Page 47 of The Devil's Menage

“Bellinor. Does he always leave right after…”

It shamed her that she couldn’t stop thinking about him, about that moment when she’d first arrived in le Voile and he’d clumsily bathed her. Clearly, she’d done something wrong, because now he seemed to be avoiding her, eager to escape her presence as quickly as possible.

Rul nodded, absentmindedly brushing his fingers over her lips as she gazed up at him.

“Ah, yes, he’s not the best at…caringfor our playthings. That’s my duty.”

And why did it matter so much? Why did any of it matter? She had no choice but to be here, to serve. She should be grateful that they hadn’t seriously hurt her, that Rul at least felt obligated to stay with her when her head was floating away in the clouds.

Isabelle looked away, staring at the flames in the hearth, entranced by their elaborate dance as she tried to push the demon from her mind.

“You’re so intrigued by him,” Rul said, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger.

She turned back to him with a glare, though was met with a smile.

“I’m merely curious about the monster who abducted me.”

“Merely curious,” he mused, biting his lip and shaking his head.

His hand caressed her thigh, the sheer layers of her dress keeping them separate, though he warmed her all the same.

“I think it’s more than mere curiosity. From himandyou. Perhaps you two are more alike than you’d think.”

She huffed at the insinuation and crossed her arms over her chest, annoyed further by his deep chuckle.

“If you’re socurious, why don’t you go visit him? He’s in his study. I’m sure he’d be delighted to see you.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“I’m not!” Rul raised his hands, feigning innocence. “He’s difficult, but he likes you. I wouldn’t say so unless I was sure.”

When she refused to respond, he cupped both of her cheeks in his palms.

“Petite chérie,

he cannot resist

the touch of a rose.

Fighting through her thorns

to caress the soft velvet

of her petals,

spread them wide,

cradle her in his silken touch.”

His poem brought a flush to her cheeks, which was only exacerbated when he flicked his wrist and a pink rose appeared in a flash of shadows. He handed it to her, and she pushed out of his lap, trying to hide the way his words had affected her.

“I don’t know why you’re trying to act like he doesn’t hate me. He’s made it quite obvious.”

All he wanted was to use her and discard her, calling her nothing more than a whore. Words that may have been true, though they still hurt, especially when there was no assurance or comfort afterward, like with Rul.

“That’s not true at all. He’s not the best at… not being an ass.”

A smile quirked her lips as he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek.