My Sweet Poison

Chapter 1

MADISON

No one could hear my screams.

I swept my arm along a polished sideboard, sending a priceless Ming vase and several gold candlesticks tumbling into his path as I dove for the staircase.

“Get away from me!”

My right foot slipped off the edge and bent at an awkward angle, snapping the platform heel off my shoe, my forearms painfully breaking my fall when they collided with the lower step.

Strong fingers wrapped around my ankle and wrenched me downward.

I shrieked and grasped at the spindles of the banister, but the dust-covered wood slipped through my fingers.

My palms burned from the scrape of my hands along the thick wool carpet covering the stairs as he dragged me down, my dress sliding up around my waist. I desperately kicked out with my other leg, trying to dislodge his hold.

He flipped me onto my back, the hard edge of a stair slamming into my spine, and propped his forearms on either side of my head, prowling over me like a lion about to tear out the throat of his kill.

Rubbing his face along the edge of my hairline, he inhaled deeply before rasping against my ear, “I missed this little game of ours, Madison.”

A low growl vibrated in his throat, and he shoved his hand between my legs. “Remember how I would make you cry?”

Remember? No amount of time would erase the memory of his cruel touch.

With my eyes squeezed shut, I turned my head to the side and dug my fingernails into his shirt, trying to shove his weight away from me.

He swept his tongue over my cheek. “I did so love the taste of your tears.”

Bile burned the back of my throat as my stomach heaved. Everything clenched inward. My body folding into itself the way it always had.

The way it used to around him.

I winced as he tore at my panties. “I never did get a chance to fuck you. Doesn’t seem right given all the trouble you’ve caused. If you’re a good girl and spread your legs, I might show you mercy and kill you quickly.”

I couldn’t let this happen. Not now. Not after how hard I fought to survive him and his—

Forcing my eyes open, my gaze fell on a broken vase shard that had fallen within reach. Distracted by lowering his zipper, he didn’t notice me sweep my arm out, reaching for the modified weapon.

I turned the piece of porcelain in my hand until the sharp edge was facing outward. Picking my moment, I swung my arm out, catching him on the side of his face.

He screamed and clutched his cheek, blood welling and dripping between his fingers.

His body pitched sideways.

I forced him off me and turned onto my stomach.

As fast as I could, I gathered my skirt up above my knees and crawled to the quarter landing.

Gripping the open jaws of the grotesque wood-carved gargoyle newel post, I hauled myself upright.

Holding my breath, I shifted my hips, putting weight on my right leg. My ankle held, it wasn’t broken.

I tore off both shoes and stared down into the darkness, searching for his form.

The air in the sealed wing was bitter cold, carrying the musty staleness of dust and old wool.

Below, a sheet-draped grandfather clock loomed and for one horrible second my heart stopped before I realized it wasn't him.

On the other side of the massive estate house, the safety of the ballroom beckoned.

Filled with the clink of glasses and surrounded by the sweet scents of fresh-cut flowers and the warm buttery pastry of passed canapes as the strains of the violins from the orchestra rose above the chatter of the guests. All of it—just out of reach.

My gaze scanned for any signs of movement while I strained to hear the creak of a floorboard or the crunch from a shard of porcelain being crushed beneath his shoe.

Where was he?

After his initial outcry, he had gone eerily quiet.

There!

My heart seized.

A trick of the light?

No.

A shadow detached from the gloom below.

“Did you really think you’d get away with it, Madison?”

The ghostly voice held a hint of amusement layered with arrogant reprimand.

I pressed my hand over my mouth to suppress a whimper of fear.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out what you were planning?”

My feet were silent on the thick carpet as I shifted deeper into the shadows above him. Digging my nails into the gargoyle, I slid behind its protective bulk, as if the dragon would somehow spring to life and rescue me.

With narrowed eyes, I peered down the staircase into the vast entryway but could only make out the indistinct shapes of the chairs which lined the walls, and the empty round table in the center.

The stained glass window over my shoulder depicting a vengeful St. George fractured the wan light of the moon.

Instead of casting bright jewel-toned light, it spread a mottled crimson stain of red and burnt orange along the floor.

When he stepped into the distorted pool of light, it twisted his features into a misshapen, grotesque mask of a man.

I raised my arm and launched one shoe, then the other at him. “Stay away from me. I’m warning you.”

He easily ducked to avoid them. “You are warning me? You are nothing! A nobody!”

A large hand slid along the smooth surface of the mahogany banister as he closed the distance between us. The gold and black onyx Worthington family signet ring on his finger glinted in the low light.

Stumbling again over the long white silk and tulle skirts of my gown, I gathered the extra fabric in my fist and bolted down the hallway.

The painted, lifeless eyes of long-dead Worthington ancestors glared down at me, unimpressed with my panicked scrambling from door to door. The rattle of the brass antique knobs I frantically turned echoed through the unnatural stillness.

Locked. Every one of them.

The entire wing had been shut up for the season. The gala was on the other side of the house. The orchestra loud enough to swallow any cries for help.

