Abigail's Acquiescence [Portraits of Submission 1] (Siren Publishing Sensations) Read online

  Indoor plumbing and electricity inside a castle, but the people dressed in clothing that was at least two hundred years old. Where the hell was she? Or when the hell was she? And where were these two taking her?

  They ascended another staircase, this one narrower but very ornate. As they approached a set of double doors at the end of the corridor, Colton turned toward the four men who still followed them. “Prepare our rooms and have our things brought here. And bring us something to eat and drink.”

  He spoke with the confidence of a man who expected his commands to be obeyed without question, but she wondered what he’d meant by “prepare our rooms.” The hair on the back of her neck prickled as the servants hurried away and Jarrett and Colton led her into the room.

  When Jarrett released her hand, she gasped and twirled in a slow circle, trying to take it all in. They were in what appeared to be a sitting room. The words drawing room flitted through her mind, and indeed the décor and the furnishings looked as though they belonged in an old movie about lords and kings. The opulence was something she’d expect to see in a museum or a royal palace. Did people really live this way?

  “What do you think?” asked Colton, his voice full of pride.

  “It’s breathtaking.”

  “I’m glad you approve. Because this is where we’ll all be living from now on.”

  Abigail didn’t have the chance to ask him what he meant because one of the men who’d followed them returned, pushing a cart. Jarrett pointed toward one of the sofas. “Sit. Have something to eat and drink with us. Then we can talk.”

  She wasn’t used to eating this late at night. Was it still nighttime? She’d been ready for bed and should be exhausted by now, but she was too wired to do anything except blindly obey him. She took a seat between them, and then Jarrett called the man Jon and told him he could leave them alone.

  He bowed and left, then Jarrett turned to face her. “You must have many questions for us.”

  “About a million.”

  “Are you hungry or thirsty?”

  She was both, which surprised her. How long had it been since she’d made the salad and had two glasses of wine? She accepted a plate filled with tiny sandwiches and a glass of something that smelled like apple cider from him, but waited until they’d both taken a bite before she did. “Wow. This is really good.”

  “Our food is much fresher than what you’re used to.”

  “Where am I? What happened to me?”

  “Finish your food,” said Colton. “And have some of the cider. The apples are perfect this year.”

  This was too bizarre. She had no clue where she was, or how she’d gotten here. One minute she’d been watching one of the men in the painting throw a flogger, and the next… She put down her plate and mug, then glanced from one man to the other. “Do you two have something to do with that painting I bought? Did you influence what I saw in it?”

  Jarrett raised his brows. “What did you see?”

  She couldn’t tell him. What if he called her a freak like Clive had done?

  “It’s all right.” His voice took on that commanding quality again, but there was something else. Something seductive and persuasive. “You can tell us what you saw.”

  He and Colton looked like the men in the painting. That’s why she hadn’t been afraid to follow them. It was so clear now. Right. Clear as mud. “A woman, naked, blindfolded, with her arms bound behind her back.”

  “And how did that make you feel?” asked Colton. “To see that image?”

  Had his voice been that deep and sexy before? The room was suddenly too warm. She pushed the afghan off her shoulders, letting it fall behind her. Their gazes raked over her tank top, and she fought the sudden urge to cross her arms over her chest. Her nipples were taut points, poking the thin fabric. So much for the room being warm.

  “I liked it,” she whispered. “I wanted to be that woman.”

  They exchanged a quick glance over her head. “What else did you see in the picture?” asked Jarrett, filling her mug with more cider.

  “Um, at first nothing. But then in the antique store where I found it, I walked away for a moment. And when I looked back, there was a man. He was in shadow at first.” She sounded like an idiot. Her throat was dry, so she drank more cider. Had he done that to her? What was in the cider? She narrowed her eyes at him, but his face remained calm, his expression never changing.

  “Go on,” said Colton. She became aware of a faint vanilla scent emanating from him. No way was she back in time. These two were too clean, as were their surroundings.

  “When I got the painting home, I noticed another man on the opposite side. But it wasn’t until later when I heard the sound that I saw them both clothed.” She let her gaze travel over their linen shirts and breaches. The look of the fabric was more delicate and smoother than what the servants wore. Even their boots looked expensive. “They were dressed similar to the way you two are. But how can a painting evolve like that over time?”

  “And is that when you crossed over?” asked Jarrett. “When both men were visible in the portrait?”

  She had no idea. Why couldn’t she remember the timeline? It hadn’t been that long ago, had it? “I put the painting in the downstairs hallway. I was going to take it back.”

  “Why?” asked Colton. “Did it not please you?”

  “It freaked me out. Paintings don’t do that. They don’t change like that, and they certainly don’t move. Figures in them don’t throw floggers and you don’t hear the sound as they do it.” She rose so fast the cart moved on its wheels, sloshing the cider in the pitcher. Abigail pushed it out of the way and paced the room.

  “I want to go home,” she whispered. “I’m afraid here.”

  Both men were at her side. Jarrett stroked her left arm while Colton stood in front of her and cupped her face. His hands were surprisingly gentle, and his expression filled with understanding and warmth. “We are not going to hurt you, Abigail. I promise you that.”‘

  “But you haven’t answered any of my questions and you said you would.”

