Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert)

Rupert glanced down and immediately noticed Sylvia standing barefoot on the cool kitchen tiles. He loosened his arms around her ever so slightly. "You're not wearing shoes?"

Sylvia wiggled her toes, a little sheepish. "Your slippers are huge, you know. I kept tripping. It's not like I forgot or anything."

"Didn't ask," Rupert replied, a trace of a smirk playing on his lips as he studied her.

Sylvia squirmed, suddenly self-conscious, and tried to step away, but before she could, Rupert swept her up and set her down on the marble kitchen island.

"Don't move," he murmured.

He turned around and carefully picked up the shards of a broken glass from the floor, tossing them into the trash. Only when he was sure the floor was safe did he wash his hands and return.

Sylvia made to climb down, but Rupert blocked her, hands braced on either side of her, trapping her against the countertop.

She leaned back a little, putting a hand on his chest to keep him at bay. "Uncle Rupert, weren't you hungry? I could make you some oatmeal or something?"

He gave a low, amused snort. "Too bland."

"Okay, what do you want then?" she asked, but the second the words left her lips, she met Rupert's intense, almost predatory gaze. Her heart skipped a beat.

"What do you think?" His voice was rough, barely above a whisper.

Sylvia bit her lip, cheeks warming under the kitchen lights. She tried to push him away, but he caught her hand, pulling her closer, his arms caging her against him.

bore into hers. "Sylvia,

what he meant, and

was about to protest when he nudged her knees apart with his own. As he leaned in, her body tensed, and a chill crept through her,

was back at Willowbrook Manor, when Bailey had lit those fancy candles without asking. She'd tried to push through, but when it came to

time he tried to cross that line,

frowned. "Did I hurt

his directness, and for a moment she

lifting her off the counter, but instead of setting her down

for now. I'll order us some

breath as she tried to regain her

hour

she'd eat,

through the meal,

staying in the guest room

outside and

of rooms here—she just had to pick

caught her plotting and pointed to the door next to

made a

clear the table,

his study,