His gaze swept over the desk, finding the drawings I’d destroyed to make the boning of the stays.

“Should I possess a harp,” he said, “I now know to lock it up.”

“And the bristle brush you use on your teeth.” I gave him a toothy smile, flashing my sparkling white enamel. “Unless you don’t mind me borrowing it again.”

“You have no shame.”

“None at all.”

He had no anger. No emotion. But he must have felt something. He was a thinking, calculating man of intellect. It concerned me that I couldn’t read him.

“Now you should allow me to ask you some questions.” I raised my chin.

“Come with me.” He turned on his heel and strode into the dining cabin.

Curious, I padded after him.

At the table, he pulled out a chair for me. I moved to sit, but he blocked my path, his eyes fixed on the loose ties of my stays.

I didn’t have to follow his gaze to feel my chest spilling from the low-cut neckline. The exposure had been by design.

As I opened my mouth to ask for his assistance, his fingers beat me to it, latching onto the laces between my breasts. Then he yanked. Hard. The stays constricted, cutting my air. He pulled harder until I thought my ribs would crack.

I sucked in my torso and adjusted to the girding pressure, watching his expression, searching for a flush, a heated look, a bobbing throat.

Nothing.

He secured a knot between my breasts, making the stays impossibly close and tight. Strait-laced. Then he patted the surface of the table, willfully mute.

I stared at the gesture, confused.

“Bend over. Face down.” He tapped the surface again. “Just here.”

“My lord?” My heart rate quickened. “Surely, you don’t mean to—”

“You ransacked my personal effects, ruined my clothing, and destroyed my drawings.” He folded his hands behind him, shoulders squared. “Despite your childish games, I should hope you have arrived at an accurate conclusion.”

“Which is?”

“Your romantic plans to instigate my ire will not come to fruition.”

“Yes, you’ve fallen short of expectations. But honestly, Ashley, you must learn to share your feelings for this relationship to work.”

“What…” He breathed in, out. “What relationship?”

“Our captor-captive relationship.” I narrowed my eyes.

“Indeed. I was just getting to that.” He pointed his chin at the table. “Bend over, if you please. We can do this with your arms free or bound behind you.”

“This?” My pulse rammed like a sledge in my ears. “What—?”

In a blur, his hand stabbed into my hair, fingers clenching in the curls at my scalp and yanking my head back.

“Listen carefully, Goldilocks.” He forced my eyes to meet his tyrannical glare, his voice chillingly absent of storm or wind. “I will not give you the reaction you seek. But I will always make good on your punishment.”