Infuriating Attractions (on hold)

Tension

Elizabeth scrubbed angrily at the sad excuse for a potato in front of her. 

She was a lady's maid, not some kitchen wench meant to sweat over an unnappealing and slightly grey looking stew. To make matters worse the simpering fool supposed to be helping her with the demeaning task of cooking for her kidnappers, seemed to have even less of an idea, making an absolute mess of everything he touched. 

"Oh give that to me!" she finally snarled after watching him struggle with the rabbit for a ridiculous amount of time. She may have been trained to serve Annabelle, yet she had at least some practical knowledge of cooking, while this boy seemed to have none. 

He eyed her warily, glancing from the knife in his hand to the almost unrecognisable pulp he was trying to skin. 

"If I had wanted to kill you, I would have thrown this disgusting stew in your face an hour ago and fled. However we both know that if I as much as step a foot out of this camp, that devil of a man would slit my throat before I could blink." 

She gestured over to where Phillip lay sprawled a few metres from them. To any observer it would seem as though he were completely relaxed but Elizabeth could discern a certain tension in his muscles that made it evident that he was ready to spring to attack at any moment. She shuddered at the thought of him. When under his rule, the castle of Elereld had been a place of constant fear and uncertainty. The servants had all been terrified of him, speaking in hushed tones about the atrocities he was said to have committed, most often inflicted on the Duchess of Rington, the beautiful lady Violet. 

Oh Violet...

Phillip's mind wandered unapologetically towards its favourite subject. The two years they had been apart had not quenched his desire for her but increased it tenfold. It was as though the mere taste of her had been enough to sustain his fantasies for each of his waking moments. Time had only sharpened the memory of her, the taste of her skin, the sound of her mouth gasping his name in ecstasy. It was not love that he felt for her but something more than love, something more than such a simple and dull word could convey. The nights they had spent together, the brief flash of time she had been his wife in every sense of the word had completed him. When he thought of how she looked at him as a conspirator in their shared corruption, ambition, and ruthlessness he felt a surge of pleasure. He had not attempted to reform her cruelty but teased it out of her and revelled in it until they both lay gasping and she clutched to him as though he were the only thing anchoring her to the world. 

When he remembered their twisted and desperate moments of passion it became easier to forget her betrayal. To Phillip, the woman he had shared a bed and a soul with was not the same person who attempted to murder him and now lived an idyllic life with her husband. It left a bitter taste in his mouth to think of her in the arms of William whom he had so many opportunities to slaughter and didn't. She would never be what she truly was with him, she would be good and kind and virtuous but it wouldn't be Violet, it wouldn't be his Violet. 

If he concentrated he could almost feel her curled beside him, enraptured and sated. Soon he would not have to torture himself with mere memories, soon he would- 

"Here's your stew" a plate of odd smelling soup was thrust into his face, disturbing his mind's usual stroll down memory lane. 

The maid he had tried to murder earlier scowled down at him. Thinking of Violet had his blood bubbling with lust and if she would get that ugly expression off of her face, this wench could prove a pretty enough distraction. It did not matter that her hair was an uninteresting shade of brown or that her eyes matched it, no woman could ever compare to his previous wife and there was no point in trying to find one. She would do, he supposed, to relieve some pent up tension and he was still aware of the effect he had on women.