Heat Season – Day 31 of 91
“Mr. Ellsworth, have you seen the maste— I mean… my husband?”
Ellsworth paused, setting the dark red roses in the hall china vase. He faced you and folded his arms behind his back. “Mrs. Estrova, you have been the mistress of this manor for over two weeks. You may call me Ellsworth, as Master Sicarius does.”
You scratched your cheek. “Old habits are proving hard to break.”
“Indeed.” Ellsworth looked you up and down, nodding with approval at your cream and burgundy dress. “How are your lessons with Mr. Reeves progressing?”
“Better than Mr. Wa— I mean Lyle’s,” you admitted. “Lyle moves the car as if it were an extension of his body. He tried hard to help me learn, but it was frustrating to watch him shift gears so effortlessly.”
Ellsworth nodded. “Genius does not necessarily make one a good teacher. Often, it is the opposite.”
You pressed your hands together like a prayer. “Please, do not tell him. I do not wish to hurt his pride.” A dark grimace fell over your face. “Also, do not tell Reeves. His pride is too big already.”
Ellsworth’s lips twitched as he nodded to the west wing. A faint crooning filtered down the long hall. “To answer your first question, I believe Master Sicarius is practicing in the library.”
“Practicing?”
“The trombone, madam.” Ellsworth sniffed. “He used to play late into the night when he could not sleep. Fortunately, since you arrived, those occurrences have stopped.”
Your ears perked, listening to snatches of song. “Would it upset him to have an audience?”
Ellsworth stared at you with a raised brow. “In the many months you have known him, what would you say is his most consistent personality trait?”
“He likes showing off.” You massaged your temples. “Never mind. I do not know why I even asked.”
When Ellsworth turned back to the roses, there was a wry smile on his lips.
As you strode down the hall, a brisk waltz wafted from the library doors. The minor melody was haunting, as if made for a carousel that only ran after nightfall. A tinny piano played the two-three beat while the trombone swung back and forth like a sailor singing shanties. By the time you reached for the handle, your head was rocking in time to the melody.
When you opened the library doors, the sound swelled to a sweeping chorus before tipping into quick stepping runs of cheerful notes. There, in the center of the room, your husband sat before the music stand. His arm flew along the brass slide. Each flick of his wrist was as graceful as a ballerina twirling across the stage. Eyes closed, he swayed to the gramophone’s ghostly accompaniment. On the long notes, soft fluttering whirled from the wide bell. His rich tone filled the room from corner to corner. Every ringing note was as warm as a sunny day. As the piece came to an end, you shuddered.
“Beautiful,” you murmured.
Sicarius looked up from his sheet music and shrugged. “A bit sharp in a few places. I fear I took too much time off.”
You made your way to his side. “I had no idea you played.”
“You never asked,” he replied, taking the needle off the record. Cocking his head, he patted his lap.
You pointed to the long, hard instrument. “There is already something occupying that space.”
A smarmy smirk split his lips. “I was under the impression you enjoyed sitting on my boner.”
You slapped your hand over his mouth. “You are a monstrous pervert.”
He kissed your palm and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “you enjoy it.”
With a roll of your eyes, you grasped your skirt and took a seat across his thick legs. Sicarius locked the slide and set the trombone over a cone-shaped stand. As he wrapped his arm around your waist, you leaned your head into his chest. His heartbeat was as fast as the metronome.
You nodded at the instrument. “What made you decide to play the trombone?”
“My mother was a professional dancer before we immigrated to Coriland. When I was seven, she married a wealthy patron. He agreed to provide for my education in exchange for his beautiful young bride’s continued adoration. She coaxed him into paying for orchestral lessons at the boarding school.” Sicarius shifted you so that your cheek lay on his shoulder. His broad fingers stroked your bare arm. “I admit, I did choose this particular instrument for impure reasons.”
“Such as?”
He raised his arms and stretched them long. The wrist of the right side flicked wide as three fingers gripped the invisible slide brace. “In the seventh position, the trombone is just long enough to hit the head of the person in front of you.” He winked. “The esteemed Lord Caleb Walton played trumpet. The trumpets sat in front of the trombones and I always hated Caleb.”
You slapped his arm. “You are evil!”
He grinned. “I never claimed to be good.”
“If you were that terrible as a child, how did your mother put up with you?” you teased.
“At least in that particular instance, she approved. My mother did not like nobles either.”
The image of the silver-haired beauty from the great hall drifted through your thoughts. “What was your mother like?” you asked.
Sicarius’s smile was tainted with wicked delight. “Estella was like the nightmuse.”
“She ate men’s souls?”
He chuckled. “According to Mr. Hedgecoth, she was well worth the cost.”
“What about your brother?”
“Ah… he’s technically a half-brother on my birth father’s side.” Sicarius tapped his chin. “Come that you mention it, I do not believe I have ever met him in person.”
You poked your husband in the chest. “Then how did he give you the scar?”
Sicarius’s eyes flashed. “You’re a curious little kitten, aren’t you?” He patted your shoulder. “You know how boys are. We had a fundamental disagreement that became a bit heated. During the worst of it I said some rather rude things about him. One of his companions gave me this on his behalf. You can consider it mostly settled for now.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Define ‘mostly settled?’”
