Frustration set in. “There is no reason for me not to read that journal. I’m a grown woman. You aren’t protecting me from anything.”
“Perhaps it is not you who I’m protecting.” He said it in such a casual manner as he undid his other sleeve that she had to repeat the statement in her head to understand.
“Who would you be protecting? You don’t know any of the people in the book.”
He stepped toward her. “What would you say if I told you that I did? That I knew everyone in that book?” He circled around her. She hated when he did that. It made her feel out of control and small.
“I would say that you were lying.”
“You wouldn’t believe me?”
“You would be lying aboutsomething. Whether it be this or your lies of omission at the beginning.”
“Ah.” He trailed a hand along her neck. “And you don’t forgive easily, do you, Marietta?”
“No.” It was a failing she had never been able to overcome.
“You still haven’t forgiven Mark. Or your parents. Or Kenneth. Or yourself.”
She stiffened. “I have nothing to forgive myself for.”
“No?”
“You are changing the subject. Do you knowanythingabout the book?”
“Mmmm. Possibly. Possibly I know nearly every person referenced within.”
She spun, but he somehow stayed right behind her, his lips brushing her ear.
“What would you do to me if I knew? If I knew exactly who killed all those women and chose not to let your brother go?”
So this is what it felt like to be launched from a cannon. “What?”
“Would you feel betrayed? Have you fallen for me, Marietta?” His hands slipped down her sides and pulled her against him.
“What?” she whispered. It was the only word she seemed capable of speaking.
His lips touched her neck. “Have you fallen for me, Marietta?”
Sudden clarity pierced her panic. “You utter bastard.” She spun away from him. “You are testing me. Why do you do this? Have I not proven trustworthy? Have I not followed you blindly? I even gave you my virginity!”
“Do you think that I seek blind followers?” His eyes were unreadable and dark. Watching. Testing.
“I don’t know.” She wanted to scream. She wanted to leave. What right did he have, the uttercad.
“That kiss in the tavern—what were you trying to do?”
“My kiss? You always kiss me like that! How dare—what—how—when…argh!” She gave in to the urge. “You will need to admit me to Bedlam when we are through. Do you do this to everyone you work with? I’ll bet you did it to Oscar. He seems two steps away. What’s wrong with Anthony and Frank and Clarisse and Mrs. Rosaire?”
“I never did a thing to them.” The bastard had the nerve to look amused.
“I am the lucky one, then? Joy. So then, which is it? Testing me, or do you know who is in the journal?”
He looked away, toward the mounted clock. “I’m testing you, of course.”
“Always testing. What will happen…after?”
He leaned back against the wave of the serpentine chest and worked at the buttons on his shirt, sliding one out through the hole, then another, without looking away from her. “After?”