  “You’re in what you would call an alternate universe. Another world. The portraits are portals. Jarrett and I don’t understand how they work. We aren’t even sure our sorcerers or stargazers fully understand their power. They were discovered about two hundred years ago, and for reasons we also don’t know, the men in our bloodline who are all descended from the first King Reginald have the power to draw women through them. Women from your world.”

  “The portraits have twins in your world,” said Jarrett. “And we don’t know how they got there, or why certain women are drawn to them.”

  Abigail stared at one then the other, not sure whether to laugh or run screaming from the room. What the hell had they put in that cider?

  Chapter Four

  Colton watched her face carefully, reluctant to let go of it because he was sure she would bolt from the room as soon as he did. If only he and Jarrett had paid more attention to the other princes’ stories of their first nights with the women from her world. Surely they’d all behaved in a similar fashion and asked the same kinds of questions. But at least he’d have some idea what to say to put her at ease.

  Then again, if the situation were reversed, he didn’t imagine there was a magick phrase or two that would instantly help him cope with finding out he’d just landed in another universe.

  “So it was you two in the painting.”

  She was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. Images of kissing every square inch of her curvy body tortured his mind, and he struggled to keep it together. Jarrett was right. They first needed to help her come to terms with this. He’d never forced a girl to have sex with him, and he wasn’t about to do so now, but he wanted her in a way he’d never wanted anyone.

  Jarrett shook his head. “No. We don’t know who the people depicted in the portraits are.”

  “Were you able to see me in it?”

  “No,” said Colton. If they had, they bo
th would have camped out in the hall of portraits until she’d crossed over.

  “Am I in the same time or did I travel to another one?”

  “As far as we know,” said Jarrett, “you’re in the same time.” He smiled. “Our world is obviously quite different than yours.”

  “Yes. It is. But it’s also quite fascinating.”

  Colton released her face because he wanted so badly to kiss her, and a man had only so much willpower. He took her hand. “Then come over here and sit back down with us.”

  She eyed them both again. “Why did you say all three of us would be living here?”

  “Because it is true.”

  “Why am I here? What do you two want with me?”

  He and Jarrett exchanged a glance. She was obviously an intelligent woman, and she deserved a straight answer. “For almost two hundred years the princes of our kingdom, Ashdown, have been using the women who cross over from your world via the portraits to satisfy our sexual needs. It is our birthright.”

  Her face colored slightly. “Forgive me for asking if this offends you, but why would you need to coerce women from another universe to come here just so you can have sex? Don’t you have women here?”

  Colton’s cock grew hard to the point of pain. “Yes, of course we do.”

  “It’s complicated,” said Jarrett. “Politics, ancient curses, and rules that not all of us agree with.”

  “I’d love to hear about it.”

  She looked and sounded so sincere, but there was no way he could discuss that right now. Colton couldn’t take any more chitchat tonight. “It’s a long, boring story. Why don’t we show you to your room. You must be tired. When you’ve rested, we’ll talk about it in the morning.”

  Even as he said the words, every inch of his body cried out for her. He could barely stand to look at her right now. The urge to take her into his arms and kiss her was too powerful. Instead, he strode toward the doors and flung them open, calling loudly for Seth, his valet.

  When the boy finally appeared, out of breath and red-faced, Colton asked him whether the rooms were ready. “Yes, Your Highness. I mean almost. We’re all working on them right now.”

  “Well hurry up. She’s tired.”

  Seth bowed and scurried off. Colton never acted that way toward the servants, but if he spent one more minute in this room with Abigail, there was no way he’d be able to keep his hands off her.

  * * * *

  Abigail wasn’t sure if she’d said something to offend Colton, but she was suddenly so sleepy it no longer mattered. She eyed Jarrett as Colton paced the room. “Tell me the truth. What did you put in the cider?”

  “Nothing. I swear it. It’s the crossing over. It happens to all of you. Once you sleep, you’ll feel better.”

  “Crossing over… What does that even mean?” She rested her chin in her hands, fighting the urge to cry. This had to be a dream. She’d sleep, and then in the morning it would all make sense again. And then she’d take that painting back to the antique shop and tell the owner to burn it.

  The room they finally led her to was as richly-appointed as the sitting room. Colton kissed the back of her hand in a sweet old-fashioned gesture, and told her to sleep well. He had the look of someone who had just had the worst date of his life and couldn’t wait to get back in his car and drive away for good.

  “I hope I haven’t offended you.” She had to know, otherwise she’d toss and turn, going over every nuance of their bizarre conversation, trying to figure out what she’d done or said wrong.

  The look of lust in his eyes caught her off guard. “No. Not at all. But now you must rest.” With that short remark, he turned away and bolted through a door at the extreme left of the room.

  “What did I do to upset him?”

  Jarrett smiled, but it was the kind of smile you’d give a child to whom you were being indulgent. “Nothing. We’re both simply finding it difficult to stay away from you tonight. We agreed it was best if you slept first, but I’m afraid our willpower isn’t as strong as our words.”

