Page 87 of Greed: The Savage
This time, her lip pulled with a grimace of self-disgust. She’d never been an overly proud person, but neither had she been overly critical of herself either. The loathing she felt for herself was far greater than she’d ever felt for any person, and that included Mac Diggory, the liege who’d kept her alive while simultaneously tormenting her. Which was saying a good deal indeed.
“Yes. Yes,” she said acerbically, “I’ve had stronger spirits, none finer than this one. This one goes down easy.”
Addien downed the rest of her drink.
“Apparently,” he drawled.
Addien rolled her glass between her hands.
There had been one to whom she had confided about her time in Diggory’s snatches.
Tears threatened anew.
Addien stared at the bottom of her glass, a crystal so fine and thin and gleaming to perfection, so her downtrodden face reflected back.
Addien lifted her gaze. She owed it to herself and Dynevor to look at him when she spoke.
“I’ve been thinking it is time I moved on to finer pastures, Dynevor.”
The earl reached over and fetched the decanter. Unhurriedly, he made himself a drink.
Glass in hand, he slouched in his chair. Kicking his legs out, he crossed them at his ankles. He peered at her from over the top of his amber spirits before taking a sip.
“Does this have anything to do with Dunworthy?”
In other words, did Addien blame Malric? Oh, it’d forever hurt knowing he’d been meeting with the baroness, thinking about the maddeningly beautiful woman and, worse, intending to make her his marchioness.
A role he’d only just offered to Addien.
She stared into her drink.
Why would Malric ask Addien to marry him?
Even with the baroness’ threats, Malric could have the lady if he so wished. Lady Darrow—any lady, for that matter—would forgive him anything for the power that went with being his one-day duchess.
But he hadn’t…
Because imagine the triumph he’d have over his father bringing a guttersnipe like you to meet his da…?
“It occurs to me you’ve gone silent.”
Addien whipped her head up.
Dynevor stared intently at her. “Which, of course, leads me to ask if your exit from the Devil’s Den has anything to do with Lord Thornwick,” Dynevor pressed.
A bitter laugh threatened to break loose.
It had everything to do with Malric, just not in the ways the earl was getting at. “Got no grievances with Mal—His lordship,” she brought herself to say.
She had no right to be angry. Malric hadn’t lied. She just hated the truths he’d spoken. And she hated even more that he couldn’t love her, as she’d fallen so fast and head over heels in love with him.
“I didn’t expect that,” Dynevor said, his tone cryptic. “But if you do blame him for Dunworthy’s assault, you just tell me.” The icy undercurrent in his rough street tones said her answer would determine if Malric kept his job at the Devil’s Den.
She wasn’t petty and she wasn’t small. She wasn’t looking to get him sacked. Even on the day when she hated him most, or thought she hated him most, she’d never have gone about and seen him sacked.
“It doesn’t have anything to do with Dunworthy,” she said again, holding his eyes so he could see the truth all laid out there.
Unfortunately, she let him see too much.
