Love in Death
The arsenic wouldn’t completely dissolve.
“He won’t notice,” Ann murmured, her breath a velvet tingle that seared my fears away.
We walked together to the sunroom, our skirts caressing one another. Mistress and servant, both caged in silk-wrapped bones.
Not for long.
“Lemonade, husband?” I asked.
A grunt sent ripples through his wrinkles, and he downed the glass, distracted by the hatred etched in Ann’s face.
As he seized, I took her hand.
As he fell, she bit my lip.
I knew then I’d been driven by greed. For love. For her.
And only death could grant it to me.