Page 2 of Greed: The Savage
As was his usual, the Earl of Dynevor sat behind a rich, mahogany partner’s desk, as commanding as the man seated there.
While Addien closed the door, Dynevor pored over ledgers in his usual state of dress: absent of any fine cravat, his raven-black jacket discarded, and his crisp white linen shirt gaping open at the front.
Addien considered him while he worked. Having come across all sorts in her life, she’d found all men put on some kind of show. Every single minute motion was part of a grander facade. That was, everyone she’d ever known except for the owner of the Devil’s Den.
What you saw with Dynevor was what you got. When he was bent over his books, he was working. When he was viewing a new hire for the club, he was fierce and threatening, a product of establishing superiority and strength before his lesser hires.
The gentleman of rank was an interesting blend of streets mixed with royalty.
Both served him well.
With Addien tasked with dressing peeresses, while working and living with other scraggers like herself, she had long envied Dynevor that duality which allowed him to comfortably move between people and worlds.
At last, Lord Dynevor dropped his pen and looked up.
He didn’t mince words. “It is time for a talk.”
A talk.
Sod it.
Addien put herself in motion.
Lord Dynevor held her fast.
She followed the wave of his hand over to the pair of chairs with long wings, broad arms, and trimmed with brass nail heads. The only hospitable thing about those stately seats was the position they held beside the powerful fire burning in the slate hearth. Despite the warmth of the season, regardless of month or temperature outside, Lord Dynevor always had a powerful fire built. They said it was because of his affinity for the flame, given the years he’d spent as a lead arsonist for Mac Diggory.
Addien agreed with those whisperers too.
And yet she found herself easing onto the indicated perch with somewhat less trepidation.
This was the same chair he’d invited her to use when he’d brought her back to the Devil’s Den after her beating. Here, he’d interviewed Addien. He’d spoken to her about an available position.
This wasn’t the sacking spot—as those chairs at his desk had come to be known.
I am safe.
Not that there had been anything even remotely close to a sackable offense, or even something remotely insulting, or an inadvertent transgression in her duties, but when one lived a lifetime without security, there weren’t any certainties—that was, other than death. The glorious gift of stability one found could be yanked out from under one’s feet with the same speed with which it’d been granted.
Only after Addien had gotten herself comfortable did Lord Dynevor avail himself of the place across from her.
This was one of the things that’d earned the earl admiration from his staff. He still reserved the same respect for the ladies of the ton that he did for his menial laborers. He may have been born to nobility, but he’d also toiled and survived in the streets the same as the rest of them. And when he, a lost lord of London,was restored to his former seat of glory as the beloved son of a marquess, Dynevor never forgot the people and the streets he’d left behind. And when he’d become a man, he’d returned to those same streets and people.
She waited for him to speak.
Addien was bound to be left waiting.
Dynevor fetched himself a cheroot from the silver tray, neatly stacked with cheroots and cigars, in what was a gentleman’s version of the pretty porcelain candy dishes filled with comfits, sugar plums, and crystalized fruits for the lady patrons.
Even while he fetched a flintlock lighter and struck a flame to his rolled-bit, Dynevor spoke. “I have a new role for you here at the Devil’s Den.”
He never minced words, and Addien, having been lulled into a sense of ease, now found herself shaken up proper.
Her head spinning, Addien jumped to her feet. “What?” Her voice became pitchy with annoyance and anger and not a little bit of fear. “Have I done something to displease you? Did oi fail in my responsibilities?” She wavered in and out of her cockney. “Because if I did, you need just inform me what my cock-ups were and oi will—”
The earl nudged his chin at her vacant chair, and Addien took his silent command. She reclaimed her seat. As she did, she curled her shaking fingers into her lap and gripped the fabric of her dress hard.
Addien felt his gaze on her white-knuckled grip and made herself stop.
