Page 103 of Greed: The Savage
Or Argyll…with Addien.
Thornwick’s hands curled into fists, iron-hard; his tendons stood out like ropes.
The barrel-chested guard put a pointed look at Thornwick’s telling hands. “His Grace was displeased at having his diversion cut short.” His mouth hitched in a taunt. “But he grudgingly allowed an audience when he found out a Devil’s Den dog was here.”
Thornwick flared his nostrils.I’ll bloody choke the breath out of the rakish bastard’s bloody—
The pair of sentries guarding the duke opened the doors with agonizing slowness.
Terrifying visions struck him—Argyll’s bedchamber, the hulking four-poster, the duke’s body over Addien’s, rutting where only Thornwick belonged.
The panels were finally drawn all the way open to reveal…
Addien draped in Italian silk fine enough for a duchess when it should be only Thornwick who clothed her in such splendor.
A dining table lit by candelabras. Argyll, the damned duke himself, had shifted his chair at some point. He was so near Addien that his bulk consumed her shadow.
Thornwick went hollow inside. He’d been wrong. It didn’t need to be Argyll’s bedchamber that would break him. This table—any table, a parlor’s tea-board, a bloody street corner—any place where another man dared press too close to her would destroy him just as surely.
Jealousy ripped through him, but he forced his gaze past the other man to the only person who mattered. “Hello, Addien.”
Chapter 26
Despite Addien’s protestations earlier that morn, the Duke of Argyll insisted she join him for dinner.
Given he was her new employer, she couldn’t very well have told the notorious rogue to go hang—as all her street-born instinctsinsistedshe do.
He’d sent a gown, urging her—demanding, when it came from one’s employer—to don the cream, white, and gold lace evening dress. He’d had her to dine in the same parlor where they’d taken tea that afternoon. Just as he’d no doubt had his efficient servants position their table before the bucolic scene which had sucked Addien in, the same way he’d had their chairs positioned close to one another.
His game had been an obvious one.
Or so she’d believed.
He’d been bent on seduction, not because he wanted her, but because she’d come out of the Devil’s Den.
Only to be frozen motionless by the actual reason.
He’d anticipated someone would come for her.
And she’d been both broken and practical enough to never believe someonewouldcome. Or that it would be Malric.
Because it couldn’t be anyone on account this was the place he couldn’t reach her. If one stepped outside Dynevor’s and into any other club, they’d surrender their livelihood with the earl.
As such, it definitely could not be Malric for that reason. If he did, he’d forsake his career and position of power at the Devil’s Den. And Malric’s livelihood was everything.
But he was here.
What did that mean? What could it mean?
“Malric,” she whispered.
She knew what she desperately wanted it to be.
“You have something I want, Argyll.” Malric’s piercing gaze remained on Addien while he spoke. “And very much need.”
Me?
For a heartbeat, the fire’s glow made her believe tenderness dwelled in his gaze, an answer to her unspoken prayer. Then the light shifted, and she saw it for what it was—an illusion. His eyes were only steel.
