Page 97 of Accomplice to the Villain

Never in the whole of his life had torture sounded like the splashing of bathwater. “Are you almost finished?” he asked irritably.

“I’ve only been in here for two minutes,” Sage argued. Another splash. Another lash of agony.

“I don’t believe you,” he replied sardonically. Hedidbelieve her, but he was beyond reason, his mind—which had never been particularly imaginative—choosing now to conjure up the most distracting, debilitating images.

Wet, soft skin glistening in the candlelight, a flash of breast just below the line of water, just out of his view. That rosy flush on her cheeks that usually displayed her anger would travel from her head to her toes, from her cheeks, down her neck, down her chest, down her stomach, and perhaps even to—

He halted his imagining, not out of morality but rather to hide the chunk of wood he’d just unconsciously ripped out of the chair’s armrest.

“What was that?” Sage asked, water splashing over the edge of the tub. He heard it hit the floor as she moved.

He chucked the piece of armrest into the fire. “Nothing,” he said quickly.

“Do you think you could hand me a towel?” she asked.

Do you think you could gouge out my eyes first?

“Of course,” he said, hardening his voice to match his other appendages.

He moved toward the tub, eyes averted upward, but there was a long-known, deep-rooted problem with good intentions—at least in Trystan’s case. And the problem was that they usually ended badly.

Instead of his eyes locking on the intricate wood carvings and patterns in the ceiling, the memory of the mirror came too late. He was looking right into it, and he saw everything he’d been trying to avoid.

And just as he’d suspected, his imagination was not worth a godsforsaken thing.

For nothing he could conjure could mimic the bare slopes of her shoulders, the damp, dark ringlets of her curls dipping into the surface of the water, the flush of her cheek and the flash of her curved thigh displayed in plain view, her foot propped on the edge of the tub like an artistic display.

For a moment, his mind went blank. It had to.

“Oh, sir! Make sure you watch for—”

The warning came too late, and he was too far gone to listen—or to notice the puddle of water just outside the tub. His foot slid out from under him, and his head banged against the brass rim, forcing him to land flat on his back.

Penance. The gods were giving him penance for moving from villain to peeping lecher.

Sage appeared over him, long hair dripping rose-scented water drops against his forehead, her body just barely concealed by the thin towel that was clinging to her damp skin.

Penance or a reward. It tormented him just the same.

“Gods! Are you all right?”

Yes, he wanted to answer.I, the evilest, most malevolent figure in the land, caught sight of your bare shoulders, and it sent me into a knobby-kneed tailspin. How are you?

“I’m fine. Are you all right?” he said instead.

She looked at him strangely. Of course she did. He was acting like a buffoon.

His assurance had not been convincing enough. She began asking him simple questions.

“What’s my full name?”

“Evangelina Celia Sage.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“Oh. Really?”