Page 19 of Devil Mine

I’m pulled away before I’ve had close to my fill of looking at him, and I’m yanked back to my sad reality, the one where I’m being crushed in Franklin’s arms.

When will this godforsaken song be over?

“You’re going to make the perfect wife,” he presses against my ear. He mistakes my answering shudder for an aroused shiver. “So reactive to my touch,” he croons. “It was kind of your father to allow you a hobby, but I’ll take over once you’re mine. Your only job will be waiting with your legs spread for me to come home.” His hand slides lower until his fingers brush the top of my ass.

I grab his hand, crushing his fingers in mine, and yank it to my mid back. “Keep your hand off my ass Franklin, unless you want to lose it.”

His face turns cruel. His hand digs into my waist so hard that I know my skin will bruise even through the corset. “You need to be taught some discipline. I’ll make sure your education is a top priority the moment you move into my house.” He presses me close, his threats muttered nauseatingly against my ear. “I’m going to enjoy breaking you.”

I don’t let panic take me. There are many more eligible suitors in London. I refuse to believe my father will marry me to someone who’s only claim to power is that he’s a third cousin to the eighty-seventh person in line for the throne.

Over his shoulder, I see Dagny. She’s staring at Franklin’s back with something akin to pity in her eyes, probably because of the disgusted look on my face. I wave at her with my free hand to get her attention over to me.

“He’s here,” I mouthe. This is far from ideal as modes of communication go, but it’s all I’ve got right now. I don’t want her to miss seeing the mystery man again.

Thankfully, Dagny and I once accidentally entered a twelve-round bar charades competition with an entire bottle of tequila already in our systems and won, so if anyone’s prepared for this moment, it’s us.

She grabs an unsuspecting passerby who was ambling past her and pulls him onto the dancefloor with her. The poor bloke looks like he’s just been rocket-launched to the moon when he finds himself a foot away from Franklin and me, his hands on Dagny’s waist, attempting to dance a waltz.

“Who’s here?” she mouths back.

“The man fromFirenze,” I answer, tilting my head back over my shoulder in his direction. Her eyes widen comically.

“Come on pal, we’re moving,” I hear her say to her dance partner.

He squeaks out an “okay” and lets himself be shoved past me so she can get a better look. His relief is second only to mine when the song ends a few moments later and she releases him.

I shove Franklin away the second the music fades. “You’ll never touch me again,” I vow. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Not bothering to wait for a reply, I spin on my heels, grab Dagny’s hand, and march off the dance floor. Much to my chagrin, the mystery man is gone, disappeared once more.

We exit the main hall where the event is being held and head into one of the grandiose hallways. I feel my heart rate start to even out as we escape the loud music and sounds of the party.

“Are you alright? Franklin looked like he was trying to suffocate you to death using the force of his beer belly alone,” Dagny asks, concerned.

“I’m fine. I’m going to have Wiz install the mother of all viruses on every single one of his devices Monday,” I say, dismissing that whole interaction with a wave of my hand. “Did you see the mystery man this time?”

She nods excitedly. “I did! He’s insanely hot. You should have seen the way he was glaring at Franklin. I thought he was going to drag him off you.”

If only I were so lucky. “I wish.”

“Have you met him before? Why was he looking at you like that?”

I rack my brain. Something about him feels familiar, but I’m sure we’ve never met. I’d remember his face, the way he looked at me. “No, never… and I’ve never seen him at other society events either.”

“Same. He certainly doesn’t fit in, what with the tattoos and the glower. The people around him were giving him averywide berth. I swear I saw Lydia Hightower’s granny faint at the sight of him.”

I chuckle. “And yet, he’s clearly invited. Or if not invited, at least allowed to stay after having crashed the party. So someone must know who he is.”

“Leave it with me, I’ll track him down,” Dagny announces.

I smile at that. Dagny is half-American, half-Norwegian, my best friend, and an unabashedly self-professed gossip queen. Her international network of “tea”, as she calls it, would rival most criminal enterprises. If anyone can find out who the mystery man is, and quickly, it’s her.

“Thanks.”

She quirks an amused brow at me. “What are you going to do once you know who he is, Tessie?”

“I… don’t know,” I answer, honestly. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

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