Her hand connected with the side of his face hard, the sound echoing through the inner bedchamber. “Who are you, sir,” she said through a clenched jaw, “to think that you are any better than any other of God’s children? You were ripped from the womb in the same manner as I and so shall you, like myself and all of the rest of God’s children, go to the earth after your passing and become dust.”

His fingers caught her smaller wrist in an iron grip, tugging her close. “When I die, lady, I will go to judgment as a man. But while I still breathe, I am a man of power and influence, and you will treat me as such.”

“And that is to involve lying on my back for you whenever you so desire?” Her eyes glittered in the flickering light of the candles as she glared at him in utter contempt.

Yanking her hand up, he bent his head to press his lips to her wrist. His tone matching the dark look he gave her, he murmured against her skin, “Yes, lady, if I wish it. Unless you’d rather be dropped back into the hell hole I found you crawling from.”

She shuddered and forced herself to attribute it to the thought of the slum and hovel of squalling brats and drunken beatings. “You wouldn’t….” She tried to sound indignant but only came across as desperate.

Her tone fueled his dark amusement. “Oh, lady, I can and will.” He released her wrist with a shove that had her stumbling back and falling back onto the large bed. Smoothing out his dark hair, he turned on his heel and strode towards the door. “I’ll leave you to ponder your place for a while, lady. When I return, I will be expecting your choice to be made.”

She held back her tears until the heavy door slammed shut. Would she be a battered housewife or a high-priced whore? She wanted neither life. She didn’t want to be a replacement mother for a houseful of her mother’s children. She didn’t want to be a replacement wife for her ever-drunken father. Nor did she want to escape her former life by being the sexual servant to a man of power. Hell seemed a better choice than the two paths she was presented. And as she pushed her heavy mane of hair from where it fell over her face, her gaze fell upon her reflection and her mind began to spin.

When he returned, her clothes were folded neatly on his bed and the door to the bathroom was shut. He strode confidently to the door, hearing an odd crunching noise beneath his boots and looking down to see shards of himself staring up at him; he decided to chalk up the mirror as a casualty to what she had shown to be a vicious temper. When he pushed open the door, she was in the bath, her white chemise floating almost transparent near the water’s surface. He tugged gently on her hair and her head lolled back. Taking in the pale complexion and glassy surface of her eyes, he finally noticed the pink tinge of the water. He fished out the chunk of polished glass from the blood pooling on the floor where it had fallen from her slack hand and regarded his crimson-tinted reflection as he lamented the loss of the woman he’d hoped would be his lover as he fought against a spike of anger at the fact she’d rather commit a mortal sin and condemn herself to hell than be with a man as powerful as he. Throwing the bit of mirror back on the floor, he exited the room, calling for a servant to clean up the mess and dispose of the remains in a manner fit for a sinner such as her. Where he found her, he could easily find others more willing.