'Lean any closer and you will singe your hair.'

I smile and rest back in the armchair. My face is warm, and no doubt my cheek is as a scarlet as the ribbon which runs almost to his door, but I do not mind. There is something about sitting here in front of the hearth, wrapped in a blanket, that feels so utterly delicious, my whole body relishes the warmth of it. It is a sharp contrast to the cold touch of the lake upon my skin, but not so different to the way his body felt pressed against mine in the water.

He sits on the floor, his back against the front of the chair, languidly stroking one of my legs which hangs over his shoulder, the other curled up beneath me. His fingers dance over my ankle bone, to the tips of my toes, then back up, tracing the delicate curve of my calf through my silk stockings.

I am not sure I have ever felt as content as this. So utterly free from constraint and rules and everything else that governs my life and what I am told I must do with it. It is strange that just days ago, I was fearful of this room, this house, this man. Everything about this place and him seemed so dreadfully alien to me. This, as he quite rightly said at the time, was not my place. And yet, curled up here, drying off in front of the crackling flames, I feel oddly at peace. Calm, when I should feel anything but. Heated, not just from the fire, but from his presence, his touch.

I reach for his hair, entangling my fingers in his soft, wild curls, enjoying the way he closes his eyes and leans his head back into my touch.

'You know, when I was a girl, that is exactly what my mother used to say to me. After I bathed, she would insist on seating me in front of the hearth and brushing my hair. She had such a gentle touch and would refuse to let the governess do it. I was glad because our governess was such a beast. But Mama would take the brush and tease out the knots so very carefully, spending an age on each one, until my hair was fully brushed out. Sometimes, as she did it, we would tell each other stories. Hers were always far better than mine, of course, but she would praise every one of my tales as if they were better than the Brontës themselves.'

Daniel's eyes are open now, staring upwards. 'That is a beautiful memory, but must we talk of your mother in this moment?'

Twisting his body and shrugging my leg from his shoulder, he turns, pressing his mouth just above my knee, looking at me as he does so. The intensity of his stare enflames me more than the kiss. My body snaps from a state of lazy, fuzzy calm to being awakened in a second. Each nerve-ending sparks sensations I know I should not have. Images of him continuing that kiss, trailing his lips up my thighs to my stocking tops and brushing that mouth against my exposed skin. He doesn't, of course, but the thought of it is there nevertheless and the heat of it stokes a fire in the place I wish he would touch me the most.

Embarrassed by my own wanton thoughts, I cannot hold his gaze any longer and I cast my eyes to the flames again, troubled by how far I have let myself fall.

'What bothers you, Miss Elmes?'

His voice is low and intoxicating, like the taste of honey thick on my tongue and despite my misgivings, my heart lifts a little to hear the mock-formality of his question.

'Do you think me shameful?' I say, breaking the silence punctuated only by the sound of the fire crackling lazily in the hearth and the out-of-sync ticking of the clock. 'Because I think I am. I should not be here, with you, like this. Maybe you think it too. I wouldn't blame you.'

Daniel chuckles, a throaty thrum of laughter that vibrates in my ears.

'I think you and I have a very different ideas of what constitutes shameful behaviour, Lily. I think shame should be measured by how you treat your fellow man. How you treat those less fortunate. Less able. I think shame should be measured in man's hypocrisy. Issuing standards on women which men themselves have a hard job aspiring to, and indeed, flouting the same rules simply because they can. That, to me, is how we should measure shame.'

Sighing, he lets his hand trail down my leg again and I cannot help but think of what Lizzie said about men losing their minds at the mere sight of a woman's exposed ankle bone. I think perhaps Daniel is quite familiar with a woman's ankle bone and much more besides. Irrational envy ignites sudden ugly feelings.

'What I do not believe,' he continues. 'Is that a woman should feel shame for enjoying the company of a man nor trouble herself over how much she enjoys his touch. I doubt very much God would have given us bodies that relish the touch of another, if pleasure and desire were considered the Devil's work.' He smiles wryly. 'But then again, I am a man and one of a lesser standing at that. I neither follow the same rules as a woman must, nor do I adhere to what your kind think of as shameful.'

'My kind?' I raise a brow, amused. 'You make it sound as if we are a different species altogether.'

He shrugs. 'I think sometimes you are. Your kind wear layers like a mask. Your homes are full of layers. Rugs, furniture, paintings, pretty things, expensive things, all layered on top of one another, as if you seek to prevent outsiders from seeing what really lies beneath the wealth. Your wear layers of clothing – so many layers – as if you hope to mask the fact that underneath it all, you are the same flesh and blood and desires as the rest of us. Strip it all away, and there is nothing to distinguish the rich from the poor, the fortunate and less fortunate. Strip away the layers and there is no shame. Just truth.'

