Selfish is the Heart Read Free

but even if she had, Annalise doubted it would matter. Her mother had long ago given herself fully to the Faith in every respect, though she’d left off forcing her children and husband to worship with her.
    “It would be best to eat first,” said the tallest priest, the one who’d been to the house before and who knew Fluta’s eccentricities. “So that all might enjoy the service without distraction.”
    It said much, Annalise thought, when a priest found her mother too enthusiastic in her worship. She took the chance to slip from the crowd. Bread and honey in the kitchen would settle her stomach while she waited on the poached quail’s eggs and copperfish roe. Annalise lifted her skirts, grateful at least for the flat-heeled slippers her sister had insisted she wear so as not to tower over her, and hopped across the kitchen threshold. Inside, the bustle and commotion did not dissuade her. Her mother preferred to cook most of their simple meals herself now that the family had so dwindled, but today all the cooking was being done by hired caterers. Annalise knew where to find the loaves of yesterday’s bread and crocks of sweet honey gathered from her father’s bees, and she ducked into the pantry without even speaking to any of the hired help.
    Many manor homes had multiple pantries for wet and dry goods, chill and warm. At Marony House the kitchen had been expanded over time as money allowed and necessity dictated, so the main pantry had been carved from spare bits of space left when walls went up and others came down. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined a narrow, short hall with a jog at the end that led to the stairs of the cold cellar. The cool shadows and quiet were welcome after the hours of heat and noise outside, and Annalise paused to acclimate.
    The low sound of murmured voices around the corner alerted her that she was not alone, and though she was surprised when she turned the corner, she was not shocked.
    The young man wore his golden hair pulled back into an intricate braid down his back. Annalise studied his clothes, the high-throated shirt, the brightly patterned cravat, the long-cut trousers and tight-fitted westcoat that gave him his figure, rather than his body providing the form on which the clothes hung. Dressed with fashion, but not taste. Jacquin could’ve found better.
    “Blessed Balls!” cried the blond young man.
    “Indeed,” Annalise said with a quick sweep of her gaze over his dishevelment. She cast a longer look at his companion, who had the grace to look away. “I’ve just come for some honey. Please don’t let me interrupt.”
    “But we weren’t—”
    “Hush,” Jacquin said to the blond. “Mistress Marony is no fool. You should go.”
    The blond nodded and ducked his head before brushing past her. The click of his bootheels was very loud, as was the creak of the pantry door and the influx of noise from the kitchen, which cut off when the door shut behind him. Jacquin leaned back against the railing to the cellar stairs. Annalise gave him her back to look for the crock of honey.
    “Anna . . .”
    “Hush.” She echoed him. “I am no fool.”
    “Truly, we were only talking.”
    One hand on the shelf to steady her, she turned with a throat afire from the effort of holding in a shout. “I believe your game involved the use of teeth and tongue, indeed, but you’ll find me fair doubtful as to it being only conversation.”
    “And yet I swear to you that’s all we had, love.” Jacquin moved to touch her, and she pulled away.
    They stared across the narrow space at each other. The sole illumination came from the narrow, high windows set along the roofline. There was enough light for her to have seen everything, to see all of it now. Jacquin’s frown and the flash of his eyes, the soft plumpness of his lips she recognized as the aftermath of passion.
    “You dishonor me, Jacquin.”
    “I swear to you, that was not my intent.”
    “Then why do it? Here at my family’s house?