Page 39 of Spark of Madness

“I’d rather be put to a swift death…” I hear her mutter, and I don’t know whether she intended for me to hear it.

“Speak up if you mean to be heard.”

Her head snaps and her eyes meet mine again so sharply that I feel knocked back in my seat. I clutch the armrests. “I said that I’d rather be put to a swift death than be tortured by you this way through the end of my days.”

I’m surprised she said something; I’m surprised she met my gaze. Naturally, I’d assumed she’d humble herself when I called out her muttering. But instead, she met me with heat, raised her voice, and spoke her truth.

She’s a sinner,I remind myself.

She’s a sinner, she’sa sinner, she’s a sinner.

I know she’s a sinner, yet her unearned self-pride pulls a smile through my lips. “Mercy Madness, you’ve yet to know torture.”

I shove to my feet and stride across the room to meet her. My body moves me into her space against my will, against my better judgment. I watch myself step closer and closer to that line.

I turn toward the bed and she turns with me, and when I press closer still, she tries to step back…only the bed is behind her. She drops to sit, her chin tilting skyward to look up at me, her strange, beautiful eyes staying with me.

“I will make you a promise, though,” I tell her.

“A promise?”

I bend, dipping so low that my forehead practically touches hers as I slip two fingers beneath her chin. Her sweet lips part, probably to protest my nearness, but I speak before she can. “A promise for you and the twisted morals that seem to rule your life. You will know what torture is before you meet your end.”

Her eyes narrow on me. “My twisted morals?”

“Those are the words you choose to question?”

I’ve made a promise that she’ll meet torture in her numbered days, yet she questions my assessment of her morals—it’s baffling.

“Those are the only words in your statement that I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand about them, sinner? Your morality presents with as much madness as your namesake.”

“If you think it’s mad to run from a man who chases after you with the intent of setting you on fire, then yes, call me mad.”

My gaze drops from her eyes to her lips. “Are you referring to me or to Hyatt Price? I assure you, my intent was also to set you on fire when you ran from me in the forest.”

I shouldn’t have said that.

I shouldn’t have thought it.

I’m mad myself—mad with impulses I needed to have served.

“And you did,” she whispers.

My ribcage opens up, letting my heart drop heavily and sink in my gut.

She blinks and turns her head, quickly breaking the connection between us—a connection that shouldn’t exist.

I step back, straightening to my full height. “Get dressed.”

This time, she obeys, rising to her feet and turning her back on me. I stand and watch as she dresses quickly, and when she pulls the gown up her body, I reach for the zipper on the back of her dress. I don’t waste time, though I’m tempted to graze her spine with my fingers. I zip it up quickly, then turn on my heel and storm toward the door.

“Go where you like within the Homestead, but if you try to leave the manor alone, you will be stopped. I’ll come later and retrieve you for dinner.”

Without sparing her another glance, I pull open the door, step out into the hallway, and slam it shut behind me. I stride down the hallway with no direction, simply moving away from the temptation of her as quickly as I can.

chapter thirteen

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