Chapter 1: Under the Table
The sprawling estate of Blackthorn Manor was a labyrinth of secrets, and Lila Voss, a sharp-tongued servant girl of barely twenty, knew most of them. Her nimble fingers had pilfered trinkets from the lady of the house’s vanity more than once, a dangerous game she played for the thrill as much as the coin. But today, as she sat at the servants’ dining table in the dimly lit kitchen, her heart raced for a different reason. Across from her, with a smirk as weathered as the estate’s ancient oaks, sat Harold Grimsby, the groundskeeper. At fifty-five, his hands were rough as bark, and his eyes gleamed with a predatory cunning.
“Ye’ve got sticky fingers, lass,” Harold drawled, his voice low, gravelly, cutting through the clatter of tin plates and idle chatter of the other servants. “I saw ye nick that brooch last week. Pretty thing, wasn’t it? Worth more than yer yearly wage.”
Lila’s jaw tightened, her emerald eyes narrowing. She leaned forward, her voice a hiss of defiance. “And what’s it to you, old man? Planning to turn me in? Or just looking for a way to get your grubby paws on something else?”
Harold’s grin widened, showing yellowed teeth. “Oh, I ain’t no snitch. But I reckon we can come to an… arrangement.” His gaze dropped to her chest, lingering on the modest swell beneath her apron. “Keep yer secrets, and I’ll keep mine. Just gotta play nice.”
Her stomach churned, but Lila wasn’t one to crumble. She’d fought off worse than this lecherous bastard in the alleys before Blackthorn. “Play nice?” she spat, her tone dripping with venom. “I’d sooner play with a viper. Name your price, Grimsby, and it better not be what I think it is.”
Before she could pull away, his hand slid under the table, finding her knee. The rough calluses scraped against her skin as his fingers crept higher, brushing the edge of her skirt. Lila froze, her breath catching, not out of fear but pure, seething rage. She couldn’t make a scene—not here, not with the housekeeper just a room away. His grip tightened, a silent threat, as his other hand casually lifted a mug of ale to his lips.
“Price is simple, girl,” he murmured, his voice a filthy whisper. “Ye keep me happy, I keep my mouth shut. Feel that?” His fingers inched up her thigh, daring her to react. “That’s just the start. I’ve been hard as iron thinkin’ ‘bout this since I caught ye.”
Lila’s nails dug into the table’s edge, her mind racing. She could knee him, scream, damn the consequences—but the weight of his blackmail pinned her as surely as his hand. Instead, she forced a smile, sharp as a blade. “You think you’ve got me cornered, don’t you? Fine. Let’s see how long you last, old man. But I warn you—I bite.”
Her words were a challenge, a spark in the tinder of his lust. Harold’s eyes darkened, his breath hitching as his hand slid further, brushing the heat between her thighs. Lila’s pulse hammered, a mix of fury and something dangerously close to thrill. She wasn’t some wilting flower; if he wanted a game, she’d play it on her terms. Her hand shot under the table, gripping his wrist—not to push him away, but to guide him, her stare locking with his in a silent dare.
“Careful, Grimsby,” she purred, her voice low and lethal. “You’re playing with fire. And I burn hot.”
The air between them crackled, thick with unspoken promises and raw, forbidden heat. His fingers trembled, hungry, as they neared the edge of her control, and Lila knew this was only the beginning. Whatever happened next, she’d make damn sure she came out on top.
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