My Immortal (Seven Deadly Sins #1)(58)
Author: Erin McCarthy

It will never go away, I shall never win, I cannot be strong enough to beat it back, and the devil works in me, through me, every time I strip off my gown like a whore and dive into sin.

There is another babe on the way, and this time, Angelique, this time I cannot wait for God to take it from me. My husband is an unnatural being, immortal, enslaved to the powers of hell, a charming, handsome vessel of all that is evil. What sort of child could this possibly be, born of my weak licentiousness and Damien’s empty, Godless soul?

I am not fit to raise a child, nor would this be a baby. It is an aberration, it is like when Rosa was born of the union of her father and a mortal mate, born directly into servitude. They would own this child and raise it in their world to be as they are.

Whatever sins I have committed, whatever becomes of me, this is something I cannot bear. I am not meant to be a mother, not with Damien. That is why I lost the first two, because it was a warning sign from God that I had fallen afoul of all that is right.

Martha, one of our house slaves, has been kind enough to procure for me a local herb that is said to ease the ailment I suffer from. She was startled by my questions, but I told her that the doctor has informed me carrying a child to term will kill me, and I choose to live. Not only did she give me the solution for my immediate concerns, she gave me some advice and options for preventing future incidents, for which I am most grateful. I do not believe I can endure this a second time.

I am not even sure I shall survive the first.

Rosa has just left me. She has offered me a solution, a way to release both Damien and myself.

Not ten minutes past, she stood in my bedchamber, with its pretty lilac wallpapering, and ran her fingers idly over the rich silk of my window hangings. "Do you love him?" she asked.

"That is none of your concern," I said, afraid yet unwilling to give her what she desired. And if my insolence displeased her, how else could she hurt me, truthfully? I cannot suffer any more than I already am.

"Oh, do not be missish." She made an unpleasant face. "I am not a witch, you know, I do not enjoy other people’s pain. I am more concerned with giving everyone pleasure, not causing suffering."

"It would give me great pleasure if you would leave."

That made her laugh. "You have a wit, Marie du Bourg. I can almost forgive you for being so pasty-faced and delicate. Men love that in a wife, you know. Proper, pale, a champion hostess, who looks the other way at a husband’s indiscretions, bears an heir, and promptly takes herself to the grave. A perfect wife."

"I might have been that at one time, but your descriptives do not accurately portray me any longer." I was sitting at my writing desk, as I am now, and I sanded my latest efforts before slipping them in the drawer.

"No, you’ve become quite the mistress, haven’t you? It’s very clever, you know. Being a man’s wife in public, his mistress in private. I’m quite impressed by your strategy. But you do know that Damien regrets the choice he has made with me."

"Yes."

"He is not a man who likes to serve. He will try to take his life, as he would rather die than continue powerless in this role. He will rail in anger and frustration. He will take it out on you, as you grow old and he stays the same, never changing. And eventually, while you wither and dry out with age, he will go mad, his mind collapsing in on itself. It does not seem a pleasing future for you or Damien."

I knew she was right. It was an accurate assessment of Damien’s character. The truth had me around the throat, like cold, strong hands squeezing with authority.

"I can offer a solution. It can save both your unborn child and Damien. You need simply exchange yourself for him. Then he will be free, released, repentant, and can raise your child. You, who understands the lure of sexual pleasure, can live out your days wallowing in it. My father, he will please you, and you’ll know nothing but ecstasy in his company."

So the offer was simple. So simple after all this pain. Sacrifice myself, who is already so lost, for Damien and our babe.

I bade Rosa give me time to think it over, but my conclusions have not changed in ten minutes. I am simply too weak to resist. So very utterly fatigued. Better to throw myself into the fire and burn quickly than to simmer slowly in the sin of seduction.

Pray, Angelique, for my soul, and please post my enclosed confession to Father Montelier. I will not see you in heaven, but tell my God I am sorry.

Yours, most regretfully,

Marie Evangeline Theresa Bouvier du Bourg

Marley tucked the last letter back into the plastic bag and headed for the door. She was absolutely positive everything she had just read was a load of crap. It had to be. No matter that it was detailed, intriguing, even wrenching at times. She wasn’t going to allow herself to emotionally connect to it because it was a work of fiction. There were no such thing as demons, and the Damien in the story couldn’t be immortal.

Because that would mean the previous coincidences would have to be reexamined and would lead her to conclusions she wouldn’t tolerate, couldn’t fathom.

Obviously Anna wasn’t going to tell her the truth, but she needed to see that old woman, hear the lies she was going to spin to accompany the story of the letters.

Marley was getting adept at sneaking out of the house so Damien wouldn’t see her. She had gotten surprisingly bold in the last ten days. She had also gotten flirtatious, selfish, sexual. Like Marie.

Damn it. She pushed through the back door with less care than she should have and it slammed into the wall. Cursing, she closed it and plowed her way through the garden, down the gravel path, and cut past the ramshackle slaves’ cabins. She was not like Marie du Bourg. She had not succumbed to sin, to pleasure, given up pieces of herself, despised the choices she’d made, sank into her own weaknesses.

Marley’s time at Rosa de Montana had been empowering. She had finally faced the truth about her sister, knew she was going to have to step back and let Lizzie make her own mistakes, especially since Sebastian was well cared for. She had allowed herself the indulgence of an affair with Damien. He hadn’t talked or coaxed or lured her into that sexual relationship, but had offered and she’d taken.

But like Marie, she too had fallen in love with her Damien.

And somehow it felt like Anna knew and was laughing at her. A woman like Marley Turner could never keep a man like Damien du Bourg. That was what the little insecure, nasty bitch of a voice whispered in her head, and Marley hated it. Hated it that she hadn’t grown past that yet, that she was still such a needy little girl who needed love.

Not that it mattered whether she could keep Damien or not, because she wasn’t going to try.