Page 42 of Marrying Bluebeard

Her lips purse with amusement as her gaze flicks down to my bare chest and feet. “Well. I’m certainly seeing you now.” Her hands brush my shoulders before drifting south, teasing their way down before resting on my hips. Her thumbs hook inside my waistband, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I’m butter on a hot day.

Adelaide presses a series of kisses along my collarbone before turning and picking up her discarded shears. I immediately steal them away, causing her to huff. “Just tell me what you want trimmed, and leave this relic to me. I promise to get you a superior replacement soon.”

“I was managing it just fine,” Adelaide points out, grinning playfully. “But if you insist, then I suppose I can humor you.”

“That’s all I ask.” I bump my hips against her rear as I peer over her shoulder, pretending to examine the unruly bush. “Now, where would you like me to stick my tool?”

Her snort-laugh fills me with sunshine, and I’m certain my grin is more than a little foolish as she responds with a wiggle of her own. She stretches out her hand, pointing to a particularly tangled mass of brambles. “Here, I think—oh!” She yanks her hand back, blood beading on the tip of her finger. “Clumsy me.”

The monster rears its head.

“I have to…” Saliva floods my mouth as her scent permeates the air. The shears clatter against the paving stones as I press a hand over my face. “I have to go. A meeting, I’m late.” Nonsense. I’m sputtering gibberish, but it’s all I can manage as the blood lust claws its way up my throat. I need to get out of here.

“Bertrand?” Her voice calls after me as I run stumbling from the garden, but I don’t look back until I’ve reached the side door. Even then, I only glance long enough to ensure she hasn’t followed.

Three days.

I crumple to the floor and bite my arm, sucking desperately. It doesn’t help. I need more. I could go into town, go to Jacob’s. Get the bottle I’ve hidden away just in case. Only I may not make it in time. If I were to come across anyone on my way…

Too risky.

Besides, Celeste would know. She always knows.

“Monsieur?” Louise’s face looms over me, her expression obscured in my blurry vision. She tsks, her voice gently scolding. “You shouldn’t have vexed her. You know the master has a temper.” She bends down, fussing over my arm. I latch onto her wrist.

“Lock me up.”

“What?”

I pull her lower, adding as much steel as I can to my raspy voice. “Take me to the dungeon and lock me up until Celeste sends down blood. If you don’t, I fear I may consume you all.”

She only hesitates a moment before nodding. With her help, I make it through the back halls and down into the depths of the castle where a small, three-cell dungeon has been dug out. The bars are rusty and the cell door sticks when Louise tries to open it. My own strength is waning, but I manage it with one good pull before collapsing inside.

“Bring food and water,” I tell her, stretching out on the stale hay. “But under no circumstances are you to let on that I’m down here. Especially not to Adelaide.”

“No offense, Monsieur, but I’m fairly certain she’ll notice your absence. You two have been quite… close since returning.”

“Tell her I’ve been called away on business. Something urgent that required I leave right away.”

“As you wish, Monsieur.”

I leverage myself up on my elbows as I focus on Louise’s shaky figure in the dimly lit space. “Thank you, Louise. Your discretion is appreciated.”

“Of course, Monsieur.”

“And Louise…”

“Yes?”

“I suggest you take a long, hard look at me now, because this is the future you’re working so hard for—a slave bound to Celeste’s whims. I don’t recommend it.”

There’s a long pause before she speaks. “Is that all, Monsieur?”

I sigh. It’s clear she isn’t going to take my advice, but at least I gave it. “No, there’s one more thing. Adelaide—I need you to keep an eye on her. Don’t let Edgar or Ricard trick her into entering the tower while I’m down here. I don’t trust them as much as I do you.”

“That won’t be a problem, Monsieur,” Louise replies. There’s a loud click as she turns the key, locking the cell door. Her voice is gentle, regretful even, but the softness doesn’t ease the gutting agony that comes with her next words: