As soon as Ellen had left, Annabelle jumped out of bed and peeled off her nightgown. A quick check of her wristwatch by the light of the banked fire revealed that there were only ten minutes to wait before the duke would arrive, so she settled herself into a kneeling position at the foot of the bed. Excitement kept in her in position for the first few minutes, but boredom soon set in. She was sitting awkwardly, and she shifted about, trying to find comfort in a difficult position. She could feel the itchy wool of the rug underneath her shins, and a persistent draught from under the door made her shiver. She was on the verge of standing for a few moments to break the monotony of waiting when she heard a soft click, then a quiet creaking sound.
Ellen had pulled the curtains across the windows, but Annabelle had drawn one set back, allowing faint moonlight to enter the room. This allowed her to watch a section of the wall by the fireplace swing outwards and the duke step through it. Her heartbeat quickened at the sight of him; this man was not the same as the one who had shown his vulnerable side in the Italian Gardens. This was the dominant, controlling man who used his knowledge of her body to drive her insane with pleasure. He did things to her that no decent gentleman would dream of doing to a lady. Her body was there for his use, and he demanded her utter surrender to his wishes.
She liked and respected the honest vulnerability of the man in the gardens. She desired the painful attentions of the man now standing in front of her. How lucky for her that both of these men existed inside the same body.
“You are ready for your punishment?” the duke asked.
“Yes,” Annabelle said breathlessly, beginning to rise.
The duke’s hands shot out and caught her shoulders, pushing her back down to the floor.
“No,” he commanded shortly. “You are being punished. You will not stand until I give permission.”
The poor light in the room had hidden the fact that he was carrying something in his left hand. Now it was revealed to be a stout leather collar, the sort that a large dog might wear. It was buckled around Annabelle’s neck in a trice, the leather stiff and heavy around her slender neck. The duke had not buckled it very tightly, but it was tight enough to remind Annabelle that it was there.
A metallic noise alerted her to her next indignity; a length of chain was slipped through a ring attached to the collar and gathered up in the duke’s hand.
“Come,” he ordered, tugging on the chain.
That, in turn, pulled on the collar, which made Annabelle scramble to crawl after him. He led her to the opening of the secret door set into the wall. A lit candle sat in a simple holder on a small shelf. It did not offer much light, just enough to expose the long, dark corridor ahead of her. It was quite narrow, not wide enough for her to crawl at the side of the duke. She would have to crawl after him, she realised, as a good dog would follow at his master’s heel.
It was quite the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to her, and she could not understand why the knowledge of that sent a thrilling series of sparks down her spine, all landing in the pit of her stomach.
The duke shut the door to Annabelle’s room, leaving them both in the small, enclosed space with only the one candle to light their way.
“All along this corridor are the rooms of the ladies of the party,” he whispered to her, crouching down to get close to her ear. “You must be silent as we pass them. The walls are thin, and you can hear every word someone utters.”
Annabelle nodded her head, and the duke seemed happy with her compliance. He stood, jerked the chain, and started to step softly down the corridor. They moved as quietly as possible until they came to a staircase. The duke dropped the chain and walked down it before ordering her to come down on her knees.
Annabelle awkwardly turned around and began to climb backwards down the stairs, aware of the fact that the duke’s gaze never once left her as she scrambled down the stone steps as best she could, the chain slithering down her body like a cold snake. The duke picked it up again as she reached the bottom of the stairs, and they made their way down another corridor.
She had no way of discerning where they were headed. She barely knew her way around the huge house when she was walking the main corridors. Here, tucked away inside the walls with only a solitary candle and a few small windows dotted here and there to let the moonlight in, she was completely lost. She became afraid that the duke would suddenly drop the chain to her collar and sprint away down an unseen corridor, trapping her in the walls of the house for the night as her punishment. She crawled as close to him as she could, scared that he might do such a thing. A hand dropped to her hair, ruffling it, as if he sensed her fear.
He led her on for a few minutes more, before stopping and placing the candle on another small shelf. There was a handle set into the wall. He pushed on it, and an unseen door swung inwards. He jerked the chain again, and Annabelle shuffled after him into the room.
“Stay there,” the duke ordered, dropping the chain and walking away from her side.
He moved around the room, lighting candles in heavy candelabras sitting on solid, heavy-looking furniture. The light was enough to let Annabelle see that she was in a very peculiar room, indeed.
There were no windows that she could see, although there was a large fireplace built into a bare stone wall, uncovered by the pretty wallpaper found in the rest of the house. There was no fire laid, which was a shame because the room was cold. Large pieces of furniture sat about, although they in no way resembled anything Annabelle had seen in any drawing room before. They were solidly built out of heavy wood, and well polished. Some had small half-circles of metal sticking out of them at various places; others had loops of leather dangling from them. Some had sections that were covered with leather, kept in place by brass studs.
As the duke lit more and more candles, more of the room was revealed. Racks were hung the wall, holding implements that looked suspiciously paddle shaped. Some resembled riding crops, and others looked like nothing Annabelle had ever seen before. Rope sat in neat coils on top of a long bench pushed against one wall. What looked like a large sideboard contained many drawers of varying sizes. In the corner of the room was a bed.
The duke, finished with the candles, came back to Annabelle’s side again.
“You may speak now,” he informed her. “We are deep within the house, and nobody will hear you no matter how loudly you raise your voice.”
“What is this room?” she asked suspiciously, looking about her. “This cannot be your bedchamber.”
“No,” the duke said, shaking his head. “This is a very special room I discovered a long time ago, a relic of one of my more unconventional ancestors. He enjoyed quite particular amusements, and must have had this room built to satisfy them. Some of the implements needed replacing, but most of what he left behind was in good order.”
