The Jezebel (Taskill Witches 3)

Master Cyrus, however, always set her to rights. He was determined to show her it was what she was destined for.

In time, she gained confidence about her craft, whilst becoming an educated young lady. Outings were a rare treat at first, and she was never allowed to go anywhere without his supervision. Mama Beth was under strict instructions to chaperone dressmakers’ visits, and Mistress Hinchcliffe never roamed from the subject matter of their lessons, lessons that the master of the house prescribed on a weekly basis.

The changes in her relationship with Cyrus Lafayette began around the time Margaret began to blossom into young womanhood. Mama Beth commented on it, and subsequently, requests given to the dressmaker for her gowns and other accoutrements became more lavish. Margaret accepted this as any young woman might, with pleasure and humble gratitude. Master Cyrus seemed to relish her transformation, and for some reason she felt painfully self-aware under his gaze.

“You are ready to discover more of the world, I warrant,” he said as he watched her from his winged armchair while she was busy with her sewing,

Mama Beth encouraged her, too. “You are a proper young lady now. I’m so proud.”

Margaret was not sure what discovering more of the world meant. Fear and caution were instinctive reactions. Not only because of her experiences, but because of the way Master Cyrus kept her informed of the terrible demise often wrought on those who practiced the craft. Education was always tempered with warning.

“More of the world?” she asked cautiously.

“Master Cyrus is taking us both to the theater,” Mama Beth informed her, cheeks aglow with pleasure. “It will be delightful to show you off at last.”

The theater. Margaret had studied Shakespeare’s plays with her teacher, but never imagined she might see them performed. These outings were a pleasure and joy to Margaret, but she also began to become suspicious, because they often encountered Master Cyrus’s associates, government ministers, financiers, merchants and tradesmen of the highest order. Some were gracious to his wife and ward, others seemed lascivious and offered barbed compliments that she couldn’t fail to notice. Master Cyrus, it seemed, had several enemies.

It then became apparent that when he encouraged her to use the craft, it was often in order to help him reach some personal goal. Margaret was made uncomfortable by that knowledge and began to query the full circumstances of the situation when he requested her assistance. She did not resent helping him, for he had given her opportunities in life that she would never otherwise have had. However, as time went by, the situation became more transparent, and Master Cyrus more obvious about his exploitation of her power. Alongside this, the nature of his relationship with her began to change.

At first it was small things. He told her that he wanted her to call him Cyrus, not Master. That felt odd. Mama Beth no longer accompanied them to the theater. Reasons were given, but it coincided with a change in his attitude toward Margaret. The admiration he showed her was no longer tempered, and it was no longer delivered as a guardian to a ward, but as a man with altogether different intentions.

Then one night Cyrus took her to a reception where they mingled with the actors they had seen onstage, together with personages of note, peers and lords. Margaret felt quite overwhelmed, and when she saw a young man smiling across the room at her, she returned the smile, for it seemed to bear some understanding of her predicament. Later, when the man approached, Cyrus greeted him dismissively.

“Charles Hanson,” he muttered, by way of introduction.

“I was hoping to make your acquaintance,” the young man had said to her.

“Thank you.” Margaret dropped a curtsy.

Charles bent and drew her fingertips to his lips.

A shiver of arousal ran through her and her eyes locked with his.

The young man was about to say more, when Cyrus announced they had to leave. He called for Margaret’s cloak and ushered her away, giving her no chance to say goodbye to Charles. Inside their carriage, Cyrus thumped the roof with this cane and glowered into the gloom.

“It was a remarkable performance,” she commented in an attempt to alleviate the oppressive atmosphere.

“Yes, it was a perfect evening.” Without looking her way, he reached out and clasped her hand where it rested on her lap.

She thought he might squeeze her hand and then return to his thoughts, but he kept hold of it, possessive and insinuating. Her skin crept with discomfort, but she knew better than to pull away. His mood was foreboding and she sensed it would be the wrong thing to do.

“Yes,” he added, “a perfect evening, spoiled only by that audacious upstart, Charles Hanson. How dare he think he might court you?”

She was surprised, for she hadn’t even thought that was the young man’s intention. Cautiously, she measured her response. “I’m sure he was only being friendly.”

Cyrus turned to face her, his hand tightening on hers. “I know what drives a man like that. He is not worthy of you.”

Why did it feel so awkward? “It matters not, Cyrus, for I am sure you are mistaken about his intentions. But I am quite certain that he is far above me in this world.”

“You are wrong.” He shifted then and turned to cup her face in his hands. “Very wrong. You are the most precious thing in this world.” His eyes glittered in the darkness, and his face was uncomfortably near to hers, his breath hot on her skin.

“Cyrus, you are embarrassing me.”

“And how it becomes you,” he responded, his tone low, his manner quite different to everything she had known before. He moved one hand to caress her waist. “You are not for the likes of him, my precious. Oh, no, I have much bigger plans for you.”

“You have plans for me?” She blurted the question, unable to hold it back.

Immediately, she wanted to retract it, but before she could say anything else, Cyrus answered by pressing his lips to hers.