Page 54 of Greed: The Savage
“I don’t believe the baroness or her brother were lying,” Thornwick said.
Rage pulled the younger man’s mouth tight. He leaned in with a low snarl. “If you know—”
“They believed the order came through the Devil’s Den.”
That stopped Dynevor cold.
“These weren’t just two debauched peers spinning tales. They were truly affronted—adamant Addien had been sent, and—”
“And?” the earl snapped.
“There was mention of…pastimes offered elsewhere, if not here—likely in the streets—by Mac Diggory.”
Dynevor went still. In that motionless moment, Thornwick saw the devil resurrected behind his eyes.
“Wouldn’t surprise me. Evil doesn’t die.” With steady hands, the earl lit a cigar. “What’s the plan?”
“Addien was set up. Served up. I strongly suspect we can trace a trail of coins from Dunworthy,” Thornwick said. “We move forward with interviews and—”
“And see if there’s a pattern,” Dynevor finished.
“Exactly.” Thornwick inclined his head.
“Addien—”
“Will not be accompanying me,” Thornwick cut in, his voice edged in steel. “Someone else—someone as capable. I’m not letting her out of my sight unless I have to, and only with a plan in place.”
Dynevor nodded.
When their meeting concluded, Thornwick left.
It wasn’t until he was alone in his room, scrubbing the blood of his prey from his body, that he remembered his mission to find an unsuitable bride to vex the duke. That would have to wait.
Strangely, he didn’t care.
In fact—he didn’t care at all.
Chapter 14
Along, low whistle cut through the air of Addien’s modest but comfortable bedchamber.
“Gore, would you look at you, gel.”
Delilah’s voice carried the same mix of anger, horror, and bitter protectiveness she’d shown the night Darcy had been roughed up for the first—and last—time. Back then, it had been just Addien, Darcy, Delilah, and Alice—her closest friend—gathered in a tight vigil around the battered beauty. They hadn’t come together to sob and wring hands. No, they’d railed, plotted, and imagined every violent retribution possible for the gentleman who’d dared lay a hand on her.
In the end, they’d been denied the pleasure. Dynevor had taken that revenge for them—and he’d exacted a pound of flesh and then some, delivering far worse with his power, connections, and sheer force than the four of them ever could.
Darcy’s injuries had been worse. Her assault more brutal. But Addien knew as she sat here now—this hadn’t been the first assault on Addien, and it wouldn’t be her last.
“Did he do you all the way wrong?” Delilah asked, casual as a countess asking after a lady’s modiste.
“No.” Seated at the vanity, Addien angled her head, inspecting the place where Lord Dunworthy had imprinted his hand upon her flesh. The stark outline of his fingers—clear when she’d first stepped into her room—had already begun to fade since she’d changed, with Delilah’s help.
No wonder Malric had known exactly what had been done to her. Not that it would’ve taken an Oxford scholar to guess. The only baffling part was his incandescent rage—rage that might very well have ended with the viscount’s death had someone not intervened.
Delilah tilted Addien’s face again, probing the bruise along her cheekbone with careful fingertips. Addien flinched.
A scowl creased her friend’s fine, beautiful features. “The only thing noble about him is that he’s a bloody nobleman. Otherwise, the Devil himself wouldn’t—”
