Page 45 of Nightshade

Lustina yanked at the stubborn weed that’d lodged itself firmly into the ground beside a beastly tomato plant. The leafy top of it snapped away from its root, sending her flying backward onto her bottom with a quiet squeak of surprise. It was then she caught sight of the baron and Lord Praecepsia making their way into the cathedral.

Only on a couple of occasions had she seen them attend Sunday mass in person, and the bishop didn’t seem troubled by their lack of attendance, as he did with others.

The baron’s eyes fixed on her, as he trailed after his father, into the church, and once again, her lips tingled.

Finger set there, she turned away and smiled, resuming her chores.

Lustina had never been permitted to enter the church during mass, as Bishop Venable forbade it. Even if she were to become baptized, which she hoped for, in order to avoid the same fate as her mother, he still wouldn’t allow it. Why he continued to show her charity, when it was clear how much he disliked her, was a mystery of the ages.

For the next hour, Lustina kept with her toiling, enjoying the cool air and morning sunlight that would soon beat down on her with furious intensity by afternoon. By then, she’d hopefully be finished with chores, and could move on to quiet reading in the garden before evening chores.

As she pushed to her feet, something took hold of her arm, pulling her away, and she turned to see the baron dragging her from the garden. The dirt kicking up around his pristine leather boots seemed a tragic waste of the time that must’ve gone into polishing them for church.

She wrenched her hand free of his grasp, swallowing back the titillation of a new encounter with him. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Come with me.” Another harsh grip yanked her forward, that one futile to escape, as he tightened his hand around her arm.

He led her through the arched stone door of the cathedral’s undercroft, a place both feared and forbidden, and down the stone staircase, where the doors of chambers she was not permitted to enter lined a dark corridor. The baron pulled her into a dark alcove before those chambers and spun her around. Cold seeped through the thin fabric of her dress, where he pressed her into the stone wall, crowding her against it.

Winter stirred in her heart, as she stared into those ice blue eyes, which seemed intently focused on her lips.

“Tell me, Lustina, have you thought about when I last kissed you?”

Mentally willing her body to control the trembles that wracked her then, she nodded.

“When do you think about it?”

“Before I dream.”

“And did you like it?”

“Very much, My Lord.”

With a careful hand, he lifted her hair, letting it slide through his fingers, seemingly mesmerized by the act. “Has another kissed you before?”

“What business is that of yours?”

Fingers wound through the ends of her hair, he trailed his gaze back to Lustina’s and tugged just enough to tip her head back. “Answer the question.”

She didn’t want to. She wanted to defy him and explore the boundaries of his patience, but doing so would simply be a waste of time and, given that Mass would end soon, it wasn’t worth wasting any on such games. “No. You’re the first.”

His lips twitched as if her answer pleased him, and as he released her hair, she tipped her chin forward once more. “I’ve brought you a gift, but to receive it, I am going to kiss you again.”

“What kind of gift?”

“The kind only silly and fanciful girls like yourself would appreciate.”

“If it is a kiss you wish to earn, My Lord, calling me silly and fanciful is not wise.” Hands pressed to his chest, Lustina gave a small push, but he jerked her back to him, his bigger, imposing body preventing her escape. His fingers curled into her flesh, where he gripped her small waist with such possession, she wondered if he’d leave bruises there.

“Know that I can take what I want, and there would be nothing you can do, or say. If I wish to kiss you, I have only to press my lips to yours and feel you submit to it.”

“Then, why haven’t you?”

Instead of answering, he raked his gaze over her, as if he could see right through her to the shadowed desperation that yearned for his kiss, with the same necessity as the air in her lungs. Then, like an errant riptide, he released her and walked away, and an ache of disappointment bloomed inside her chest when he disappeared around the alcove’s corner.

As wrong as it was to feel such a thing, the disappointment persisted on hearing his retreating footsteps. How had the rude and selfish boy stitched himself so firmly into her curiosity? That she could think of him with such eager fascination seemed a sickness of the mind, after the way he’d treated her on the few occasions she’d spoken with him.

Not a minute later, he returned, carrying a small golden cage. Within, a black bird sat on its wooden perch.