'Oh, and what is the truth?'

'The truth?' He laughs again. 'I could tell you the truth of right here and right now, but I am not sure you are quite ready to hear it. I could say a great many things to you now that you would no doubt think shameful.'

My breath catches in my throat. A thrill tickles inside the base of my stomach, spreading outwards. Downwards.

'Things? What things?'

'About the last time you sat in this chair,' he replies thickly, turning fully now to face me, and resting my foot on his lap. 'When you unfastened the collar of your dress. How much I wanted to kiss you there. How I wanted to press my mouth to your neck and taste your skin. How I wanted to unhook your dress so I could kiss your shoulder, your back... how I wanted to kiss you until I heard you sigh my name over and over.'

I am not sure I remember how to speak. Language feels lost to me. I am nothing but sensation and desire and flame.

Daniel's smile is knowing, dark curve of his lips that tells me he sees everything. Strangely, the exposure feels good. Knowing that he sees my desire feels invigorating.

'Now, do you think me shameful?' he says.

'No,' I reply. 'I find your honesty... liberating.'

'Liberating?' He raises a dark brow. 'Aye, well I suppose that is one word for it.' Reaching out, he pulls the blanket and wraps it tighter around me, covering up my shoulder where the thick material had slipped down.

'You do not wish to liberate me, Mr. Carver?' I say, looking up into his eyes as he stands, leaning down to plant a small but lingering kiss to my mouth.

'I can think of nothing I would rather do more,' he says, his gaze running over my face before frowning with regret. 'But I cannot. I will not.'

My eyes widen as he moves over to the hearth, picking up one of the large candles and holding the wick to the flames to light it.

'Really?' I say, surprised. 'You say all these things to me and then tell me you will not? I thought you cared not for reputation?'

'Aye, not for my own. I am done with caring for that now. But, for you? You might not think it, Lily, but while I care not for this ridiculous notion of shame and morals, I do happen to care for your reputation and do appreciate the difficulties you face. After all, it is one thing to fool your parents into believing you are somewhere else at this time, but to flout everything you have been taught and made to believe? I will not take what you are not ready to give.'

I pull the blanket to my chest and lean forward. 'You think I am not ready? Considering I sit under this blanket in nothing but my undergarments, I would suggest different.'

Daniel shoots me a smile and rakes his fingers through his curls. 'If you are determined to make me think about your undergarments, you just succeeded.'

He sighs and moves to the window, inclining his head so he can look out into the woods. When he finally looks back at me, his expression is more serious.

'You might be ready, but I do not think you are ready for what it would mean. For you. For us. Especially for your family. I will not damage you beyond repair, Lily. Not in their eyes. I care too much to do that.'

I scowl into the flames. 'Well, maybe it is too late for that. According to Percival Baker, I am ruined already, and I think mayhap my parents agree with him.'

'You are not ruined. Whatever damage has been done, can be undone. It is not too late.' He glances at me, faintly amused. 'Are you angry with me?'

'Well, in all honesty, this is like showing me the finest gown from London and then telling me I cannot have it.'

'Are you comparing me to a lady's frock?' Daniel throws back his head and laughs, louder this time and I enjoy the way the sound fills the room.

'You know full well what I am saying,' I pout.

Taking a low stool, he places it down in front of me and sits, grabbing my hands. 'Don't be cross. Do you not think I would wish to say to Hell with opinion? To Hell with what people would say and think? I want that almost as much as I want you. Do you not think I want to do everything I said and more besides? Because I do. If you had any idea how hard it is for me to refuse you! You could tell me to throw myself from Major's Leap and I would gladly do it if I thought it would please you. This thing has been like a hunger since the day you stepped foot here and I have been starving ever since.'

I exhale a tortured sigh and bring his hand to my lips, pressing my mouth to his knuckles.

'If only Mama could hear you speak. I think it would surprise her to know you talk so poetically.'

Daniel appears uncertain and wrinkles his nose. 'Your mother would just say it was the Devil speaking.'

I frown, sad to see the distaste in his eyes. 'She is really not as bad as you think. I know to some she might seem uptight and stuck in the old ways, but she is merely a product of our society. Tradition and superstition rules all. She understands only too well what it means to be a woman in this world and really does only want the best for me.'

'Aye and marrying Percival Baker is what's best for you, is it?'

