Page 40 of The Sinner's Bargain

I was partially surprised she hadn’t dove face first into the food the minute she saw the tray. It was on her face. The ravenous hunger of someone who hadn’t eaten in days.

She probably hadn’t, I mused, taking in the thin wisp of her figure. A good wind could have taken her out, yet she looked me in the eye and lied, and I knew she wouldn’t touch that plate if I was there. It was unclear if she was trained that way or because she was shy, but I knew what I had to do.

I leaned into the wall next to my office doors and waited.

I pulled out my phone and answered a few emails and sent a text to Lake, the cleaning crew I hadn’t bothered hiring in a year. Since Penelope. Five brides down, keeping a cursed pile of garbage clean seemed like a useless endeavor. It was just me. I didn’t have company and evidently, a wife or children. What difference did it make if the place was dusted? I cleaned my own room. Cooke kept the kitchen immaculate. Oliver was in charge of his own quarters and the men had their own space to do with what they wanted. The rest of the house was simply just there.

But the dust on my new guest’s clothes, the stains on her feet wouldn’t do. I wouldn’t allow her to breathe years of neglect into her lungs. It didn’t matter that she may not be there for long.

I pried the doors open a crack after several minutes to peek inside when it was still too quiet to find her finishing the last of the sandwich as if someone might try to steal it.

But I waited until she’d taken her last bite, and her plate was empty. I gave her a few extra minutes to relax the tensions in her shoulders and let the food settle.

But she did none of those things.

She picked up her tea and rose. Curiosity had me pulling back to watch as she walked to the window behind my desk and simply stood there, staring through years of unwashed glass at the wild tangle of forest and swamp.

There was no ethereal light gliding over her alabaster skin or weaving through the heavy cap of hair falling down her back. The overgrown hedges outside the window kept all daylight mostly out. But I would have given my last dollar to have that calm stillness on her face painted.

Fuck, she was beautiful.

It was infuriating because Elena had been beautiful. Same with Penelope, Danika, Constance, and Anne. They had all been beautiful. Yet none of them had driven me crazy with the bone deep desire to touch them. None had made me want to protect them from all the evils of the world.

None had made my chest tight.

One look at her and I was a sinking ship of indecision and chaos. She baffled me and infuriated me. I wanted her submission and her fire.

Maybe I was losing my mind.

Maybe all the mold in the walls were finally doing me in because I hadn’t felt a fraction of this turmoil with any of the others and I had no idea what to make of that, except I was terrified.

Terrified of losing her as horrifically and violently as the others.

Terrified of damning her soul to be trapped in that house.

Terrified that if I let her in, let her stay, and I let myself believe things would be different that I would never recover if I was wrong.

Marrying her wasn’t a problem. I could have the man with the cloth at the house within the hour. It was everything afterwards that made my stomach knot.

So, what then? I asked myself. What other options do you have?

Listen to Cyrus and Oliver, and put her on the first bus out of my life?

Ignore the warnings and keep her ... and what?

If not marry her, what then?

Would it matter? Would the house recognize an innocent soul not linked to the Lacroix name? Would it care?

A muffled squeaking sound had me blinking out of my thoughts. I watched her rub a finger against the glass, leaving a smear in her attempts. Her lips turned down in disappointment and her arm not holding her mug lowered down to cradle the ceramic between both palms again.

Her and windows.

I didn’t understand her fascination with them. I’d gone down the west wing, followed her tiny footprints in filth that hadn’t been disturbed in years all the way to the top of the garden steps. I could see the frantic streaks, the spaced-out shapes of her running back at full speed. But it was the neat little side-by-side prints stopping at each window that had both broken my heart and amused me. Part of me wondered if she would tell me if I asked.

I decided against it almost immediately. I was already far too invested in a dead-end situation. Everything in my life felt tremulous and teetering on the edge since her arrival. Maybe Oliver was right. Maybe letting her go was the best option, but if Vance was right and she was a spy...

I blew out a breath and raked five fingers back through my hair.

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