Between Sin and Salvation

Chapter XII

Louise embraced the rain, letting it soak her to the bone. Each droplet formed a staccato rhythm, cascading down the bridge of her nose and clinging to her eyelashes. Her hair, now curling into ringlets, provided a fleeting reminder of her maman as she carded her fingers through the damp strands. Sometimes, it felt as if her mother had never existed, never lived, never breathed-a mere figment of her imagination. Her memory lived on only in Louise, discarded by all others whose paths she had crossed.

Swallowing the knot in her throat, she willed her mind to focus on the present. She navigated the crowded streets of Birmingham, bustling with factory workers trudging home after a day of toil. The early spring sun, barely visible through the overcast sky, had begun its descent, casting the city into a premature twilight. Amber gas streetlights flickered to life, their dim glow barely piercing the encroaching darkness.

Louise found herself before a familiar black door, its shiny lacquer contrasting sharply with the paint-peeling doors of the townhouses surrounding it. She flexed her fingers, trying to coax warmth back into her numbed hands, the cold having seeped deep during her rain-soaked journey.

She reached for the door with a trembling hand, unsure whether it shook from the cold or the knot of nerves coiled in the pit of her stomach. Their last encounter had left a raw wound; he had struck a chord too close to home. She wasn't ready to face him, fearing her brash reaction had betrayed a glimpse of the truth. Would he prod further until her secrets spilled from her lips as if they had never been guarded?

Before her fingers could graze the doorknob, the door swung open with a sudden whoosh. There he stood. Her eyes narrowed as she took in his unusually disheveled appearance: hair mussed as if he'd run his hand through it countless times, blue speckled tie hanging loose around his neck, sleeves haphazardly rolled up. He mirrored her assessment, his gaze raking over her drenched form, lingering on her lips where the raindrops had pooled over her cupid's bow. She must have borne a striking resemblance to a drowned rat.

He broke the taut silence. "Miss Vergne." Stepping aside, he held the door open, gesturing with his free hand for her to enter.

"Eager to see me, Mr. Shelby?" She took a cautious step inside, careful not to brush against him. No doubt he'd purposely left scant space between himself and the doorframe. Her eyes flicked to Lizzie's empty desk, the office unnervingly quiet without the familiar clacking of typewriter keys.

"Don't inflate your own importance," he drawled, his voice a study in insincerity. He shut the door and leaned against the frame, his eyes tracking her every movement. She decided she preferred him like this-words barbed and intended to insult. This, she could manage.

"You're right," she replied, her lips quirking into a mockery of a smile. "Your ego takes up enough room for the both of us."

"How amusing," he murmured, pushing off from his lazy recline against the doorframe. In two fluid strides, he closed the distance between them, forcing her to tilt her chin to meet his gaze. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous timbre. "I was about to say the same about your audacity."

His hand reached out, featherlight against her chest, deftly unfastening the first button of her coat. She moved to bat his hands away, but her arms fell limply to her sides when she caught the dark look in his eyes. "Just what do you think you're doing, Mr. Shelby?"

"Returning the favor," he rasped, his voice low and husky.

It felt more... intimate when he disrobed her. When she undressed him, she had maintained some semblance of control, even under his direction. But this was disconcertingly vulnerable-him looming over her as his fingertips ghosted over each button, meticulously undoing the fastenings. She held her breath, acutely aware that every rise and fall of her chest brought her closer to his lingering touch.