Chapter 7 - THE MASTER'S WING
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By the time we returned to the estate that afternoon, the maid quarters in the basement had been completely emptied of Clary's belongings.
She stood in the grand foyer, holding her small canvas bag with confusion written across her delicate features.
"Where are my things, Mr. Knox?"
"Upstairs," I said, leading her toward the grand curved staircase.
"The west wing is too damp for someone who needs to keep her throat warm."
She hurried to keep pace with my long strides.
"Mr. Knox, I am a maid."
"I belong in the staff quarters."
"You are no longer a maid in this house," I replied without looking back.
I pushed open the double doors of the master guest suite, located directly across the hall from my private bedroom.
The room was enormous, featuring floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the misty Hudson Valley, a king-sized bed wrapped in Egyptian silk, and a burning marble fireplace.
Fresh white roses sat on the vanity table beside an antique grand piano.
Clary stopped on the threshold, her breath catching in her throat.
"This is ridiculous."
"I can't sleep here."
"This room is meant for visiting royalty or crime bosses."
"You're sleeping here," I countered, walking over to the piano and running my tattooed fingers over the polished black lacquer.
"My house."
"My rules."
She stepped inside cautiously, her sneakers making no sound on the thick Persian rug.
"What do you expect from me in return?"
The question was quiet, but it carried the defensive sharpness of a woman who had spent years being exploited.
I turned to face her, leaning back against the piano with my arms folded.
"I expect you to eat three square meals a day."
"I expect you to let my doctors check your health."
"And when the house is quiet at night..."
I paused, letting my gaze linger on the soft curve of her lips.
"I want you to sing."
A deep blush rushed across her cheeks, turning her pale skin a radiant shade of rose.
"You really stopped your birthday party just because you heard me singing?"
"I left five hundred of the most dangerous people in America waiting in my ballroom because their noise was worthless compared to your voice."
She swallowed hard, her pulse fluttering visibly against the hollow of her throat.
"You're a dangerous man, Declan Knox."
May you like
A faint smirk touched the corner of my mouth.
"Only to people who try to hurt what belongs inside my walls."
