group to see him, thereby postponing coffee in the parlour and extending our visit that much longer. I was not pleased. No doubt the child was unkept and foolish if he were anything like his mother and no fit sight to see and waste one's time.

"Actually," Sir James interjected during his wife's proposal, patiently looking at me, not quite staring, "I think Miss Swan would like to see the library. Isn't that right?" After protests from his wife that their other guests had already seen the library, he said, "Well, then, I shall take Miss Swan to the library myself. As an avid reader, I would hate for her to miss this opportunity." The temptation to take his offer was strong as I would have greatly loved to see the library and not see their little child, but surely such an admission would be terribly rude. However, he continued speaking before I could reply. "You don't have to answer; I can see the answer plain in your eyes. We can all meet in the parlour when we're all finished."

A quick glance at my parents showed me that they approved, and a passing glance at Lady Laurent showed me that she most definitely did not approve. I could easily imagine fire and brimstone shooting out of her eyes, but I could not fathom why. With confusion storming my mind and discomfort storming my heart, I fixed a respectable look of aloofness on my face and nodded my assent. Sir James immediately rose from his chair, assisted me out of my own, and led me out of the room and away from our party.

He led me down a long corridor, with soft candle light in the sconces on the walls lighting our way through the darkness as the light outside had already vanished. The windows displayed a glimpse of nighttime falling on the estate and the surrounding forest, which instilled a bit of fear in my heart as the darkening sky engulfed the now black trees that all together formed one large threatening mass of intimidation and uncertainty and casted ever changing shadows on the garden as it unanimously swayed in the cool spring breeze in the moonless night. I was never allowed out of doors very much, and certainly never without a chaperone, so my inability to discern anything familiar through the window did not inspire my curiosity in the slightest, but rather it sent a chill down my spine and forced me to keep my head turned away from the window. However, the view straight ahead was not much better. Ahead lay darkening corridors that the candles could not entirely light as the light continuously shifted in a breeze that I could not feel, suggesting that the air around us was alive or perhaps the shadows were concealing something threatening. I might have been confident in myself and my station, but I still held onto my childhood fear of the dark and the unknown secrets it held.

In my rapidly shifting, fear-induced thoughts, I unconsciously gripped Sir James' arm a little firmer, desperate for a savior to provide some reassurance. I tried to summon some strength and the knowledge that I was no longer a child and diverted my attention to the artwork on the walls - dark tones and deep colors contrasting with bits of light, realism and portrait work at its finest.

"Is that a Velazquez?" I asked, surprised that this estate should have a portrait of royal status hanging so casually in a corridor of the family's quarters, well out of sight of any impressionable guests.

"It is indeed. It appears all that time in museums has been beneficial." He was looking at me like he had at dinner, openly and appreciatively, eyes light and searching for something.

I thought it best to face forward again and discourage any further connections. Unsettled as I was by absolutely everything around me, I resigned myself into silence and looked only at my shoes on the wood floor.

At the end of the long corridor, we finally reached a set of carved double doors with ornate knobs that led to the library. I suddenly found myself looking into a large room lined with dark bookshelves, showcasing hundreds of books nicely. One wall contained several windows end to end that would no doubt light the room beautifully in the day. Small tables and chairs stood in the middle of the room, covered with books and papers. There was a large fireplace on one wall that appeared to have a marble mantle and hearth, and a plush rug covered the entire floor, providing a softness equal to the fire's warmth.

I walked in and suddenly found that I never wanted to leave this room. "This is incredible. This room is lovely." I knew I was being too forthcoming and needed to calm myself.

Upon turning to face him, I saw that he was studying me with a serious look in his eyes, leaning casually against the doorframe with arms crossed. As he spoke, he entered the room and closed the doors. "It's not that exciting. It does look impressive, I'll grant you that, but the most dreadfully boring business happens in here." I couldn't even begin to imagine anything in here being dreadful or boring as I glanced around this marvelous room, but it was not my place to criticize. His voice startled me out of my reveling. "Perhaps you could help me change that. What do you really enjoy doing for fun, Miss Swan?"

This was such a strange question I found I almost could not answer him, but I knew I must. "I believe I already told you, sir. I read and I like art." As I spoke, he slowly approached me, lazily taking his time. I was feeling increasingly uneasy by the second.

