The Stolen Heartstone Ch. 02

This is a non-consent story. Although mind control plays a significant role in the story, it is not what is forcing the character's actions, so I have put it in this category.

I'm still working out the rosa-blanca.ru, so suggestions are welcome.

Chapter 1 can be found at //rosa-blanca.ru/desixxxphoto/s/the-stolen-heartstone-ch-01

*

The next few days passed in that odd way that time can both drag and fly. When her mother had asked about the flowers, she'd had to make up something about telling the florist she didn't want daisies. Hopefully there wouldn't be any at the wedding or it would be awkward. Tarin had come by a few days later. At first, she'd thought of sending down the excuse that she was sick. It was an accurate enough reflection of her feelings, after all, particularly when she thought of her betrayal of his trust or of the wedding. That wouldn't be fair to him though, and she didn't want him thinking she was angry at him, so she went down.

He stood by the door, holding his top hat in his hand and running a finger along the rim almost as if he was nervous. He always seemed nervous when he came to her father's estate. She tried to assure him that her father wasn't going to rescind his approval of the marriage, that he wanted her to be happy even if they had hoped she'd use marriage to climb Arisi's social ladder, but he never seemed to quite believe it. Besides, he was from one of the wealthiest of merchant families. It wasn't as if she was marrying a goat herder.

Today, however, it was her turn to feel nervous. No, nervous wasn't the right word. Ashamed? How could she pretend to be focused on the wedding, happy about the future, when all she could think of was what had happened, how the heartstone might have been created, and how to destroy it.

But confidence was still most important, so she put on her best smile. "Oh, I'm glad you caught me. I was just getting ready to go out. It's been so busy lately. I didn't realize there was so much to do, even with a wedding planner. I spent one whole day looking at flowers. You don't like daisies, do you?" She was talking too much, too fast. He'd know something was wrong.

"Daisies?" He smiled that engaging smile of his, the one that had first caught her attention when his father had sent him to broker a deal involving iron and he'd spent more time brokering a different kind of deal in the gardens with her after.

"They were using them everywhere. I was afraid the smell would be too strong." She reached him and tipped her head up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. That's what she'd normally do. It was all entirely normal. But rather than the quick flush of heat from the simple gesture, her mind flashed back to a hand interwoven in her hair, yanking her head back and forcing her to her knees. Worse, she felt a tingle between her legs and for a moment she craved the touch that had come after he'd done... made her do... that. For a moment, she wanted to cling to Tarin, have him hold her, stroke her hair, push the memory away. But it wouldn't be proper, not until after the wedding, and even then, how could she ever ask for something, anything, physical. He'd suspect she knew more than she should.

She stepped back just as he bent to return the kiss. He frowned, confused and a bit hurt. She hadn't meant that. "I just remembered it's bad luck the month of the wedding. We aren't allowed to touch."

He reached for her hand playfully. "I've never heard that. Is it one of the rules you nobility made up to keep men on edge?"

She pulled her hand back. "I don't know. Maybe. But we can't touch now or any touch after the wedding will be cold." She forced a smile. It probably wasn't a very believable smile.

He frowned. "All right, all right. How about if we talk, then?"

"I can't. The tailor is here, and you know you can't see the dress."

"I can wait." Was that hurt in his voice? She hadn't meant to hurt him, but she couldn't face talking to him, not now. She couldn't pull off acting normal.

She started to reach for his hand to reassure him, then remembered she'd said she couldn't. Instead, she grabbed her coat and rushed out the door to escape. She managed an, "I'm sorry," as she left, although she wasn't sure what part of the situation she was apologizing for the most.

#

The tailor wasn't there, not quite yet. The appointment wasn't for another half hour, and he was always impeccably timely, a requirement for anyone in her father's employee. That gave her another thirty minutes to continue her research. She had to be careful of the computers at home. It was impossible to clear the search history completely, and she couldn't begin to think of a good enough explanation. Heartstones could be justified as a passing curiosity, but questions of how to make or destroy one were a bit too much. So instead, she'd looked up books that mentioned them and focused on reading those.