My eyes watered from the unblinking stare I leveled at his menacing form when it appeared at the top of the stairs. Closer.

“Don’t worry, darling. Despite you disrupting my revenge plan, I will make your death relatively painless.”

Pressed against a shallow threshold, my breath screamed inside my lungs, each muscle held rigid with fear. “You don’t have to do this!”

“It’s not a matter of having to do it. I want to do it. It amuses me to think that in killing you, I’ll finally get at least a small measure of pleasure out of your useless body.”

There wasn’t a doubt in my mind this wasn’t an idle threat.

His white silk shirt was stark against the inky blackness of his tuxedo. How had he managed to blend in with the guests earlier and not be noticed? We had been watching so closely for him. How had someone not cried out in alarm at his presence?

He took two steps forward.

Leaving my meager hiding place, I slipped along the wall.

The length of the hallway separated us, and yet I swore I could feel his breath against my chilled skin.

His long fingers stroked his jaw. “Something tragic.” His lips lifted in a sneer. “Befitting the bride of a Worthington. Perhaps a fall off the cliffs?”

I swiped at the tear trailing down my cheek. “He’ll know it was you.”

“That will hardly matter when I kill him too.”

“Please…you don’t need to do this. I’ll call off the entire plan.”

His scathing gaze raked over my body from head to toe. “It’s too late for that. Everyone knows. They are expecting a wedding. I’m going to give them a funeral instead.”

With a cry, I turned and ran further down the hallway. It came to a dead-end at a second perpendicular hallway.

Despite the heavy carpet beneath our feet, his hurried footfalls were unmistakable.

Which way? Which way? I was not familiar enough with the estate to know which direction would lead to salvation and which to certain death.

I swung my head to the left, then to the right and nearly sobbed in relief. With only seconds to spare, I fled down the dark corridor toward an open doorway.

The walls of the small study on the other side of that doorway were covered in dimly lit glass cases filled with antique weapons. The proud collection of some forgotten Worthington patriarch.

Several handguns and two hunting shotguns lay on the stately carved oak desk in the center of the room. I remembered the gamekeeper saying he needed to finish oiling and cleaning the firearms before storing them.

If I could only reach—it was too late.

I barely crossed the threshold when his fingers caught the trailing hem of my wedding gown. Fisting the material, he yanked hard, throwing me off balance.

We both crashed to the floor.

I rose on my hands and knees and crawled toward the desk. My arm stretched out.

His fingers clawed at my hips, tearing at my dress.

I rolled onto my back and kicked out, catching his jaw with my bare heel.

His head snapped to the side from the impact. When he turned to fix his silver glare on me, he coughed, splattering small flecks of blood over me.

Using the back of his hand, he rubbed at the blood on his mouth, smearing it across his face to blend with his already bleeding cheek. “You’re going to pay for that, bitch.”

With a cry, I shimmied back and used the desk to pull myself up. There was just enough thin light to see each of the guns. I snatched up a revolver.

He staggered to his feet. “What are you going to do? Shoot me?”

After wiping my sweaty palm down the side of my dress, I readjusted my grip on the heavy handle. “If I have to.”

He slowly prowled around the desk, surveying the remaining guns.

I kept pace with his stride, always keeping out of arm’s reach, as we circled each other like wild beasts preparing to fight.

My heart raced and my gaze shifted from his eyes to his hands, ready for the slightest movement.

Only my harsh breathing broke the heavy silence.

Then his bark of laughter shattered the stillness.

Turning his back on me, he opened a nearby cabinet and pulled out a glass and a crystal decanter. “There would first have to be bullets in the gun, my dear.”

Twisting the firearm in my hand, I saw the empty holes in the cylinder. I threw the useless gun aside and snatched up another.

Without looking over his shoulder, he poured himself a drink and jeered, “That’s not loaded either. Really, Madison. I’d like to say your stupidity surprises me, but we both know I’d be lying.”

He turned. Staring at me over the rim of his glass, he took a long, slow sip, exuding the relaxed attitude of a man who had all the time in the world. His controlled calm in the face of such violent brutality lacked all humanity.

The gun slipped from my fingers. My vision blurred with hot, unshed tears as the thin thread of hope slipped from my grasp. “Why are you doing this?”

“He took what was supposed to be mine.”

“But he’s your—”

The facade of his icy control cracked. He raised his arm and threw the glass. It struck one of the display cases, sending a cascade of shattered glass onto the floor and the sharp, smoky scent of brandy into the air. “He’s nothing to me!”

Curling his fingers into a fist, he stalked forward.

My eyes flew to the desk.

This time ignoring the useless handgun, my gaze fell on the shotgun with its barrel hinged open. There were two brass circles from the shell casings glinting in the moonlight.

It was loaded.

Snatching the weapon by its barrel and handle, I snapped it closed and reeled backward, struggling to hold the awkward weight steady.

He bared his blood-coated teeth in a macabre smile. “I’m going to enjoy hearing you beg for your life before I throw you over the cliff’s edge.”

Everything all happened at once.

He lunged.

And I pulled the trigger.