I swallow down the bitter memory of Percival's touch and squeeze Daniel's hand. 'I will deal with that well enough. Mama is in panic, is all, and I must recognise my own actions in causing her to fret in such a way. But honestly, once you get to know her...'

'Get to know her?' Daniel laughs coldly. 'I know enough.'

I withdraw, shrinking back into the chair. 'What do you mean?'

Something dark flickers in his eyes. 'Nothing. I mean nothing.' He too pulls back, biting the skin around his thumb, his face clouding suddenly with shadow deepened by the flickering flames.

'Yes, you do. You mean something. What is it? Tell me, please.'

He hesitates, and the ticking of the clock seems to grow louder with his silence, an ominous tone to each dragging second.

'Years ago, when I was but a boy, my uncle and I did not live here. My uncle had a cottage on the edge of town, not far from St. Laurence's. Hollybush Cottage.'

My eyes widen. 'Hollybush Cottage? I know it. It's such a lovely little place. I believe the tailor Mr. Morville and his wife live there now.'

'Aye, it is lovely. At one time, it was not unusual for Sin-Eaters to live near the church, as strange as that may sound. The dark and the light work well in conjunction with one another. In the event of a sudden death, the Sin-Eater would do what the priest could not. There was balance. There was acceptance in some religious circles. A grim one, but an acceptance, nevertheless. Do not mistake me, people had their superstitions and their prejudices, and my uncle did not make it easy for us with his ways, but we still had a place in the town.' He tugs on his lower lip with his teeth, pensive and wary. 'That all changed the day we visited your home for your grandfather's internment.'

'I don't understand. How? Why?'

'How? Afterwards we were asked to leave the house. Politely, at first, and when my uncle refused, it was made very clear to him that he had no choice. Why? Because your mother lodged a petition to have us moved out.'

I flinch, my mind desperately attempting to register his words. 'Mama did that? But that seems preposterous! Why would she do such a thing? Daniel, I am sure you must be mistaken. You were a child. Possibly you misunderstood the situation. I am sure Mama would not.'

Are you really, Lillian? Are you certain?

It is true that Mama was beside herself with worry after the incident at Grand-Papa's ritual. I remember that almost as clearly as I remember the horror of that day. She had been terrified at what occurred there, but surely not enough to do such a terrible thing to Daniel and his uncle?

'I am sorry, Lily. Truly I am. It is not my intent to speak ill of your mother to you, but it did happen.' He clenches his hands into fists in his lap. 'She came to our home, accompanying Rector Williams, Mr. Hawkstone and his wife. Darborough and Baker Senior were there too. She had in her hands a petition, signed by every person of standing within the town. She had done that, Lily. It was her undertaking. They all stood there, refusing to look my uncle in the eye as they made their ultimatum. By the next day, we moved what little possessions we had into this cottage, and I have remained ever since.'

How small I feel. How very shamed by his tale. The idea that Mama could have done that does not shock me as much as it should, because whether I want to admit it or not, I believe him. I believe Daniel.

'My uncle despised this place,' he says, glancing around at the meagre surroundings. 'And he despised me even more for making us outcasts.'

I stare at him. 'But if my mother was the cause of it, why on Earth would your uncle blame you?'

Daniel locks eyes with mine and all at once I am ashamed of what I see reflecting at me.

'You know why,' he says.

And I do. I do.

'Mama thought you had bewitched me,' I whisper. 'She thought that was the reason I took to my bed with sickness after. She said it often enough. I looked upon your uncle, but most importantly, I looked upon you and you looked upon me.' Guilt wells in my eyes. 'I am so sorry, Daniel.'

'Oh, mind not, Lily,' he says, his face warming with affection. 'You are certainly not to blame, and I would not want you to waste one moment thinking on it. It was your mother's doing and hers alone.'

I am bereft. 'Please understand, she would only have done such a thing out of fear. My sickness concerned her greatly. She barely left my bedside.'

Apart from when she was compiling that ghastly petition.

Daniel frowns. 'You were sick?'

'Yes,' I say with a nod. 'Terribly, actually. I could not leave my bed for days. I could not eat and had a shocking fever. I struggled to sleep and yet when I did, I was plagued with such dreadful night terrors. I was quite severely stricken.'

Daniel stands abruptly, his bare back stiff and tense as he turns away from me.

'Daniel, what is it? What's wrong?'

When he looks back at me, the expression on his face sends shivers up my spine despite the heat of the fire and the warmth of the blanket wrapped around me.

'Forget it,' he says quickly, – too quickly – shaking his head.

'Daniel, you ask me to tell you what bothers me, and yet when I do the same, you cannot afford me the same honesty of a reply. Please, whatever it is, you must say it.'