So far, she'd learned nothing of how to destroy one, but had confirmed everything Delron had told her with sickening dread. Once made, they would slowly attune, forcing the owner to obey more rapidly with every use. How long it took to attune varied, but whether immediate or over weeks, the control was inevitable. She hadn't tested Delron's orders. He'd said she wouldn't be able to tell anyone about the heartstone, but who would she have told, anyway? The ruffians that composed the city guard would probably try to find who controlled it to use it, her, for their own enjoyment. Her father's personal security would have reported to him. And even her closest friends would have been horrified and shunned her for fear of what she could be made to do.

The first night, after she came home, the physical memory still strong, she'd tried reaching down to the place between her legs that he'd come so close to stroking. She'd massaged it with one finger, and then two. The effect wasn't the same. She might as well have been trying to tickle herself like her father had done when she was a child and she'd shrieked with laughter. There was little pleasure when she touched herself now, only frustration at the memory of what she wanted. Was that the heartstone attuning to his command not to pleasure herself already, or only her natural physical response?

As for the true goal of her research, however, how to make or destroy a heartstone, she had found little. Reputable sources didn't write about it. For its creation, she'd found references to an item that had lain against the owner's heart, the owner singing a song, an uncertain number of full moons, and "other" components in the ritual. Whether any of the information was even accurate was dubious at best, and left her little closer to identifying the creator. It did mean it had to be someone who was moderately somewhat close to her, someone in the household. A servant perhaps? Surely none of them would betray her like that. They were well treated and had every reason to be loyal.

Thirty minutes and another useless book later, the intercom informed her that the tailor had arrived. By the time she reached the sun room, he'd already laid out the dress and various fittings. He gave a quick bow when she entered. "Good afternoon, Lady. I hope the day finds you well?"

"Well enough, thank you. And yourself?"

"Another beautiful piece nearly finished, and such a lovely showpiece to wear it. How could I be anything but wonderful?" His hand swept to the dress and then to her. Any other day, she'd have taken his words as the meaningless flattery common to his profession, but today her thoughts were elsewhere. Something that had lain close to her heart? Several full moons? He'd been tailoring for their house for a decade. He'd certainly had the opportunity, and it was easier to imagine him using the situation than any of their full time staff. He'd never shown any special interest in her, but that only meant he was crafty.

"Are you ready to try it on?" He held the dress out to her, the silk brocade brushing the ground as he straightened the seams to highlight the cut. Whatever he was, he had always been quick to focus on his work. The white fabric, perfectly stitched to match her body, waved gently.

She nodded a bit, taking it from him and stepping behind the ivy-covered screen to change. This room hadn't been designed for the purpose, but the natural light and range of screens made it perfect. Once out of sight, she rustled her clothes to make it sound as if she were changing, then peered out through the leaves. The tailor's back was to her as he busied himself with an array of lace and beads. Not what she'd expect if he was interested in her in that way, but then he'd have been a fool to do anything inappropriate here in her own house.

Reassured nevertheless, she stepped out of the skirt and loose blouse she'd been wearing and into the white silk, zipping it in back, straightening the sleeves that hung nearly to her knees, adjusting her breasts in the tightly fit bodice. A part of her wished it was cut just a bit lower to show off her figure a bit more, but the other half hid behind her modesty, feeling awkward that the bodice showed anything at all.

Holding the skirt, she stepped out from behind the screen. "You've done a marvelous job." She forced cheer into her voice. She had no evidence that this was the man who'd done it. "It fits perfectly."

When he turned around, his face radiated delight. "It does, Lady. It does indeed. You're absolutely beautiful." You. He'd said you, not the dress. He clutched his hands in front of him, gesturing for her to imitate the action as he analyzed his work, a small tug here, another pull there as he walked a slow circle around her, squinting appraisal. Every action was so meticulously proper she couldn't think it was him, but if not, who else could it be?

"Do you do all the work yourself?" She asked.

"I have two apprentices. One is young, but the other is nearly finished with his training. I had planned to have him assist with the beading, if it pleases you."

