Isla’s POV**

I woke up to the smell of pine and rain, my head throbbing and my wrists aching.

The room was dim, lit only by a single lamp in the corner. Wooden walls, heavy curtains, a large bed I was lying on. My hands were tied loosely to the headboard with soft rope — not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough that I couldn’t easily get free. My legs were free, but I was still in the silk nightshirt I’d been wearing when he took me.

Him.

The masked man from my father’s mansion.

I remembered his eyes — stormy gray, intense, burning into me like he saw...