Page 65 of The Lady’s Guide to Deception and Desire
“The Maya used them to advantage, you know, carving spaces for their settlements within the dense jungle habitat of these very snakes. A defensive boundary, we might say, which enemies would be loath to cross.”
Rosamund’s gaze swept to the sarcophagus opposite. Most of those in the crypt bore the same emblem on their sides: an interconnectingSengraved in the stone. She’d thought the letter stood for Studborne. Now, she saw the shape wasn’t a letter at all but a depiction of curving snakes.
“Both in the wild and in captivity they’re prone to cannibalism, but small reptiles and mammals are equally to their taste.” Lord Studborne looked meaningfully at the cage in which Pom Pom was trapped.
“No!” Rosamund pleaded. “Don’t hurt him.”
Lord Studborne was all nonchalance. “If you do as I ask, the dog will go unharmed.”
He shifted the weight of the viper about his shoulders. “Life and death, creation and destruction, have all been associated with the serpent—a creature sacred to the Maya. The Vision Serpent guarded the doorway to the spiritual world, but the bridge could be crossed, between this realm and the next, through the letting of blood.”
“The Maya?” She’d heard Lord Studborne mention the ancient civilisation more than once before. It played upon his mind, though she didn’t understand why.
They were in Dorset, in the depths of rural England while those long-gone tribes had lived in…Mexico, wasn’t it?
The duke spoke calmly, as if he were explaining something of utmost logic and rationality, rather than the outlandish. “Their knowledge was far beyond our own. Vasco understood. Returning from his travels, he founded the abbey in the guise of a Christian monastery, but his initiates were instructed in the ancient ways, communing with the gods of that far off place.”
The snake’s head swung in Rosamund’s direction, its beady stare upon her.
“The significance of Vasco’s journals only struck me when I faced the loss of my Violetta—but all I’ve discovered has led to this night, and to you, my dear.” With gleaming eyes, he approached where his wife lay and lowered his shoulder, so that the snake slithered slowly into the open sarcophagus.
Even though Rosamund knew the occupant to be long past any state in which she might revile contact with the predator, the sight made Rosamund’s skin crawl. She couldn’t help but imagine herself in the duchess’s place, the creature heavy as it coiled about her body.
“What are you doing?” Rosamund’s voice sounded weak and thin, and she hated it. If she were to die here, she might do so with dignity, rather than showing fear.
In answer, Lord Studborne crossed to where she was bound, her arms still tied behind, fastened to the pillar.
He knelt to tuck a fallen lock of hair behind her ear and Rosamund held herself rigid, wishing neither to anger him nor encourage.
But the duke seemed beyond noticing her discomfort. He was in his own world, his eyes bright as he whispered, his breath warm upon Rosamund’s neck. “The serpent is a master of transformation and, tonight, a conduit for the rebirth of my wife’s spirt. You shall be the vial into which she passes. One bite for each, from the same fatal fang, and your souls shall meet in the moment of your crossing over. As you pass into the eternal, she shall have the power to return, and awaken in the body chosen for her.”
All the while, Lord Studborne stroked Rosamund’s cheek, as if comforting a small child. “The poison is potent and the pain will be fleeting. As soon as the viper has delivered its venom to Violetta, it shall serve you the same kiss.”
He was mad!
His grief had brought him to the depths of desperation, to place his faith in the macabre. The other girls had paid with their lives, and now she would join them, becoming his next victim.
Would it be quick, as he promised—like touching your finger upon the embroidery needle? Or would she feel the toxin moving black through her blood, wending to her heart?
“Just a little prick, to give the serpent the smell of its prey.” The duke’s tone was reverential as he brought forward the same ceremonial dagger he’d used before.
The weapon’s multiple blades, embedded through the wooden stem, gleamed in the candlelight, but there were dusty brown marks upon them too; not rust, but the dried blood of those before her.
Rosamund curbed tears as Lord Studborne drew the blade across the pad of her thumb.
“My sweet one.” The duke laid down the knife and cupped Rosamund’s face. “Tonight, I shall take your virginity again, as on our first wedding night—and our communion shall be complete.”
Rosamund squeezed shut her eyes.
This was the wedding the duke had planned all along. This ghoulish parody of the sacrament of marriage, thinking he could bring back his beloved wife from beyond the grave.
It was grotesque.
Rosamund thought back to the day she’d journeyed to the abbey, and how excited her mother had been—giving her the rubies, and that ridiculous book.
The Lady’s Guide to All Things Useful.
What use had it been?