"It does not," she snapped. Nearly finished with his training meant he'd be around twenty, her age and a perfect suspect.

He straightened measuring a thin lace ruffle against her neck, careful not to actually touch her skin. "As you wish, Lady, but the time is limited. Would you perhaps feel more comfortable if I brought some of his work for you to examine? He is quite skilled, I assure you. You will be quite satisfied with anything he does."

She didn't care one bit about his work, and wasn't going to be satisfied no matter his skill, but going to visit the shop would give her an excuse to leave the house and keep the forced one-week appointment at the other place.

"I need to get out of the house. I'll come to your shop the day after tomorrow. We'll see how I feel then."

"As you wish," he said, not looking up from his measuring. She let him, glad not to have to make up a reason to go out. At least that part of the day wouldn't be horrible.

#

The next day passed all too quickly. Over and over she considered not going. There was nothing forcing her, not literally, and if Delron planned on her being there, then maybe she could at least ruin his plans for the time. It was a small vengeance, but it was something. But she knew what would happen if she didn't. She might have a week, or three, to herself before she felt the tug of his using the heartstone again, but it would come, and faster each time. Whereas before she had only his words of how it worked, now she knew it was true. Until she could figure out how to destroy it, she couldn't risk letting it attune more.

#

When the day came, she delayed as much as possible, first spending time looking over her brother's bookkeeping for him. He was smart, and would make a good lord, but he wasn't as good at numbers as she was. He worked too quickly, made small mistakes, and so she'd agreed to double check his accounting. His valet, had come early to ask for the books and watched as she quickly finished the last of the tallying. It was always harder to finish while being watched, especially when he had that smirk of knowledge at the secret that she was doing her brother's work. Still, she'd finished quickly and handed them over. "Tell him he's getting better at math," she muttered. It was her fault for not completing them three days ago as promised. It had been hard to concentrate.

She took one last moment to procrastinate, this time to braid her hair. It wasn't a style she usually wore except when horseback riding or playing sports, but she didn't want his fingers entwining in it again. When the driver stepped in to inquire if he could help with anything, a polite inquiry that really meant he wanted to know when she'd be ready, she went. Twenty minutes later, he landed outside the tailor's shop, a place she'd never been to. She told the driver not to wait, explaining friends were coming and they'd go out to eat later. In truth, she could think of nothing worse than friends coming, but that mattered little.

Inside, the shop smelled of new fabric. She glanced around at the dresses hanging in various stages of completion, red and blue and green shimmered and danced before her, some skirts long in the latest fashion that made it nearly impossible to walk, others cut so short that sitting would present a challenge. Lace at the hem helped, but she couldn't think when that had become stylish.

A moment later, the back door opened and the tailor entered, smiling his ever-present smile. "Oh, welcome. I thought I'd heard someone come in. My apprentice wanted to meet you, but he had a something he needed to do. I have some of his work here, though." He rifled through several blouses, selecting this one and that one and laying them in front of her. The stitches were indeed neat, orderly, and unlikely to be rivaled by even the best. She didn't care. It was the man himself she'd wanted to see, and he was conveniently gone. Was he afraid to meet her? Worried that if he bought the heartstone later, she'd recognize him?

She forced herself to look at a couple more pieces to give the appearance of interest, then waved with a practiced sign of assent. "Very well. He is quite talented, I can see. He may assist with the dress, and please give him my compliments."

The tailor breathed a nearly invisible sigh of relief. "Thank you, Lady. That will help immensely with completing the dress on time. I'll look over it myself to make sure his work meets my high standards. And yours."

"Yes, I have no doubt. Thank you." She looked around the shop, wanting to stay longer. Was it rude to look at other people's uncompleted clothes? It would delay her departure.

However, delaying accomplished nothing except to delay, and in the end, there was no advantage. Either whatever he had planned would happen or it would not. She thanked him one last time and left, hailing a taxi and asking him to drop her at a restaurant two blocks away again.

