Page 38 of Greed: The Savage
Addien’s eyes grew hard. “Yes, Lady Darrow,” she said in flawless tones and added an even more flawless curtsy.
She’d perfected both and delivered them in deference.
And Thornwick loathed absolutely everything about this moment. There was something sacrilegious in the bold, queen-like Addien Killoran being subservient to anyone—but especially this shrew, her lesser in every way.
Thornwick opened his mouth to put an immediate end to this exchange and call it a day, both on her attempts to be a highlighted guest at the Virgin Auctions and also the consideration of her role for future duchess.
Addien caught his eye. She gave a slight indecipherable shake of her head.
They conversed with nothing more than their eyes. Thornwick and Addien. Him saying one thing, and she the other. She did not allow Baroness Darrow to foil her second attempt here. Addien, and her usual proud self, was determined everything would go as Dynevor wished without a hitch.
Admiration appeared to be fast-growing and, infuriatingly, the only emotion he seemed to have where the valiant woman was concerned.
Thornwick and Addien engaged in a silent battle; he with a desire to end the day’s assignment and preserve her pride, and Addien, who all but silently pleaded for control of the outcome.
The baroness’s shrewd gaze moved between him and Addien.
Ultimately, he conceded to Addien’s wishes, not because he, in any way, gave two bloody damns about not offending the fleshy baroness. No, he’d wronged Addien several times today and too many times before. He conceded and let her have the situation play out as she wished.
A faint shimmer lit her amethyst gaze, betraying her gratitude.
Addien sank into a curtsy the queen wouldn’t have found fault with and did as the baroness wished. She left.
And damned if staring after her retreating figure all the way until a footman brought the carved mahogany panel to a close behind her didn’t make him want to follow right after her.
Chapter 11
Addien allowed herself to be escorted from the room by one of the baroness’s strapping footmen. Broad of shoulders, narrow of hips, oozing with muscles, he could have been any guard inside the Devil’s Den.
Which is no doubt the very reason she wanted her alone time with Malric. An unpleasant sensation soured her stomach and left an even more sour taste in her mouth. Leave the woman to him, Addien thought to herself as she walked a ridiculously long distance upon an even more ridiculously long, wide white Italian marble floor. No doubt installed to further accentuate, as if any accentuation was needed, the garish wealth the baroness had been born to and married.
The two of them could have one another. They suited each other perfectly. That was, except for one glaring distinction that she wanted to dismiss, but couldn’t. He’d let her make the ultimate call about whether to end the meeting or not. He would’ve supported her either way, but he’d let her, Addien, make that decision, and a man like the Marquess of Thornwick wouldn’t cede Satan’s throne to the Devil himself. He craved power, and he celebrated his role as a superior at the Devil’s Den. Nor did she believe he’d done so out of any sense of guilt for his earlier cruelty. Say what she could about the Marquess of Thornwick, he wasn’t a man compelled to feel any sort of guilt. No, his had been an acknowledgement she’d realized the minute he looked to her for the decision, an acknowledgement of wrongdoing and ownership of his transgression. It had been an act far greater than any three-word, empty apology.
Addien looked at a nearby life-sized portrait of the baroness depicted as one of the Greek goddesses. Cloaked in diaphanouswhite silk and her long curls wreathed with a gilded olive branch, she slanted a come-hither glance in the direction of her admirer.
She sneered. This was the exquisite company he kept. As her friends at the Devil’s Den aptly pointed out last evening, at the end of the day, Malric was a gentleman. He didn’t belong in Addien’s world. He’d eventually marry. If he were forced to choose a woman: inferior Addien of her street born heritage, or the high-born lady who was so busy preening she didn’t know the world was bleeding, he’d always go for the baroness.
That realization shouldn’t hurt the way it did.
“Ahem.”
Addien startled. She looked around and realized she and “Big Footman,” as she’d named him, reached the very last parlor at the end of the hall.
Ah, so she had been banished by the baroness.
“You aren’t to leave until the baroness calls for you,” Big Footman announced. “And if you do, she would like you to be informed she will bring a complaint to the Earl of Dynevor.”
She couldn’t stop herself. “Another one?” Addien refused to let him see the fear his warning provoked.
His lips revealed his displeasure. Without another word, Big Footman caught both gilded handles of the white-painted doors and drew them closed.
Addien sighed.
Alas, he’d deny her the pleasure of a good row.
Her ears caught the faint grind of the key being turned.Click.
Addien’s heart beat hard against her ribcage. He’d locked her inside. Every person born on the streets knew the peril posed by four walls and locked doors.