'I get sick, Lillian,' he says. 'After each ritual, I get sick. Exactly as you have described. I cannot drag myself from my bed, sometimes for a day or two, but sometimes longer. I get the most terrible fever. I shiver yet I burn. On occasion it's been so bad, I think I might never recover. When I can sleep, I dream the most horrific of things. I wake screaming. I cannot eat and if I do I suffer the worst...'

'...vomiting,' I say, stricken. 'Like your stomach is being torn from your body.'

'Aye,' he whispers. 'The same would happen to my uncle.'

'What does it mean?' I say, standing up and crossing over to him. 'If this affliction ails Sin-Eaters, why did it happen to me? Is it the curse?'

'Heavens, Lillian, I told you, there is no curse.'

I take a step back, burned by his exasperated tone. 'Then explain to me about Edna Bates.'

'What?'

I see it then. Hesitation. Shock. Recognition. All played out on his perfect features. He knows the name, but he is surprised that I know the name.

'Edna Bates. A village girl who was in love with you uncle and refused to heed the warnings about the curse.' My voice hardens. I cannot help it. 'She died, Daniel. She died after coming here and meeting with your uncle. They found her in her bed, terror etched on her dead face.'

Daniel recoils. 'How long have you known this and said nothing?'

'My parents told me...' I start to say.

'Oh, your parents... of course they did.' Anger enflames his cheeks and his body stiffens with fury.

I reach for him, feeling him flinch under my touch before he stills, despite the tension that crackles under his skin louder than the flames in the hearth.

'And I said nothing because I did not believe it.'

He looks sharply at me through narrowed eyes. 'But you did believe it a little, did you not? I can see it,' he says. 'I heard it in the way you talked of her death, as if you think I hid something from you.'

I sigh. 'I will admit, the story scared me a little, but only because of what happened to me after Grand-Papa's death. And yes, I admit, I was surprised that you would not tell me.'

'I told you nothing because there was nothing to tell.' Daniel grasps my shoulders and pulls me to him. 'Edna Bates died of influenza, Lily. And yes, it was most likely exacerbated by visiting my uncle out here during the winter nights but trust me, it was not any fictional curse that killed her. People knew of her obsession with Joseph and afterwards it was easy to blame him for her death. Another myth to add to the many more created by those who wanted the townsfolk to fear us.'

'Was Edna the reason he became so secretive before he died? Was she the one he was meeting in the woods?'

Daniel shakes his head vehemently. 'Edna died long before my uncle did. Nay, whomever he met in the woods, it was not her.'

I let him pull me against him, leeching a small sense of comfort in the warmth of his body, the firmness of his embrace and from the scent of his skin as I bury my face into his neck.

'Then if I am not cursed, how can it be that I suffered the same affliction that a Sin-Eater suffers as consequence of the ritual? How is that possible?'

'Have you suffered anything similar since?'

'Nothing,' I say. 'Although...'

Daniel withdraws a little, looking down into my face. 'Although... what?'

'That day, at Lutwyche, you were in Mr. Hawkstone's study before the ceremony. A very odd thing happened. To be honest, at the time, I did not even know I was doing it, but Lizzie said that I went into a kind of trance and that I said the most terrible things.'

'What things?'

I swallow. 'I pawn my own soul.'

Daniel's eyes widen, shock clearly etched on his face. 'Lily, that is the preparation ritual. It's a dark prayer we recite before the consumption of sin, to prepare our own soul for the ordeal that is to come. How could you know to say that?'

'I did not know I had said it. I saw and heard you say it, but Lizzie insisted it was me.' My heart hammers in my chest. 'Daniel, what does this all mean?'

He touches my face, his thumb brushing over my lips. 'I have no idea, but I will find out, I promise you. I will.'

I smile, despite everything, because if Daniel is determined to find the root cause of why I was afflicted in such a way, it can only mean one thing.

He is not going to leave and flee to London as he had said he would.

Reaching up, I pull his head down to mine and press my open mouth to his, melting into his kiss, allowing the heat of his body to embrace me. Consume me.

'Well, then,' I say, when we finally stop. 'It seems we now have two mysteries to solve. The first being this strange affliction we appear to share and the second being the identity of our mysterious necromancer.'

'Lillian...' he warns, but I press my fingers to his lips to quiet him.

'There is no point attempting to deter me from this. I refuse to let this creature drive you from your home and terrorise the people of this town.'

With a smile, I let the blanket fall from my shoulders.

'And it so happens, I know just where to look for our first clue.'