#

The fear was different this time when she pushed the ringer on the door and waited. Before, she'd been confused and nervous, more out of fear of being here than of what might happen. She'd still thought her life was her own. Now she knew otherwise.

The lock clicked and she pushed the door open and stepped in out of the alleyway with relief. She realized only once inside that there were two men at the desk, well dressed, likely merchants. She almost bolted back outside when Delron saw her. "Welcome, Lady. Do come in. Forgive me for not attending to you immediately. We're almost finished. Please have a seat. I'll have refreshments sent." He was all politeness and manners just as he had been when she'd first come. Could she be so lucky that he had forgotten who she was or why she was here?

The men were leafing through a book of what looked like photographs when Delron stepped away from the desk and towards the door leading into the back. Once out of their line of sight, the polite smile turning to a hungry leer as his hand went to his crotch. He hadn't forgotten at all.

He returned with a cup of tea in china that would have fit just as well at her house as here. He set it on the table next to her, letting his hand brush against her breast as he leaned down. She could barely feel it, wouldn't have felt it on another occasion, but she knew. "I do apologize, but if you'll give me just a few more minutes, you'll have my full attention." He smiled that same leer again before turning back to the customers.

The men still leafed through the book, but the closest one had shifted slightly, angled so he could peer at her. Thank goodness she didn't recognize him, but that didn't mean he didn't recognize her. From his quick glances, she couldn't tell if he did, or if he was just surprised to see someone like her here. Much more likely the ladder, but that offered little reassurance.

Not thirsty at all, she picked up the teacup, held it as high as possible in front of her face and tipped her head down, trying to obscure her face as much as possible. As much as possible wasn't very much, but it was better than nothing.

She sipped slowly, dragging it out as the two men argued about the girls. Their speech was restrained in her presence, with a vague, "This one looks good," or "She has nice hair." Even at a high class place such as this, she was sure those wouldn't be the comments they'd be making if she weren't here. It served them just as well. They could behave in a manner befitting there station even here.

She turned her head away when they left, hoping they wouldn't get a clear view of her face but knowing that was impossible. When they were gone, Delron put away the appointment schedule. "I wasn't sure if you would come on your own today, or if I'd have to force you back here." He pulled a chair next to her and sat much closer than was appropriate.

"I came." She had no desire to say more, but when he didn't speak again, she went on. "Is there a back entrance I could use next time?" She hesitated, uncertain of the right word to call those who worked here. "One for employees?"

He smirked. "We have a back employee entrance, as you call it. But I'd much rather you use the front. It's good for business. Don't worry, though. I won't let anyone know you're an employee. We wouldn't want to ruin your reputation, after all." He patted her leg as if reassuring a child, except his hand fell far too high up her thigh. It stayed there, fingers rubbing slowly across the place where her leg met her hip.

She reached for his hand, picked it up by the wrist gingerly as one would a dead mouse, and set it back on his own chair. "If my reputation is so important to you, what about the chances of someone recognizing me inside?"

"Well aren't we feisty today?" He laughed, returning his hand, this time reaching down between her legs a bit further. He didn't touch her there, where a part of her already wanted to feel him, but instead pushed her legs further apart. "No one who sees you here will know you're an employee, and if anyone does recognize you, you can claim you're here checking on your fiancé, or maybe one of your servants. I don't suppose you would want one of them visiting an establishment like this, would you?"

"Of course not," she shot back.

His hand squeezed the inner part of her leg just a bit, highlighting the irony. She clamped her legs together, trapping his hand. It was no less inappropriate this way, but at least it gave her a sense of control.

"Well, it seems natural that you'd check to assure none of them were working here." He tried to pull his hand out but she held it there, a small dominance victory aside from the fact that the victory meant his hand stayed in a place it very much shouldn't be.

He went on, not acknowledging the power play between her legs as he massaged her inner thigh, kneading the muscles slowly. It was all he could reach, and he kept his face even. He might as well have been discussing one of her father's mining contracts across a boardroom table. "If you're worried about the clients we let use you, they'll all sign non-disclosure agreements. They're free to discuss the experience, but not your identity."