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Isn't that what you wanted?
The answer shocked me.
No, it was not what I wanted. I didn't want her scared or terrified.
Reginald followed me upstairs and into my room. Nothing looked amiss. The cuffs were still where we placed them, so how the fuck had she gotten out?
When I laid her in the bed, Reginald tsked. "For fuck's sake lad, look at her hands."
I could see the rough, raw scrapes right at her thumb knuckle. Had she fucking broken her own thumbs?
I laid her down gently and smoothed her hair out of her face. "Daphne, talk to me. Did you hurt yourself? Did you break your thumbs to get out?"
She didn't answer me.
Reginald knelt down next to me. "Love, are you all right?"
Her dead gaze flicked to him and then away again, fixating at a button on my shirt.
Reginald shook his head. "You've gone too far now, mate."
"What was I supposed to do? Let her run back to London?"
"Yeah, if she managed to outsmart us, make it out of this house, and get a ride back to London, she deserves her freedom then."
I swallowed hard. "I can't let her go."
He rounded on me. “Look what you have done to this poor girl. She hasn't done anything wrong. You said it to me yourself. She has done nothing. And now look at her."
Guilt wasn't an emotion I was used to. Everything I did had a reason, had an expected outcome.
"Would you get her something to eat? I'll clean her up."
Reginald scowled at me. "I'm not sure I can trust you to do that. You tossed a terrified woman in the bloody boot?"
She was muddy. Filthy. And she was hurt. I knew when I peeled away her socks that I was going to find an injury on her right foot. She'd been desperate to get away from me.
Of course, she was. You kidnapped her. She thinks you're going to kill her. Start talking to her, or she will kill herself trying to escape you. And that'll be another death on your conscience.
Fuck.
"I'm not going to hurt her. Just get her some food, okay?"
Reginald turned to leave, but I could feel his judgment as he walked out of the room. I had fucked this up.
I knelt down near her feet. "Daphne, I need to take a look at your feet, okay?"
She didn't acknowledge that I’d spoken. I wasn't sure what was worse, her fighting and kicking the whole way or this frozen zombie routine.
I peeled off the sock. Her feet were raw. Red on the bottom. The right one had a nasty gash that needed cleaning. She didn't move, and I had to peel her leggings off her. I left her knickers where they were and resolutely looked away. She didn't say anything, didn't move at all. I hoisted her up and peeled the jumper off her as well as her Henley, but I left her in her bra.
Right. "Daphne, I'm going to sit you in the tub so I can wash you off, yeah? But I'm going to leave your undergarments on, okay?"
Again, she didn't acknowledge me.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I carried her into the loo and sat her on the edge of the counter while I started to run the bathwater. Her hair was grimy, completely filthy, and I didn't know what to do.