“I haven’t heard from him since I hired Reeves,” Sicarius replied with a shrug. “Speaking of which, how are your driving lessons going?”
You pursed your lips. “We practiced downhill driving today, and that was simple enough. I am a bit nervous about going up the switchbacks.”
Sicarius wove his fingers between yours. “I can teach you how to shift through the hills if you like.”
You eyed him suspiciously. “Why are you so insistent that I learn to drive when we have two capable chauffeurs?”
“If something should happen to your driver, I do not want my wife stranded.” He kissed your forehead. “Besides, fine ladies should drive fine cars.”
“Despite all your efforts, I still doubt I will become a ‘fine lady’ in the eyes of high society.” The beautiful dress wrinkled under tight fingers. Your voice dropped to a disheartened murmur. “I was not born for it.”
Sicarius lifted your chin. “You spent more than a decade handling Professor Campbell’s whims and moods. Compared to that, you will find society rather polite.”
As he stared at you with smooth self assurance, grasping envy clenched your heart. “You forget, I spent time in the presence of his esteemed daughter-in-law and her ‘friends.’ Noblewomen may be polite, but they are hardly cordial. I think they only keep each other’s company to have enough backs for their knives.”
Sicarius pressed a kiss to your temple. “Reeves tells me your words have a surgical precision that would suit that mood.”
You glared down your nose at him.
His eyes sparkled with glee. “Yes, that expression will be perfect. You will fit right in.”
You folded your arms. “How did you learn to handle the society crowd?”
“Excellent schooling helped,” he admitted before wagging his finger. “However, as Mr. Hedgecoth put it: ‘what gaps manners will not cover, money can smooth.’”
“Charming,” you groused.
Sicarius squeezed your waist before nodding over his shoulder. With a sigh, you lifted yourself off his thighs.
One long digit tapped the tip of your nose. “You need only remember one thing about blood-born nobles.” His eyes flashed dark as a cruel grin curled on his lips. “They are evil without exception.”
The cheek that Hunter Highton punched ached at Sicarius’s words. Though the wound was long gone, you could feel the blow as acutely as that night you hid amongst the hounds.
“You are not a dog.”
With Piotr’s words, you buried the ghostly memory deep under a sarcastic sneer. “You mean I have endured all the professor’s lectures and Ellsworth’s lessons so you can purposely take me into a den of corruption for your own amusement? I feel so much better now.”
Sicarius escorted you to the gramophone and flipped the record over. The click of the metronome, set to the pace of a fast-beating heart, ticked across the room. A sharp two-three beat on violin strings led the way for a crooning alto-saxophone. As the eerie song swelled to life, he held out his hand to you. “I do believe you requested to learn the basics of dance, yes?”
When you took his hand, he guided your palm to his shoulder. As his arm wrapped around your waist, he drew you close to his firm chest. Half-lidded eyes stared into yours. Memories of his warm hands caressing your body flooded your thoughts. Face glowing hot, you looked to the hem of your dress. A single finger lifted your chin.
“Eyes on me,” Sicarius commanded.
Your breath caught in your throat.
His grip drifted to your lower back. “Now, the steps follow the beat of the song: one-two-three. The first step is back—” He pressed forward with his left leg, forcing you to shift your right leg behind you. “Then, you take a step to the left.” Applying a gentle pressure at your waist, he moved you to the side. “Finally, bring your feet together.”
“This song is a bit fast for a beginner,” you pointed out.
His warm whisper tickled across the shell of your ear. “Just follow my lead.”
With a small grin, you nodded along.
“Good girl,” he purred.
At first, your movements were contained to a small box. You stumbled, trying desperately not to smash his toes. All the sounds of the world dropped away until only the melody and the hammering of your heart remained. As the dark chorus swelled to the trombone, Sicarius swept you away. Though the step remained the same, he guided you into sloping turns as dizzying as walking in a dream. Your husband hummed along to the song in his low baritone. The spellbinding vibrations tingled across your skin, leaving your hairs standing on end.
When the song stopped, a raw hunger gnawed at your core. Sicarius’s gaze dropped to your mouth. You bit your lip. With a smirk, he lifted the charm on your necklace, rolling it between his fingers. His pupils dilated, leaving only a thin rim of blue to surround the inky dark.
“When you look at me like that, it makes me want to put a collar around your neck and keep you all to myself.”
“What?”
His hand trailed up to your jaw, cupping the side of your face. “You heard me, kitten.”
The record player crackled and skipped behind him. The way his teeth flashed reminded you of fangs. Swallowing thick saliva, you stood transfixed by the sight of his eerie expression.
“I heard you, but are you serious or joking?”
Sicarius slowly pressed his lips to yours until raw need thundered in your chest. His intoxicating cologne smelled of caramel and powdery ash. As he clutched your waist, his free hand guided yours to his beltline. There, between his legs, you felt a hard bulge twitch against your skin. You jolted as he rubbed himself on your palm. He groaned and broke the kiss.
