Читать книгу Buried Angels - Camilla Lackberg - Страница 17

It would not do for them to be seen in the servants’ sleeping quarters, so Dagmar waited for a signal from him to withdraw to his room. Earlier she had made up the bed and tidied the room for him, not knowing that she would long so fervently to slip between those lovely cotton sheets.

The party was still in full swing when she received the signal she’d been waiting for. He was a bit unsteady on his feet, his blond hair was dishevelled, and his eyes glazed with drink. But he was not so intoxicated that he couldn’t slip her a key to his room. The brief touch of his hand made her heart race; without meeting his eye she hid the key in her apron pocket. At this stage no one would notice if she left. The hosts and the guests were all too drunk to care about anything besides refilling their glasses, and there were plenty of other servants to see to that.

Yet she still paused to glance around before unlocking the door to the large guest room, and when she stepped inside, she stopped with her back to the door and took several deep breaths. The mere sight of the bed with the white sheets and the elegant coverlet made her tingle all over. He could arrive at any moment, so she dashed into the small bathroom. Quickly she smoothed her hair, took off her servant’s clothing, and washed under her arms. Then she bit her lips and pinched her cheeks to make them rosier, since that was the fashion among the city girls.

When she heard the door handle turn, she hastened back into the room and sat down on the bed, wearing only her slip. She draped her hair over her shoulders, fully aware of how glossy it looked in the pale light of the summer night coming through the window.

She was not disappointed. When he saw her, his eyes opened wide, and he swiftly shut the door behind him. He studied her for a moment before he came over to the bed and placed his hand under her chin, lifting her face. Then he bent down and their lips met in a kiss. Cautiously, as if wanting to tease her, he slid the tip of his tongue between her parted lips.

Dagmar responded passionately to his kisses. She had never experienced anything like this before. It felt as if this man had been sent by some divine power to unite with her and make her whole. For a brief moment everything went black before her eyes, and images of the past were conjured up in her mind. The children who were placed in a basin, with a weight on top until they stopped moving. The policemen who rushed in and seized her mother and father. The tiny bodies that were dug up in the cellar at home. The witch and her foster father. The men who had groaned on top of her with their breath stinking of liquor and cigars. Everybody who had used her and derided her – now they would be forced to bow and ask forgiveness. When they saw her walking beside this blond hero, they would regret every word they had ever whispered behind her back.

Slowly he pulled her slip up over her stomach, and Dagmar raised her arms above her head to help him take off the garment. She wanted nothing more than to feel his skin against hers. She undid the buttons on his shirt one by one, until he finally tore it off. When all of his clothes were in a heap on the floor, he lay down on top of her. Nothing more separated them.

As their two bodies joined, Dagmar closed her eyes. At that moment she was no longer the Angelmaker’s daughter. She was a woman whom fate had finally blessed.