Page 5
I shake my head and help myself to more of the man’s expensive whiskey. “No. Yes? I haven’t decided yet. It is the only place I know other than Hemlock Valley. I will figure it out when I arrive, I’m sure.”
He nods, his eyebrow arched in pensive thought. “Well, you are welcome to continue on with me if you wish. I’m headed to a town called Raven’s Gate. My betrothed is going to finally make an honest man out of me. I so hope that the place suits me. I’ve traveled across an ocean to get here…”
I know plenty of the most carnal longings and appetites. But love? Never. I can’t imagine ever being that vulnerable with anyone. The most dangerous thing a man can ever do is get married. “Congratulations,” I drawl as I raise my glass.
He clinks his glass to mine and winks. “Ah, yes. Thank you, Bell. I’m a bit nervous to meet her. Her family is quite wealthy and influential. But I’m told that her beauty is worth ten times the dowry they presented to me.”
I nearly choke on my whiskey. “You’ve never met her? Forget beauty, she could be dull or incompetent. Or have an annoyingly high-pitched voice. Why would you leave your home and come all this way for a woman you don’t know?”
He pats me on the back. “Because I believe in love, Bell. And I’m so lonely. I’m the last of my family. The sole surviving Lord of the Erebus bloodline. I’d like to have children and the arms of a loving wife around me. Have you not ever wished for that in the dead of night?”
Something tightens in my stomach. Anxiety perhaps. Or a warning. “No. I’ve never wished for things that aren’t meant for me.”
“Well, I have. On many occasions. So when this coachman came to me with the offer of marriage, this promise of a new life, I said yes in that instant. The enormous dowry was meant to persuade me, but I’m in no shortage of wealth. I have enough coin to fuel future generations and beyond. I said yes because love is the one thing that money can’t buy.”
I swallow hard. Perhaps he’s right. But in turn, he still has no idea what this woman is like, and there’s no guarantee of love. But I bite my tongue. If I had his wealth, I wouldn’t care either way. What interests me more is the fact that other than the coachman, no one in Raven’s Gate has met him. And he has no family or friends. No one missing him…
“Your coachman works for the family of your future wife?” I shift back in my seat and take stock of his size and stature again.
Bellamy nods. “Yes, they sent him as their messenger. I was on a list of wealthy eligible bachelors. He’s not the chattiest fellow but kind enough to indulge in my incessant babbling.”
Hmm. Interesting. I pour him another whiskey. “What’s her name?” I need to know everything.
He spends the next few hours telling me all about Arkana Graves, the only daughter of Icarus and Priscilla Graves. Along with her two brothers, Silas and Finnric, they are the most sought-after marriage contracts in Melancholia.
I learn that they own many properties and that upon marrying her, his wedding gift is an entire manor in which they will live with a full staff of cooks, housemaids, butlers, and coachmen. The more I listen, the tighter the knot in my belly. But it is not anxiety or loathing or disgust. It’s the sparking of an idea. A dream. A plan.
I don’t have much time left. The road winds through the mountains now, which means we are close. Wickford Hollow is on the other side of this precipice.
I pull out my flask and wipe the mouth of it with my shirt sleeve. “Care to indulge?”
Bellamy arches an eyebrow. “Oh, what do you have there?”
A white heat spreads across the back of my neck and down my spine. “Just a bit of homemade pooch from my last residency. It’s potent stuff and may put more hair on your chest.”
It’s the perfect lie.
He chuckles, his defenses already weak from too much whiskey. He sniffs it and gasps. “Oh, my. That is potent! What do you call it?” He takes a sip and coughs immediately.
That’s it. Drink. Darkness stirs inside me. I spend so much energy pushing it down. But when I let it come out to play, it’s indestructible. Deadlier because I stifle it. “Hemlock.”
The man’s face contorts. His eyebrows raise in surprise and confusion. There are only a certain handful of people in Melancholia who can drink poison without keeling over—the wealthy landowners and the poor shmucks like me who work for them. We breathe it in, and so we become immune as well. But jolly good Bellamy isn’t from around here.
He gasps for air. “I-I can’t… breathe. What… have you… done?”
I lean forward and loosen his tie. “Sealed your fate. And mine. I need a new life, Bellamy. And you’re going to give it to me.”
I watch as his eyes bulge, the realization sinking in. I can almost hear his regrets, his assessment of his own life. All the mistakes and bad choices leading him here, to this very moment of his untimely death. I see the hurt in his eyes, the betrayal. In the short distance we’ve traveled together, he’s already developed feelings of friendship. I have not.
You have no empathy. That’s what the nuns used to say to me. I can kill and fuck and detach without remorse. “I’ve used you like I use everyone when it suits me. No hard feelings, all right?”
His lips bloat as his saliva foams between them. He convulses, his legs and arms shaking as he fights for every last second of life. I tuck a handkerchief into the top of his shirt so he doesn’t soil it.
“It will be over soon, and you’ll be in a far better place than this hellscape. Believe me,” I mutter as I remove his shoes. I hold up the leather loafer to my foot and am delighted that it’s a perfect fit.
With white fingers, he reaches for me. A gurgled cry unfurls from his swollen throat. “Please,” he rasps.
I remove my pants, then his so I can put them on instead. The silk fabric feels like a fucking dream on my legs. “You know, Bellamy, your first mistake was wishing for love. Women are temptations. They are tests of your character and will. But they are not capable of love. They trick and they lie and they abandon.”