“I told you, I rather like it when you call me master.”
Heat burned down the back of your neck. You took a rattling breath and licked your swollen lips.
“If you would like, you can accompany me on my next trip to Marinar,” he said. “There is a little shop near the port that caters to those kinds of things.”
“There are shops for that?”
He pressed his forehead to yours. “If one can dream it, money can buy it.”
You toed the ground, eyes breaking away from his spellbinding gaze. “I am not sure…”
Sicarius nuzzled your cheek with his cold nose. “You know you are curious. Don’t deny it.”
“Stop!” you protested in a half-hearted whine.
Your husband gave you a teasing wink. “Come with me. If you decide to try it, I assure you that you will enjoy it.” The hard-on in your hand throbbed as he cracked a boyish smile. “Though I reserve the right to make suggestions on what we purchase.”
“And what will you be suggesting?”
He tickled his fingers up the back of your neck. “What do you think?”
You swatted his hand away. “I will be making the final decisions.”
“That is fair,” Sicarius wove his fingers into yours. “Though you already know I take good care of my kittens. Just ask Lemon.”
“Oh, then I shall be treated very well indeed,” you taunted back.
“Properly worshipped. I promise.”
You smoothed his tie with a coy grin. “I suppose, on that condition, I will indulge your whim.”
He kissed your forehead. “I do not deserve you.”
You hummed.
“Cruel minx. You are supposed to deny that,” he muttered with a fake frown.
You hummed again and tapped your chin. “What if I do not feel like denying it?”
Sicarius grabbed you by the shoulders and turned you around. As you stumbled forward, he playfully slapped your lower back. You jolted, flashing him an irritated sneer.
He patted his trombone. “Would you be a dear and go find the brown binder of sheet music? It is in the arts section under ‘T.’”
Rubbing your back, you rolled your eyes and made your way to the winding staircase at the east end of the room. When you reached the arts section on the north wall, you sighed with relief. T was well within reach. No questionable ladders required. Plucking the binder from the books, you jumped as a scurrying shadow caught your eye. The folder fell, clattering to the floor.
“Are you all right?” Sicarius called from below.
On the top of the folder, sitting on a spiral web, was a brown, fat-bottomed spider. It stared at you with glossy black eyes. The creature seemed as startled as you were by the sudden encounter. You laughed at yourself and lifted the binder up by the other side. When you turned, Sicarius was already at the top of the stairs.
“Just a cobweb spider,” you assured him with a hand wave. “Nothing to worry about. I will put it outside.”
“Give it here,” he commanded.
Puzzled, you handed the binder over. He flipped the music, his icy eyes settling on the small arachnid. The room turned frigid as a snowstorm. The hairs of your arm prickled. All at once, he slapped the folder to the ground, flinging the tiny creature from its home. His leather shoe came down like a hammer. With frigid brutality, Sicarius ground the spider into grey organ paste before
your eyes.
“What are you doing!?” you demanded, grabbing his sleeve.
“I don’t like spiders.” When your husband looked at you, his face was as smooth as a glacier. “And it scared you.”
“It startled me,” you corrected, staring at the visceral splatter on the white floor. A cold regret coiled in your chest. “It was just a little thing. There was no need to slaughter it.”
Sicarius fixed you with a frown. “They eat butterflies.”
“They also eat other things like mosquitoes, flies, and fleas,” you pointed out.
“They are predators.” His voice was hard as steel. “Do you honestly believe they care what is caught in their webs?”
Your finger stabbed at the front of the house. “If you hate them so much, then why put one on your crest?”
A cruel smirk danced on his lips. “That is a special species.”
“How is it special?”
Sicarius took your hand and pulled you towards the stairs. When you reached the first floor, he led you to the science section. Long fingers stroked the spines until he came to a thick, blue leather book titled: Spiders of the Known World. The pages turned in a whirl of ink and yellowed paper. Somewhere near the front of the book, he paused and handed the text to you. It read:
Family: Archaeidae — The Assassin Spider
Assassin Spiders are a unique species of specialized hunters. Unlike the typically opportunistic members of the arachnid family, they exclusively prey upon other spiders. They are active hunters and do not build webs. Following draglines from orb-weaving species, they strum at the edge of the webs to lure in their prey. When the prey draws near, the hunters swing their long jaws out to impale the orb weavers on a venomous pike. Keeping the victim at arm’s length, Assassin Spiders slowly wait for the prey to die. Then, they draw the body in and consume it.
“You put something that impales and cannibalizes its own kind on the front of your house!?”
Sicarius grinned. “The professor told me about them during our travels. I thought the idea was entertaining.”
“Why am I not surprised?” you muttered, massaging your temples. “However, this still does not explain why you slaughtered that creature so viciously.”
“I just want to keep my kitten safe.”
“I doubt it was harmful,” you mumbled.
He cupped your cheek, stroking his thumb over the soft skin. “After everything it took to lure you to my side, can you blame me? Even if it did not harm you, it must harm another life to survive. That is just the nature of a spider.”
As you stared at the stain on the floor, a hard dread knotted in your stomach.