He stood still for a moment, savoring the intense intimacy of the experience. He was in her most personal space: the room where she slept; the room where she believed herself to be alone; the room where she felt safe.
That sense of safety would soon be destroyed. She belonged to him. She simply did not know it; not yet.
He started to go back to the concealed lift but paused when he saw the framed photograph on the wall. It showed the woman as she had been some ten years earlier, a girl of sixteen or seventeen. She stood on the brink of womanhood, still innocent and unknowing, but already there was something disturbing about her eyes.
Her brother was also in the picture. He appeared to be about nine or ten years of age. The two adults in the photograph were no doubt the children’s parents. He could see something of the man in the boy.
He took the picture down from the hook and hurried to the lift. Stepping inside, he closed the panel and then the cage door. Darkness as deep as the black jet stone in the ring enveloped him. He dared not light a candle.
He groped for the cables and breathed a sigh of relief when they worked. He lowered the lift to the ground floor.
When he emerged he found himself back in the small antechamber behind the rear stairs. There was no one about. The elderly housekeeper and her equally aged husband, the butler, were busy with the social gathering in the library.
In the old days, when the mansion had housed a large family and a dozen or more servants, it would have been nearly impossible to slip in and out of the place unseen. But now there was only the woman, her brother, and the old housekeeper and butler in residence.
He made his way out through the tradesmen’s entrance. A moment later he was lost in the fog. Once he was safely in a hansom he allowed himself to sit back and reflect on the satisfaction of his night’s work.
The woman with the unnerving eyes would soon understand that she belonged to him. It was her destiny to be the one to cleanse him. The connection between them was a bond that could be shattered only by death.
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Jayne Ann Krentz, Secret Sisters
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