Chapter 3 Scandal in Steam
The grandfather clock struck 3 AM when Elizabeth discovered the secret of Blackthorn Manor's plumbing. Fleeing another nightmare of Edward's "etiquette training," she stumbled through secret passages reeking of rose oil and regret. Moonlight through stained glass painted her bruised wrists cobalt blue as she pushed open what she thought was the linen closet.
Steam enveloped her like a lover's breath.
Edward stood waist-deep in a sunken onyx bath, water sluicing over muscles taut from years of repressed fury. His obsidian hair dripped onto the fogged glass partition where Anne's initials ("A.W. ♡ E.B. 4EVER") had been etched by a diamond ring.
"Enjoying the view, Christabel?" He didn't turn around, soap suds clinging to the scar bisecting his shoulder blades—a relic from Christabel's drowning accident.
Elizabeth backed into a marble pillar carved with nymphs. "I-I thought this was the..."
"Liar." Water rippled as he rose. "Clause 6.8: Deliberate seduction attempts require prior notice."
Her scream lodged in her throat. Edward's naked form materialized through the steam, towel hanging precariously low. The rosebud scar on her chest throbbed in time with his pulse visible at his throat.
"Still playing innocent?" He cornered her against heated tiles. "Your trembling act is exactly how Christabel lured me to the boathouse that night."
"Maybe she was cold!" Elizabeth grabbed a silver soap dish. "Stay back or—"
"Or what?" He snatched her weapon, tossing it into the bath with a hiss. "You'll melt me with righteous indignation?"
Their reflections warped in the fogged glass—a grotesque funhouse mirror of tangled limbs. Edward pinned her hands above her head, water from his hair sliding between her breasts.
"Clause 12.5: Physical responsiveness training extends to involuntary reactions." His knee parted her thighs. "Let's document your...progress."
A hidden camera blinked red in the steam vent.
Anne smashed her vermouth glass against the surveillance monitor. "That little cockroach!" Onscreen, Edward's teeth grazed Elizabeth's shoulder while steam swirled around their reflection.
Her maid Cora adjusted the hidden camera feed. "The aphrodisiac candles arrive in fifteen minutes, milady."
"Double the dosage." Anne spat out a rose petal from her teeth-whitening regimen. "If Edward wants a slut, let him choke on one."
Elizabeth's nails scraped tiles as Edward bit her hipbone. "You taste of pennyroyal and lies." His tongue traced the scar. "Christabel wore gardenias."
"Go to hell!" She kicked, toppling a Venetian vase. Jasmine petals stuck to their damp skin.
The door creaked open.
"Darling? I brought your migraine candles—" Anne froze mid-step, clutching a Tiffany lamp shaped like Christabel's face. "Oh my stars!"
Elizabeth glimpsed her reflection—hair snarled, Edward's towel draped over her left thigh, his teeth marks blooming on her ribs.
Anne's Botox-frozen smile twitched. "How quaint! Training the help in plumbing maintenance?"
Edward shielded Elizabeth with his body. "Out."
"But these therapeutic candles—"
"OUT!" His roar shattered the lamp's stained-glass eyes.
Anne's stiletto stabbed the discarded soap dish. "You'll regret this, rosebud."
The slam of the door stirred the candle flames into a frenzied tango.
Elizabeth choked on cloying jasmine. "Why's the steam pink?"
"New aromatherapy." Edward pinned her against the now-scorching tiles. "Breathe deeper."
"Stop—" Her protest dissolved into a moan. The world tilted. Candle flames morphed into Christabel's ringed fingers beckoning from the drain.
"There's my good girl." Edward's voice slithered through her veins. His hands felt like ice and fire, mapping territories her contract forbade her to protect.
Key Prop Alert: Elizabeth's nails leave five parallel scratches on the fogged glass (to be used as evidence in Ch.5 paternity blackmail)
Anne pressed her ear to the steam-warped door. Elizabeth's whimpers harmonized with the hissing pipes.
"Right on schedule." Cora grinned, holding up Anne's diamond-encrusted nail file. "Shall we?"
Anne snapped off her acrylic nail tip (Victorian Red #666) and dropped it into a blood sample vial. "Plant this in his shaving kit. The DNA test better show twins."
Elizabeth awoke underwater.
Edward's hands anchored her hips to the bath floor, their hair entwined like drowned lovers. Bubbles escaped her nose as he breathed into her mouth, the candle's pheromones turning oxygen into poison.
She fought.
He laughed.
They resurfaced gasping, foreheads pressed together.
"Clause 20.9: Submersion therapy for trauma replication." His thumb wiped blood from her lip. "Christabel lasted thirteen minutes."
The candles sputtered. Wax pooled around Elizabeth's broken pearl necklace.
"Tell me..." She clawed his back, drawing fresh blood. "Did she beg like you make me beg?"
Edward stilled. For the first time, she saw cracks in his armor—the boy who watched his fiancée sink into dark waters.
The door exploded inward.
Anne's scream pierced the night. "Harlot!"
Reporters swarmed the bathroom. Flashbulbs captured:
Elizabeth's bite marks on Edward's Achilles tendon
The claw marks on the glass (now steaming "HELP" in backwards letters)
Anne's severed nail glittering in candle wax
The contract floating in the bath, Clause 15 now legible: "Children conceived during contractual period become ducal property"
Edward shielded Elizabeth with a soaked tapestry. "This isn't what—"
"Liar!" Anne hurled the toxic candle at Elizabeth. "You killed Christabel and now you're stealing my life!"
Fire erupted. Flames licked Christabel's portrait above the bath. Edward shoved Elizabeth toward secret passages as smoke devoured Anne's triumphant smile.
