Page 48 of Til Death Duke Us Part
When she heard her parents’ footsteps recede down the hallway, she counted to one hundred. Then she flung open her door and ran.
Not toward them.
Not north toward Manchester.
She ran west.
Toward him.
She could dig. She could climb. But she ran, and she had no idea what that meant.
12
PERSEPHONE’S TUB (NOT THE DUKE’S TUB)
Victor only had a fire to stare despondently into because his brother-in-law had visited. He’d left forever coal, an alchemist invention that burned clean and warm and lasted much longer than the real stuff. No flames, though. So it wasn’t a fire so much as it was… warm blank space in his grate. Practical but rather underwhelming. Alchemists possessed no sense of drama or aesthetics.
He should have stollen that old woman’s grave work. But he hadn’t.
And all he had now was the damned ring. Didn’t even have that anymore. The place in his pocket where it had resided on the trip home from Manchester seemed to still carry the ring’s weight and heat.
He stood, pushing back one of the few remaining pieces of furniture as he did so.
Brooding was bloody impossible without a real fire. It was time for him to go?—
A knock on the door, loud and demanding.
“What the hell?” He made for the entry, and the knocking continued, a percussive companion to his irritated bootsteps. He threw the door open.
And was punched in the face.
“Oh! Oh no! I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Persephone?”
She was dressed in a man’s shirt and trousers and covered in mud. Her hands were over her mouth, her eyes wide. “I was knocking. You opened the door so quickly, I… I didn’t mean to.”
“What are you doing here?” Hell, he sounded enraged. He heard it. His voice contained the snap of a tiger. But his heart was leaping, growing, glowing. And his nose was throbbing.
She lowered her arms and lifted her chin. Then she shoved her way inside. “I want a bath.” She headed for the stairs, remembering well, apparently, the direction she’d taken only once about a week ago.
He followed her and paused at the top of the stairs when she did. She glared at every door in the corridor, as if trying to figure out what was behind them.
He’d show her. He stepped around her, irritation dissolving in an instant. “This way. Bathe as you like, only…”
“Everyone will think me your mistress. There were people in the street when I came in.”
“Perhaps.” He led her to his chamber.
She strode past him to enter. “I don’t give a damn. Do you?”
“No.” A little, yes.
She marched across the room and stopped in the middle, looking about, not disguising her curiosity. Her eyes were red rimmed as if she’d been crying. He wanted to… hug her? God, yes. And how humiliating was that? He hadn’t wanted to hug anyone since childhood. Yet… he did. Wanted to wrap his arms around her in the most chaste of embraces and hold her until dawn came. Longer.
But he didn’t dare move an inch.
“I am filthy.” She sniffled, moving into the bathing chamber.
