Page 104 of Greed: The Savage
“…Tell me who you belong to…!”
Her chest ached, hollow and raw. Of course he hadn’t come for her. His claim had always been possession, not love. At most, Malric was here to take back what was his.
With a slow, false arch of his golden brows, the duke feigned surprise, every inch of it a taunt meant to undermine.
Addien wanted to weep.
The Duke of Argyll’s amused drawl shattered the raw intensity between them. “Of all the gentlemen I expected to pay a call this day, you were certainly not the one, Thornwick.” With feigned casualness, the rakish proprietor lifted his champagne flute. “I’d have been delighted if Latimer came crawling back.”
Addien stormed to her feet.
“As if he would return to the man who betrayed him,” Addien spat. “You should be on your knees, begging his forgiveness.”
From the corner of her eye, she caught the faint curl of Malric’s mouth, admiration, wry amusement—but nothing more. It was not love. It could never be love. Only approval, tossed like a scrap at her starving heart.
The duke’s mouth curved, though not in a smile. “I had hoped for Dynevor.” He poured his glass with unhurried grace, his voice smooth as poisoned honey. “Never did I expect the brother of the man who nearly cost me my sister. Perhaps it is even sweeter to keep in my employ the exquisite prize a Mauley was too blind to hold.”
Malric’s broad shoulders drew taut. Her proud, impermeable Malric struck by a shame he would never show. And the sight of him taunted for sins not his own cut Addien to the core.
She could not protect him from the hurt of Argyll’s first taunt, but she could certainly save him from the other.
Placing her hands on the table, she leaned over the duke’s still languidly reposed figure. “You don’t know anything. Mal—His Lordship” Addien swiftly corrected. At her slip-up, a knowing smile curved Argyll’s lips. “If ye brought me on staff thinking Lord Thornwick’s got some affection for me—”
“Oh, I would call it something more than that.” Argyll stretched out all the syllables of that rebuttal.
She spoke over him. “Or ye can somehow use me to anger him, then you’re going to be disappointed. It ain’t like that. He doesn’t care about me.”
There at least she could save Malric some part of his pride.
The duke slid a glance over at Malric, who remained stone-still and silent.
“What say you to the lady, Mauley?” The Duke of Argyll unfurled to his impressive height. “Hmm?”
The urge to slap the swaggering prig’s face burned hot; she curled her fingers hard into her palm.
“You owe him nothing, Malric,” Addien said, her voice somehow strong; the imploring hand she lifted for Malric proved far less stable.
Coming here had been a mistake. Desperation alone had driven her into the fold of men who carried a blood vengeance against Malric for his name and name alone.
Malric remained carved in granite. “No,” he said quietly. “I owe Argyll nothing.” Finally, he moved his gaze back to Addien. “As for you, Miss Killoran—”
She tensed, bracing for his rejection, and she would deserve every last lash he’d hand her.
He opened his mouth.
Addien couldn’t have him say it. “Iknow,” she said, her voice catching. “I have wronged you.”
Malric stared flatly at her.
She lay herself bare and humbled herself before him. “I did come here because I can’t work with you anymore, Malric,” she rasped. “Working beside you, seeing you daily a-and not truly having you the way I want you would destroy me in ways I will not survive.” A tear trickled down her cheek, dampening her face.
Impassive, Malric trailed those slow-sliding drops.
A diverted Argyll collected his flute and motioned with it for Addien to continue. “Do go on, dearest Addien—”
Addien and Malric spoke as one.
“Do not call me—”
