Free Heart of Perdition by Selah March

recompense.” He gestured to the spot on the bench beside him.
    “I’ve told you I do not play.”
    “Yes, but I know it for a falsehood. Do not insult me further by repeating it.” In the dim light of the drawing room, his eyes blazed, their green irises clashing harshly with the new ruddiness of his face.
    But his eyes are blue, not green.
    He gestured again to the bench. She hesitated and watched as his frustration became obvious in the curl of his fists and the darkening of his brow.
    Quite the impatient fellow, indeed.
    Elspeth sighed. “If you insist.”
    “What a gracious hostess you are, Miss Shaw.”
    The keys were cold beneath her fingertips as she fumbled her way through a minuet, too keenly aware of James’ proximity to concern herself with accuracy. The warmth of his body seemed excessive, as if his garments enclosed a furnace instead of a man. She wondered if his touch would blister her skin.
    “Something else, if you please,” he requested in a softer tone.
    Elspeth closed her eyes, lifted her hands to the keys and played the tune she recalled from the music box—a waltz in a minor key. This time her performance was unerring. When she finished, she opened her eyes and found James staring at her. The look of hunger on his face alarmed her, more so because it was strangely familiar.
    He leaned closer and brought his lips to her ear. “What would you do if I forced myself upon you? Tell me, what would you do?”
    “I would fight you.”
    “But not very hard, I’ll wager.”
    “Perhaps not. I will not deny my feelings for you, James, but you must understand how those very feelings create even more danger.”
    “Yes, from this imaginary curse of yours. Damn your father to hell for putting such terrors in your head.”
    Elspeth shook her head in amazement. “Even now, after I’ve told you about Philip? You still cannot see the truth when it is laid out before your very eyes?”
    …which used to be blue, but now are a glassy green, so much like the color of a certain vial…
    “The truth is what we make it, Elspeth.”
    “Spoken like a true disciple of Aurelius Shaw.” She rose and moved to a nearby chair. “Shall I tell you when first I heard my father say those very words?”
    James turned on the bench to face her. “Another tale? You do seem to have an abundance of them.”
    “This one is short, I promise you. I’ve already told you how my father broke the news of my…shall we say…extraordinary circumstances.”
    “Over afternoon tea in Athens. I remember.”
    Elspeth nodded, perversely pleased that he recalled the details of her personal horror. “I asked him how this curse came to be attached to me.”
    “And he told you?”
    “He did. To his credit, he told me the truth, even though it painted him in a wholly negative light.”
    James leaned forward, that same hungry expression marring his features. “And now you will share it with me?”
    “Only because you’ve forced my hand. Frankly, I’d rather not let it be known that Aurelius Shaw was such an utter failure as a human being.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean the monk who sold my father the artifact told him it came with a price far beyond mere monetary compensation.”
    “Yes,” James said, “he mentioned it on his deathbed. It seemed to prey on his mind quite a bit.”
    “I suppose I should be comforted by that piece of information.” Elspeth shifted in her chair. This part was the most difficult—more so, even, than relaying the story of Philip’s death, for it proved that she came from tainted stock. Her father truly had been a man without conscience. “The monk explained the curse, then told my father he had a choice. He could carry the curse on his own soul, in which case—because he was male—it would cause the death of anyone he allowed himself to love.”
    “Or?”
    “Or he could shift the curse to his firstborn.”
    James’ expression darkened again. “But naturally he didn’t believe this