Page 8 of Greed: The Savage
There was no avoiding the reckoning.
“Who?” Thornwick asked.
There wasn’t a single one he had a problem working—
“Snap.”
“Fuck.”
He’d been wrong. There wasn’t a man, woman, or child he wanted to work with less. Snap, as she was known by all the guards, proprietors, and most of the servants. So of course, Thornwick called her by her given name of Addien, just to set her off.
“You got any problem with that?” The faintly amused expression worn by Dynevor said he knew Thornwick did.
“No.” Thornwick had a whole host of problems with it.
“Then we’re done.”
Thornwick stood.
“Here,” Dynevor said. He tossed a leather folio at him.
Thornwick caught it in his arms and popped it open.
“Those are the potential candidates for both the Virgin Auction and other events at the Devil’s Den for the next fortnight, along with the meeting locations,” the earl explained.
These were the candidates for his marchioness.
Thornwick scanned his gaze down the page before settling his focus on the first name and appointment.
The Baroness Sybelle, rumored to be a hellion in bed and regularly written of in the gossip pages for her wild reputation, and also whom he’d already had at the top of his list.
She would be his first interview.
At last, something was going right.
Now, if he could only keep it that way tomorrow when he was joined by the termagant who tried him like no other, Addien Killoran—violet-eyed and vexing as sin.
Chapter 3
Addien loathed the Marquess of Thornwick with the fire of a thousand blazing hot suns. The haughty, arrogant toff with a nauseating sense of superiority and icy disdain for those around him represented everything she hated.
And now she’d be forced to work in tandem with him.
How was it possible for the Earl of Dynevor to fall so quickly from savior and king to tormentor?
Addien panted from the exertion of getting herself into a ridiculous day gown with ties up the back. In the bevel mirror of her fancy new rooms, her pointy face mocked her. Stray strands of black hair clung to her temples, framing eyes of unnatural violet she’d never been able to hide.
And she hated this lonely, elevated chamber as much as she did Thornwick.
The joy she found at the Devil’s Den came from the familiarity of it. That referred to her post, her private space, the people she shared hallways with, the ones she kept the same work hours as.
It came from being near Roy, the surly guard who understood her and who she understood in return. They were the same. Born of the streets, wary of all, never ones to judge a person for their birthright. She scowled. He was the opposite of Thornwick in every way and the reason she’d been pining for Roy for the past three years.
She’d vowed she’d work up the nerve and courage to state her feelings plainly, to declare herself and her admiration and affection for him. And there wasn’t a more dangerous thing in all of London than to expose oneself so emotionally to anyone. But for Roy, it was worth it. He was worth it. Now, her chance had come and gone. They went from working side by side to not evenkeeping the same hours at the same place, and now her being squired about the ton by the loathsome—
Knock.
Judgmental.
