Page 85 of The Sinner's Bargain

It wasn’t my place. I had no useful information to add and had no interest in listening to endless chat about whatever it was they did.

But I tiptoed near the doors. Not to listen but to see if I could catch a glimpse of Thoran.

The barriers stayed firm. Not a peep could be heard.

I sighed and hugged my book closer.

“Miss Smith?”

I spun at the crack of words and sound splintering the echoing chamber around me. I faced the man bleeding out of the shadows as if created by them to stand before me in attire as dark as his hair.

“Mr. Cyrus.” I put a hand over my startled heart. “I didn’t see you.”

He crept close. Large frame dominating the wide corridor. “Did you need something?”

I shook my head. “I wanted to take a walk. I was hoping Thoran was finished.”

Eyes that were normally the navy blue of the night sky drifted up over my head to the door just behind me. “It won’t be for a while still.”

Biting back the disappointment pushing down on my excitement at seeing Thoran, I offered the other man a small smile. “I see. Thank you.”

I started further along the hall. Following the familiar path towards the courtyard. I hadn’t taken a dozen steps when Cyrus’s voice brought me up.

“Don’t wander. It’s not safe.”

I assured him I understood and continued.

I wasn’t entirely honest with him. The last few days out of sheer boredom, I had taken to exploring the endless maze of corridors and rooms. I avoided anywhere the cleaners had dusted, an indication in my mind that those rooms were occupied.

The abandoned places were cluttered spaces brimming with boxes, old furniture, and the overpowering stench of mold and water damage. The whole place reeked of swamp.

But there were the occasional rooms with wardrobes brimming with clothes that belonged in a museum and gorgeous, leather chests with bronze locks and tidy labels. I recognized a few of the names from the wall of portraits.

I told myself they wouldn’t mind. I wasn’t normally a nosey person, but the stories confined in the cases fascinated me. It was things Thoran could probably tell me but learning them through little pieces left behind just felt exciting.

I was careful not to touch any of the lace or satin folded neatly amongst tissue. It all seemed so fragile I didn’t want to wreck anything. But I would thumb carefully through journals and old photos. I would examine Vittoria’s elegant bone structure and Delphine’s golden eyes.

Thoran’s eyes.

It was hours of time that kept me busy until dinner where I would wash off the dust and grime and hurry to the dining room in hopes that Thoran would finally be free.

But the day was too nice. Too inviting. I didn’t want to be closed up with memories and dust.

Mother didn’t allow us in the gardens. I wasn’t allowed out of the house unless I was being taken somewhere by Mother to entertain potential allies.

To distract a rival.

My job was always to create a diversion while my parents got something out of someone else. I was the pawn. The shiny object to get pulled out when it was necessary and tucked away when I was no longer needed.

I got sunlight from my window seat. The breeze from the open window. I touched grass when there was a garden party at one of Father’s client’s houses. But I often wondered what it would be like to read outside. To be left alone in peace without worrying I wasn’t sitting properly or behaving appropriately. A place like Lacroix House was the ideal backdrop to my quest.

Driven by my newfound endeavor, I slipped out a set of side doors and out into the afternoon chill.

The grounds of Lacroix House unfurled in every direction, a landscape of wild brush kept barely at bay from overtaking the house. The winding path surrounding the house had overgrown weeds breaking through uneven stones and a tangle of gnarled branches twisting across the trail.

My gaze lingered over the glass and stone façade of the house, and I tried to recall where I was as I made my way towards the back. The house was too large to get my bearings, but I knew if I could just find the lake, I would have a better chance.

Determined, I picked my way carefully across slabs of rock slick with moss and puddles of stagnant rain. The scent of wet dirt and foliage hung heavy with the pungent stench of swamp, lake water, and something I couldn’t put my finger on but reminded me of the weeks leading up to a big event when Mother would hire a crew of cleaners and the entire house would stink of ammonia.

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