Page 20 of Greed: The Savage
Oh, god.
Malric followed his employer’s stare over.
Addien’s throat worked.
If he orders me…if he demands I move…I will die…
Her legs knocked too bad to move an inch.
Malric nudged his chin up.
Stunned, Addien briefly forgot her fear.
He was telling Addien to lift her head.
Surely not…
Nothing made sense this day. How did he waver between helpful and haughty?
Even if it came from the blighter, Malric, Addien chose to take that token of support. She joined him at the foot of Dynevor’s desk—and waited.
Lord Dynevor, the all-imperial king of this underworld empire built on sins, opulence, and the profane regarded them.
By the gentleman’s hard, blank countenance, word had already reached him.
Addien’s belly did another dangerous flip.
“Well, out with it.”
She couldn’t speak a single word if she tried. Not that Addienneededto.
With that same general tone he’d adopted when going over his expectations with Addien, Malric delivered his report to the proprietors without inflection. From Addien’s refusal to hand over her cloak, to the quarrel—at least Malric didn’t call it a fight—with the butler, he left nothing out.
When he’d finished tallying her sins, she wanted to hate him, but she couldn’t. He’d not embellished. He’d not expounded when there’d been plenty of room for him to do so.
Addien slid a glance his way.
His focus remained reserved for Dynevor.
“As I’d anticipated, given Miss Killoran has not been schooled in manners and the ways of the peerage, she was put at a great disadvantage today. Which made her blameless for some of what happened in Lady Darrow’s household.” He slid a regretful glance Addien’s way as he dealt the death knell. “But guilty in many other ways.”
Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.
“She will never be suited to a role that brings her into close contact with ladies.”
Addien couldn’t resist stealing a glance down at her feet. For certain, she hadn’t acquitted herself well this day.
“Neverseems an unrealistic stretch of time,” Dynevor said in response to one of his commanding officers. “Don’t you think, Snap?” A harsh twinkle danced in the mercenary proprietor’s steely eyes.
She’d already picked up his meaning, if Malric had not. Clinging to that which connected her to the earl who’d grown up amidst the same gang as Addien and so many others, she went full cockney in her response. “Oi, ye’ve mastered the fancy set. Ye give the rest of us guttersnipes ’ope, my lord.”
Hope grew when he emitted a raspy chuckle in return.
Malric, having realized his misstep, sought to course correct. “I did not mean to imply,” he began stiffly.
“Save your fancy apologies.” Dynevor shoved back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head. “Ye know I don’t need them. Ye’ve given truths, and I pay ye for those truths.”
The light of hope within Addien began to slowly die. So that moment of camaraderie got her nowhere. It’d been half-witted thinking it would or even might.
