Succumb to Me by Julia Keaton Page B

that he didn’t pursue the proposal further. Instead, he stood
and walked her to the front entrance, his hand on the back of her
waist for guidance.
     
    He opened the door but blocked her escape,
turning her to face him, gripping her shoulders firmly. “It should
be obvious to you by now that I have no intentions of either giving
you the painting, nor allowing you to steal it. If you come again
without invitation, I will assume you have come with the intention
of fulfilling my proposal and sharing my bed. Am I being clear
enough for you?”
     
    Winter pulled away from him, squared her
shoulders and pushed past him to walk outside before facing him
again. “Crystal,” she said, regarding him coldly.
     
     
     

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
     
    Winter kept her “promise” to Logan, if
blackmailing a person into compliance could be called that. She did
not make any more attempts to retrieve the painting herself. He’d
effectively blocked that avenue, and she didn’t like to think how
narrowly she had escaped each time. If he’d chosen to, he could
have had her arrested ... or done something far worse while she was
under his power. He hadn’t, and that had mystified her as much as
it aggravated.
     
    She could do nothing now but wait to see what
surprise he would contrive for her.
     
    For a week, Winter lived in a state of
gut-wrenching suspense, refusing to go out, contriving an ‘illness’
to stave off her mother’s questions, and suspicions so that she
could hide in her room—in truth, her illness wasn’t entirely
contrived, for she could neither eat, nor sleep, nor even rest for
the anxieties plaguing her as she awaited her doom. She felt
certain he intended something public and horrible, but days passed
and no whispers of scandal were printed in the papers or spread
through the streets. The servants didn’t begin to look at her with
knowing smiles, or thinly veiled sneers. There were no illicit
visits. Nothing happened.
     
    When another week went by, Winter’s nerves
began to ease. Perhaps she’d been wrong and Lord Remington had
forgiven her transgressions and foolishness, she thought a little
hopefully.
     
    Then the invitation arrived by messenger, and
the dread came back full force.
     
    There was to be a ball in honor of Lord
Remington’s return, in honor of his new title. The crème de la
crème of society would be in attendance.
     
    Winter was expected to be there—as directed
by a personal note from the devil himself. She would almost have
preferred a firing squad, but it occurred to her that she had no
choice but to obey the summons. She must do whatever it took to get
her hands on that painting and trust that the ball itself was not
to be the ‘surprise’ he’d threatened.
     
    It occurred to her, naturally, that she might
be underestimating Logan again, that it might have been his
intentions all along to make as public a spectacle as he could
manage, setting the painting on prominent display and summoning all
of society to his home for a viewing, or unveiling it at some point
during the evening. But she was rather more inclined, given his
behavior thus far, to believe that he was not done toying with her
yet, that he had a far more wicked plan in mind.
     
    He’d made absolutely no secret of the fact
that he expected her to purchase her reputation with her virtue. He
might merely have been toying with her even in that, trying to see
if he could make her yield so that he could then reject her offer
on the grounds that it was not enough, and proceed to display the
painting, annihilating her reputation. He might dangle it over her
head indefinitely, demanding she remain his mistress until he tired
of her.
     
    The possibilities seemed virtually limitless
and ultimately destructive to herself, but she could see no point
in trying to figure out his eventual goal. It would not help her in
any way that she could see to know his intentions, other than,
possibly, giving her some peace.
     
    It seemed