Serenity, Michigan
December, 1879
Guinevere Carver sat on the dining room chair, at a grand table that was bare, save for a small candelabra and two glasses of wine, one of which sat before her. The other wine glass was held in the narrow, gentlemanly hand of Dr. Michael Parré. He stared at her over the rim of the glass, his eyes almost seeming to glow in the golden candlelight.
Still feeling the inexplicable attraction to the man, Gwen had gone along with him from the station. When she’d seen the massive house atop the hill, her breath had caught in her throat. Not only was Parré a doctor, but he was obviously a successful one. Perhaps now, at long last, she had found her prince, the man who would take her away from a life of servicing an endless supply of randy men, most of whom were not from the upper crust of society—those men could afford to “keep” a mistress and had no need of the incidental whore.
Once inside the house, she had excused herself to the washroom to freshen herself, and when she’d returned, she’d discovered the doctor had already poured them glasses of wine.
Now, sitting at the table, she had to restrain herself from acting too eager. Yes, she was actually physically attracted to a man—an experience so rare that it was foreign to her—but the prospect of a bright future of leisure was a powerful aphrodisiac. At the same time, she wanted there to be no doubt in this man’s mind that she was in for whatever he had in mind.
And she knew he had something in mind.
Gwen was too accustomed to how the minds of men worked to believe Dr. Parré was truly just an altruistic being who was simply interested in helping her. That could certainly be part of it—but he was a man, a presumably healthy, red-blooded male who was forced by nature to consider his next appointment with the lusts of the flesh. And it wasn’t something she faulted them for; in fact, she derived a measure of enjoyment from being able to play men like a stringed instrument, to anticipate needs and fulfill them. The world may be dominated by men, but in those moments in her boudoir (when she was doing well) or ratty hotel room (when she was not), she was the one who held the power, and she could control even the most powerful and influential of men with a mere crook of her finger or a rise of her hips.
Parré set down his glass, dabbed at his wine-moistened lips with a cloth, and smiled at her.
“I apologize for the lack of food. I gave the housekeeper the evening off. She’s upstairs in her room, of course,” he hastily added, as if concerned that Gwen would think she’d been deceived. “But I hesitate to disturb her rest after having promised.”
“It is quite alright,” Gwen said. “I’m not at all hungry.”
This was a lie, of course. After the train ride—during which she had eaten nothing, having had no extra funds to purchase peanuts or anything else from the vendor who trolled the cars—she was absolutely famished. But she wasn’t about to complain or request special effort—both of those were almost guaranteed to annoy a man, and the last thing she wanted to be in this moment was annoying. Of course, she would also have to be careful with the wine, especially on an empty stomach. Alcohol tended to make her sleepy, and she would need all of her faculties to bring the evening to a successful conclusion.
She observed the man who sat across the table from her, trying to decide what his particular preferences might be. Would he want to be dominated, as many powerful men desired? Or would he prefer to be the one in control? She would have to begin in more neutral territory and then follow his lead, interpreting every subtle clue until she had him entirely deciphered. And once that happened, he would be hers.
“The wine is delicious,” she said, taking her voice down a few steps. Nothing drastic or obvious, but letting it settle in a dusky tone with just a hint of flirtation. “Perhaps the best I’ve had.”
Parré smiled. “I’m happy to hear it. I try to keep a stock of good wine in the house, as it can be difficult to get the finer things here in Serenity, certainly with any regularity. The last time I ordered a case of wine, this particular bottle we are enjoying was the only one to survive the trip.”
“Oh my.” Gwen widened her eyes. “So this one bottle essentially cost the price of an entire case.”
“That is correct.”
“Then I shall savor it even more,” she said, sipping again and taking her time, never breaking eye contact. “You must be quite a man of means in order to make it worth ordering a crate, only to receive but one bottle.”
Parré shrugged, as if such expense meant nothing to him. “It is worth that and more in order to maintain some standard of living here in the wilderness. One day Serenity may be a shining jewel of civilization, but at present it has some way to go. It is better than many other lumber towns, but it’s certainly no metropolis.”
“Well, I cannot speak for the town, having just arrived, but I can already tell that you’ve done well for yourself. A man of means and intelligence can make anywhere, as you have proven.”
Parré smiled again. “And you are a perceptive young woman.” He reached over and grasped the wine bottle, raising it. “More wine?”
She wanted to refuse, but could see by the look in his eye that he wanted her to accept.
“Of course, although it is so good that I will have to use caution. We women do not always have the constitution for strong drink as you hardier men.” It was partially another tactic to feel him out. Did the good doctor have a weakness for the hapless, helpless female? She watched him carefully, but Parré displayed no reaction. But it was also partially the truth. She was, indeed, beginning to feel the wine in her head, moreso than was normal, no doubt a result of drinking on an empty stomach.
“Certainly, certainly,” he said. “Just a bit more, and then I will show you to your room.” He reached out with the bottle and poured more wine into her glass. His eyes never left her, and she felt obligated to take a drink.
As the new wine hit her system, she felt the slight dizziness increase and a wave of fatigue swept up from her gut. Her eyes began to droop, but she noticed that Dr. Parré’s eyes appeared to narrow.
“Is everything quite alright?” he asked, his voice sounding oddly light for someone inquiring into another’s well-being.
“Oh, it’s just the trip,” she said, her words slurring ever so slightly. No—this could not be happening. How was she already intoxicated? She’d been so careful. She drew in a deep breath, hoping the influx of oxygen would revitalize her.
Must keep talking, she thought. Cannot fall asleep.
“Aren’t you going to have more wine as well?” she asked. “It is so very good.”
Parré nodded. “You know, I believe I will.”
Gwen watched, waiting for him to refill his glass from the bottle on the table, but instead he reached under the table and pulled out a second bottle. He smiled at her as he poured the dark liquid into his glass.
“I thought you might want your own bottle,” he explained, still smiling, although that grin seemed a great deal more wolfish and cunning than it had just minutes before.
“That is … very generous. Although I don’t believe I … should have anything more to drink this evening.”
“Yes,” he said, “you are looking tired. Perhaps I should take you to your room now.”
Gwen closed her eyes and squeezed them tight, trying to rally herself back to night’s plan, but her body was refusing to obey her commands. Her head was swimming, and her stomach was beginning to churn. Her plans for seduction were going to have to wait.
Parré watched the woman as she struggled to stay awake. The drug he’d put in her wine was acting more quickly than he’d anticipated—which was fine with him. He was feeling eager to proceed with the evening … except that he was more uncertain as to what the evening would entail. His original intention was to simply enjoy performing the ritual of the slaughter on a female subject. But as he’d spent time with her, he’d felt the carnal urge begin in his loins. Would it be so bad if he acted on these urges? He had not been with a woman in some time—it was discouraged by Mrs. Chance, in fact, although what business it was of hers, Parré could not imagine. And in general, her interference did not bother him, but there was something about this woman that made him retroactively resent the housekeeper for what he’d been missing out on. He wanted this woman. He could kill her after he’d satisfied his urge.
He stood abruptly and had to fold his hand over the front of his trousers to conceal his growing interest. One look at Gwen, however, revealed that she was likely too much under the spell of the drug to notice any impropriety.
“Come,” he said. “Let me show you to your room.”
He walked around the table toward her, holding out his arm invitingly and smiling in what he hoped was an innocent manner.