Page 147 of Prince of Masks
“I’m not in a good position,” Landon tells me, and the blunt honesty would strike me if I wasn’t so defeated, so numb. “I’m one of them, for now—but the Barlows aren’t doing well, not since Mother’s print started to rot her mind… Prediction only comes in handy when it actually works.”
I nod, faint.
“And there is no wealth in brews.”
Again, my nod is wispy.
“I’ve made a lot of bad decisions. I relied on my reputation, my status—and that looks like it will fall away, soon. Once we fall into gentry, the reputation I earned myself will see the doors close on me. I’ll be locked out.” I can feel Landon’s gaze piercing into me. “That’s where you come in. You and I are going to be good friends, Olivia.”
“But what does this have to do with—”
Landon cuts me off, “You’ll invite me along to aristos events, you will keep me in mind for investments and suggest me into listening ears, your brother’s, your husband’s. You will be a part of my reformed image.”
“Mildred,” I say, soft.
He looks at me, a question hiking his brow.
“You need to shed her.”
His face firms.
“It’s not my own opinion…”
For a beat, he considers me. Then, slowly, he folds his mouth in thought. “What else?”
“Gambling addictions were mentioned, and promiscuity.”
His eyes flash, brimmed with an angry panic.
I shake my head, “Not that, just rumours that you sleep around with the lesser. With krums, even.”
“Who mentioned that?”
“Harold Sinclair.”
His complexion loses its satin touch and turns ashy. He nods, though. Firm. Determined. Then he forces a grin at me, “You’re already more valuable than I ever expected.”
I turn on him. “So tell me. Finish what you were saying. Tell me.”
Landon’s gaze is lured to my watery one.
His mouth flattens into a line, tilted.
He hesitates.
I take a step off the paver. “Landon, this was our deal. I help you—you tell me.”
What, exactly, he’s meant to tell me, I don’t know. I just know he was going to say something before he splintered off into a deal. He wanted insurance.
Now I want his secret. That dreadful secret that has my heart hammering.
The corners of his mouth turn down.
He lifts the joint, a silent offer.
Again, I shake my head, more violently this time, and my steps are stomping now, towards him.
“Landon…” That one spoken word, his name, is a plea. “Please.”
