Page 15 of Greed: The Savage
“One may surmise, there was some kind of scandal with one of the ladies involved.” The baroness, with her shrewd gossip’s eyes, watched Thornwick closely. “What say you?”
What say him?
She’d been a top candidate for the role of Lady Thornwick. With every passing second of her droning on in a bid for salacious secrets, she was giving him a glimpse of what marriage to her would be like, and none of it was good.
“I’m afraid I cannot say,” he murmured.
Lady Darrow let slip a coquettish giggle. “You wicked devil.”
Scratch-scratch-scratch.
God grant him patience.
“There are matters I wish to discuss with you. More than just a night at the Devil’s Den,” she took care to whisper that last part. “I do not want her here, Thornwick,” she said shrilly.
She was unrelenting—in the most unfavorable way.
Thornwick’s jaw locked, and even the grind of his teeth didn’t break the ire-filled stare-down between a seething lady and luminous lioness.
Thornwick launched a seductive siege, intended to save them all. “I am afraid my hands are tied,” he purred. “Only in the literal sense.”
He took the baroness’s hand, not with the gallantry of a gentleman but in a claim. With his thumb, he pressed hard on the delicate hollow of her wrist. Her pulse pounded in eager anticipation, and he made sure not to disappoint.
Where this powerful client and perfect bride for him were concerned, there’d been enough disappointments this day.
Thornwick let his stare upon her take on a feral gleam, and as he inched her fingers closer to his grinning lips, he, with eyes that mocked, dared her to look away.
As if she could.
His calculated performance had the intended effect.
The hungry little hitch of Lady Darrow’s breath filled the sun-washed parlor.
This time, the lusty baroness didn’t hear the smooth swish of broadcloth in the corner.
Thornwickdid.
That was neither here nor there; he’d handle Addien Killoran later. Much later.
The wanton widow’s eyes fluttered shut.
From the moment Addien entered behind Thornwick and perched herself on a straight-backed, tight-upholstered side chair reserved for servants, the widow had been distracted by the third member of their party.
He fixed a hot stare on Addien.
The infuriating minx gave him a mocking wave in return.
A fierce hungering seized him.
Scratch-scratch-scratch.
Thornwick released a carefully modulated growl to muffle Addien’s latest antics.
He grazed his teeth along the inseam where Lady Darrow’s hand met her wrist.
With the brazen beauty properly absorbed, he put his ire where it belonged—on the unpolished enchantress in the corner.
Addien Killoran was determined to see them both fail.