"Are those really the only things you enjoy? Looking at things, never experiencing them? A reader of scandalous Bronte and supporter-of-the-poor Dickens, frequent visitor of Paris, who sneaks off with her beau at balls where her own family is in attendance - a rebel in almost every sense - is only interested in museums and books?" His tone was disbelieving, but his face showed disgust, as though I made some grave error. "There must be more to you, Isabella, more that you are hiding from me."

He kept walking toward me, forcing me to step back from him to maintain our distance, until a bookshelf stopped my progress. I could not move and yet he still advanced until mere inches separated us. My breath was coming too fast, too shallow, my heart racing, my skin flushing and sweating.

"Your expressions show clear on your face, in your eyes. Your blush commands control of your face... and chest." His eyes followed his mind and sent another chill down my spine. I felt such a desire to run but I was trapped, and fear made me suddenly blank and stupid. "You are not the disinterested unemotional intellectual you try so very hard to be. If it's a confidante," he paused as his eyes searched mine, "or a teacher that you require, I would be more than happy to oblige."

His hands reached out and caressed mine for the first time, shocking me with the contact. They dragged up and down my arms and came to rest on my waist as I saw his face come closer to mine. I tried in vain to move away, and he softly snorted, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. "Don't pretend that you don't want me, Isabella. There is no lying allowed in this room. If I were to be completely honest, I wanted you the moment I laid eyes on you."

This time I could not move away, and his lips touched mine as I closed my eyes out of fear. His mouth lingered, pressed, assaulted, while his hands crept up the front of my dress, warm but wrong hands caressing my chest. The severity of just how wrong this was made me suddenly remember that I had hands of my own that had been uselessly clenched into painful fists at my sides. I brought my fists to his chest and pushed as hard as I could. Again I heard that chuckle as his hands closed around my upper arms instead, a derisive smile and sinister eyes gleaming in the candlelight.

"I won't tell anyone. Just feel, live in the moment," he said softly, as his hands slid down my arms until he grabbed one hand and pulled it to rest on the front of his bulging trousers.

I might have been a proper maiden, but I knew what was happening, and fear ran through me as strongly as I had ever known it. I ripped my hands out of his and pushed as hard as I could against his chest, causing him to stumble back a couple of steps. I finally had some space but knew it would not be for long, as his face became such a horridly furious sight, his own fists clenched at his sides. He took one large step toward me and raised a hand, smacking me across the face with the back of it. I felt my whole body turn with the force of it, my face stinging with such a terrible pain that brought tears to my eyes. His hands gripped me painfully tight around the arms and shook me.

"You bitch! You think you can just abuse me as you like while I am being nice to you?" Gone was the soft, smooth voice of what I then realized was seduction as he roared at me.

I was crying in earnest now, defeated, hopeless, doomed. He suddenly threw me across the room, and a table covered in books stopped me as my thighs collided with its edge. A strong hand pushed down on my back, forcing me to bend over the table, chest flat on the top, face resting on loose papers. "You asked for it, you whore," he growled in my ear.

I heard myself beg him to stop, crying my disapproval, pleading for mercy, but I knew I was powerless to stop him. Before my mind could catch up with what was happening, my hands were held captive, my skirts and petticoats were tossed over my back, and strange hands were touching places they should not. The hard surface of the table combined with my confining corset and sobbing state made breathing near impossible and I feared I might lose consciousness, but not before I heard him tell me not to scream and promise certain retaliation if I did.

If I thought I was in pain before, I was certainly near death as I felt him make his violation official. I fought to control my breathing and hold in my scream, detach myself from what was happening, allow my senses to fade away to safety because surely this was not something to commit to memory.

His movements caused my face to chafe against the papers on the table, pain spreading throughout my entire body, and I wondered how long I would have to endure this. After what felt like a hundred years, a face appeared within my field of vision. Gradually, my mind realized that I recognized this face, that I loved this face. That my mother was standing next to Lady Laurent as she opened the doors to the library with the rest of the dinner party standing behind her. That they could all see what was happening to me.

Song for this chapter: "Good Help (Is So Hard To Find)" by Death Cab for Cutie

Also, the title of this story comes from a song that I forgot to reference last time: "Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up)" by Florence + The Machine