After freshening up in the bathroom—and pulling on a pair of panties—I pace the length of the room once more, my limbs tense from nerves as the hour passes. At ten minutes till, someone knocks on the door, and a chill travels down my spine as I fall to my knees and assume the required pose. I open my mouth to call out “come in” but think better of it. I hate this uncertainty, this insecurity and fear that has me second-guessing every move.

Several tense seconds pass before the door inches open and Mr. Bordeaux’s manservant enters my personal space. “Please rise. You’re only required to kneel in Master Bordeaux’s presence.”

“Master Bordeaux?” Confusion pulls at my brows, and the question escapes before I can trap it on my tongue. The blond man overwhelming the space of my bedroom doesn’t seem bothered by the question though. Unlike his employer, he doesn’t appear to mind when I speak.

“Yes, though he’s Mr. Bordeaux to you.” He strides to the closet and chooses a pair of black heels before closing the doors I’d left open in my search of something suitable to wear. “He sent me in to prepare you for dinner,” the manservant explains, holding the shoes out to me.

I rise to my feet and take the offered heels. “May I ask your name?” Too nervous to meet his eyes, I focus on the shoes, fingers tracing the swirling, glittery design. “I don’t know what I should call you.”

Suddenly, building a rapport with this man seems important. With my ladies exiled for the next month and Mr. Bordeaux’s gag order in effect, his manservant will probably be my only form of companionship in the coming weeks.

“Of course,” he says, voice lowering in sympathy as if he knows what the simplicity of his presence, and the use of my voice, might mean to me. “It’s Loren.”

“Is it okay if I call you Loren?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you,” I murmur as I slip on the shoes, grateful for at least one ally in this house, because it sure as hell isn’t Loren’s master.

“You’re welcome.” Loren holds the door open with a nod of his blond head, gesturing for me to precede him into the wide hallway that leads to the rest of Mr. Bordeaux’s home. “Master Bordeaux instructed me to pass along some directions for dinner.” We make our way into the main living room, with its sleek black groupings of lounges and curved chairs, crystal-accented side tables, and the grand piano on proud display in front of the wall of windows facing the ocean.