Page 54 of Stroke of Shadows

Chapter 19

Harper

Harper sat quietly, waiting for her uncle to join her in the back of the car. It wasn’t uncommon for her to join him to the auctions, especially when she’d been studying certain pieces he wished to bid on.

“Sorry for the delay. I was just making sure we had efficient security.” Angel moved into the seat beside her, the leather squeaking beneath his weight.

Harper nodded, knowing he preferred her silent on the drive. Ivan already sat in the driving seat, waiting with practised patient like always, but then the other door opened.

“Sorry,” a familiar voice echoed in the small confines of the car. “Just had to sort out details with Wyatt.”

Sythe turned and met her gaze, and her skin heated at the memory of his kiss. He seemed to smirk, turning back around before yanking at his seat belt.

“Wyatt knows you were needed, and I’ve already explained you’ll be returned for tonight,” Angel grunted beside her. “Please behave with some decorum, Mr Black. We’re not headed to the Bricks.”

“Yes, sir.” Sythe chuckled quietly before nodding to her over his shoulder. “Miss Beauchamp.”

Harper looked out of the window, hyperaware of the man in the front.

“Relax,” Angel said when they finally pulled up outside the auction house over forty-five minutes later. It was the one disguised as a gentleman’s club in SoHo, and while the front still acted as that, the back was another story.

Harper smiled, but it was weak. Waiting for Ivan to open the door, she slipped from the car, the early evening air cold against her exposed skin. She’d worn a dress chosen by Angel, one that left most of her breasts exposed, as well as a thigh high split. A warm hand at the bottom of her spine, and Harper stilled at Ivan’s touch, her hair raising with warning. Surely he wouldn’t do anything with an audience, would he? His touch disappeared, and Angel appeared around the car to take her arm.

“Let’s get inside,” he said, leading her towards the entrance at the side.

The auction room looked just as it had every time she’d visited, with dark woods adorning the walls and a blue floral carpet that always looked newly fitted. There were around fifty men and women attending, as well as the auctioneer who waited at his podium.

“Stay here,” Angel said when they’d moved to the corner. “Don’t move.” He dropped her arm, moving through the carefully laid out chairs to a man she didn’t recognise across the room. Ivan’s arm brushed her side before he joined Angel like his shadow.

“Ivan looks at you weird.”

Harper pressed her lips tightly together, not wanting to turn to the man who’d taken his position at her back. “Does he? I’ve never noticed.” Sythe made her nervous, especially when she could feel his gaze on her skin.

“You’re cold tonight, darling. You not think of bringing a coat?”

Irritation prickled at her, but she squished it down. “I’m not your darling, Mr Black,” she said, much calmer than she felt.

A dark chuckle, his warmth seeping along her back. “I think you’ve made that very clear, Miss Beauchamp.”

Harper noted the mayor of the city in attendance, as well as the Deputy Commissioner of the Metropolitan police. Which wasn’t a surprise, considering most people in high positions were corrupt. She’d personally organised a transfer of an illegally mined diamond for the mayor’s wife, one used to keep him neatly in Angel’s pocket.

A rustle behind her, and Harper gripped her clutch tighter as Sythe moved to her side. He wore black, the shirt so fitted it looked like a second skin. Not that she dared look at him too long.

“You’re beautiful today,” he whispered, his head faced forward.

Harper sucked in a breath, dropping her voice to match his. “You can’t say that to me.”

“Why not?” There was genuine curiosity in his tone.

“Because you just can’t.” If someone overheard… “You’re supposed to be the security. Do your job, Mr Black.”

“I forget, a socialite like yourself couldn’t be caught talking to a guy like me. Could you imagine your reputation?”

He was laughing at her.

“I’m not a socialite,” she bit out, trying to keep her smile in place. A socialite socialised. She was kept locked away, only released for selected events. “I don’t have a reputation.”

Sythe snorted, drawing attention from an older woman studying one of the paintings on offer tonight. He moved closer, dropping his head closer to her ear.

---