  She had to avert her gaze because the images running through her mind were suddenly erotic and raw. “So what Colton said earlier about you two…how had he put it? Using us to satisfy your sexual needs is your birthright. That’s true, then?”

  “Yes. Quite true.”

  “I don’t know what to say. I’m so confused by everything. But I also can’t seem to keep my eyes open.”

  Jarrett pulled back the covers on the bed. “Sleep. We’ll talk again in the morning. I promise.” As she started to crawl under the covers, he pointed toward a door near the bed. “Your bathroom is in there, and my room is through the door on the other side.”

  Then he indicated a rope next to the bed that looked like an ornate tieback for drapes. “Pull this cord if you need anything. The servants are always close by. By morning we’ll have a personal maid assigned to you.”

  “This can’t be real.”

  Jarrett brushed a finger across her face, and his touch burned like fire and nearly forced a moan from her throat. “It is real, Abigail. We’ll see you in the morning.”

  She watched him leave, but didn’t turn off the lamp next to her bed. Instead, she stared at the intricate pattern of the fabric on the canopy above her head and tried to stay awake. But she couldn’t do it. She drifted into a sound sleep, where images of paintings and falling into dark tunnels haunted her dreams.

  * * * *

  Abigail woke to unfamiliar sounds and smells. She sat up, wondering if her sister had used her spare key again to crash at her condo. She only did that when she broke up with her latest boyfriend, and it had been three months with this one, so she was overdue.

  But it wasn’t Arlene’s voice she heard, and the girl puttering around her room, talking to herself, definitely was not Abigail’s sister.

  “Who are you?”

  The girl whirled around and curtseyed. An actual curtsey. “Oh, pardon me, miss.” She couldn’t have been more than eighteen, and she was dressed in a white cap and a long, coarse dress that did nothing to hide her ample cleavage. “I’m sorry to wake you but I was told to do it. Your breakfast is ready.”

  “Breakfast…” Now it all came back to her. The painting, the horrible falling sensation, and then Jarrett and Colton.

  “Yes, miss. And we have coffee here, if you drink that.”

  “I do.” But she doubted this girl could get her a Starbucks, which she really, really needed right now. “But who are you?”

  “Oh, sorry. I’m Patricia, your maidservant. Now hurry up and eat, and then you’d best clean yourself up. I’ve laid out the clothes their highnesses Prince Jarrett and Prince Colton want you to wear today. You’re to join them in the sitting room as soon as possible. Do you remember where that is, miss?”

  The sitting room. Yes. She remembered it, and part of the bizarre conversation she’d had in it last night. “Prince Colton and Prince Jarrett? They really are princes, then?”

  Patricia looked like Abigail had just asked her if the sky was still blue. “Well of course they are. Didn’t they tell you anything last night?”

  “They told me a few things.” She remembered them telling her it was their birthright to have sex with her, and she remembered something about them being descended from a king named Reginald, but the rest was still a bit fuzzy.

  “Just ring that little bell I placed on your tray when you’re finished and I’ll collect it. You’ll find everything you need in the bathroom, but if there’s something missing just ring for me.”

  “Thank you.” The girl was out the door before Abigail finished the words. She stared at each of the five doors ringing the room, trying to remember which ones Jarrett and Colton had gone through last night before she’d drifted off to sleep. Maybe she could find paper, a pen, and tape to make labels for each of them?

  And maybe you need a CT scan of your brain as soon as possible. How in the hell could this be real?

  Real or not, the rumbling i
n her stomach certainly was, so she ate the food Patricia had brought and drank the coffee. Everything tasted wonderful, and then she remembered eating a sandwich and drinking cider the night before. She still wasn’t convinced that Colton and Jarrett hadn’t put something in it to help her sleep, but since they also hadn’t molested her during the night, she decided she could trust them.

  For now.

  The room really was magnificent. Patricia had opened the heavy drapes, and after Abigail ate, she rose to glance out the window at a bright February morning. Was it February here? They’d told her it was an alternate universe, but what did that mean? Was time marching on at home, or had it stopped?

  What would happen when she failed to show up for work in the morning? Was it Sunday here as well as at home? What would her family think when they realized she’d simply disappeared? She needed to get back home as soon as possible, no matter how good-looking their highnesses were. She didn’t belong here. This had all been a terrible mistake.

  She heard voices on the other side of the door through which Patricia had exited, but she wasn’t ready to face anyone yet. She needed time alone to think. The bathroom door was open, so she went inside, locked it, and turned on the shower. Everything in it was similar to what she’d see in any home, except for the bath products. No name brands here. They were in glass bottles or tiny ceramic pots, and likely had been homemade.

  But the water was warm, and as she shed her tank top and shorts and stepped under the spray, she let it wash away her fears. She was safe. She had no idea how she’d arrived here or what would happen now, but she wasn’t in any danger. That much at least was certain.

  Unless you counted two horny princes as danger.

  Two horny princes who were the most handsome men she’d ever seen in real life. But if looks were all it took, she could have had her pick of men back home. She worked with some good-looking guys and most of them had hit on her at one time or another, especially after her divorce. But that still hadn’t led to her having sex with any of them.