EXCERPT:
February 6th, 1750
Westinghouse Manor
Bedfordshire, England
"Comtesse de Fournier? Is that you, my lady?" The voice held not the slightest edge of fear, confirming Rose's suspicions. Sir Walter Pithwater obviously knew little of the history of his people. Tonight, that shameful gap in his education would hasten his journey to the grave.
Rose crept slowly through the garden's maze, grateful the hedges had yet to reach their full height. Pithwater was clearly visible above the top of the shrubbery, his bald head gleaming in the moonlight while her own figure remained concealed. True, she was barely five feet and two in her heeled slippers--but even Lord Drummand, the host of the country party and a man close to six feet in height, would be largely concealed within the maze. The people of the tribe were simply unusually tall, and Sir Walter was no exception.
It was one of the clues that had alerted her to the ogre's true nature, in addition to his monstrous appetite. A late night venture down to the Earl's kitchens confirmed her worst fears. The cook needed little prying to confess she worried the baronet would eat her employers out of house and home, forcing them to end their party early and disgrace themselves in front of many influential friends and members of Society.
The woman should have been more concerned about the ravenous guest eating her out of chambermaids and stable boys. Two of the household staff had gone missing in the past week. Rose doubted their bodies would never be found. Ogres were unique among supernatural predators in that they ate the entirety of their victims--bones and all.
"Comtesse? I am certain that is your delicate step I hear," Pithwater called again, a suggestive lilt in his tone. "Come out, come out, my little rosebud."
Rose grimaced beneath the black hood concealing her powdered blonde curls from the light of the moon. She had been christened Rosemarie, and allowed a select few to call her Rose, but had never been pleased with ridiculous pet names derived from her Christian name. Especially when they sprung from the mouth of a repulsive goat like Pithwater.
Still, she had no one but herself to blame for attracting his amorous attentions.
She had led the man to believe she was largely penniless and in need of a protector, lest she follow in the footsteps of other impoverished women of standing who lived their lives in the shadows of polite society as courtesans. Nothing had been said outright, all communicated in hushed intimations as such things usually were, but Pithwater had taken the bait.
He'd invited her to the garden maze tonight for what she gathered was a trial of sorts, to see if she would please him as a mistress. The reward for his pleasure would be her own cottage near Marylebone Gardens and an allowance he had named generous, but which they both knew to be hundreds of pounds short of a livable sum. Not that the allowance was of any real consequence.
Rose knew what her fate would truly be--a few months in his bed and an eternity in his stomach. Ogres could never retain a human lover for long, no matter how fetching they found them. Their appetite for flesh always outweighed their desire for carnal pleasure.
"I see... You wish to play the fox and the rabbit, eh?" She heard Pithwater begin to move through the maze, closer to her position. "But who will be the fox and who the rabbit?"
There was a question she would most happily answer. "I shall be the fox, Sir Walter."
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