Page 58 of Greed: The Savage
Smiling!
Days ago, she’d have thought a sneer or snarl were the only movements his mouth could make.
Some cosmic shift had happened in the short span they’d spent together. The volatile plane they’d inhabited together, of sharp disapproval and disgust, had since shifted. Addien hovered in her night shift, finding her way to exist in this new foreign unchartered universe with him.
Compelled—by him, the moment, the nearness—Addien found herself drifting closer, bare feet whispering against the floor. She halted before him. He did not move. Neither did she.
They simply stood, silently taking the other’s measure. Her gaze wandered—hesitant, searching—over the hard, chiseled planes of his face. His hooded stare traced her features as thoughhe beheld her for the first time, yet knew her from some long-forgotten place and strove to place her.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
They both started, stepping apart.
Addien’s mouth went dry; she made to speak, but Thornwick had already turned. Striding to the door with the air of a man expecting interruption, he pulled it open.
A newly hired girl—one of the strays rescued from the streets—entered shyly, balancing a tray. Addien’s brow furrowed at the assortment of items upon it. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the servant moving to depart. As the girl passed the marquess, he dipped his head in a brief bow.
And in that instant Addien discovered the greatest defect in her nature—she did, in truth, possess a heart that could be lost. A small corner of it shifted, startled awake in a way it never had with Roy, nor from anything he had ever done within these walls.
The door closed with a quiet click.
Malric remained.
With his arms clasped behind his lean hips, he stood as steadfast and formidable as a centurion of old—as though, after the day’s events, he had resolved to stand as her guard for all time.
Addien gave a small cough into her fist, several, in fact—pretending some obstruction lodged in her throat.
Something other than raw emotion. It was too much. She had to look away.
Her gaze landed on the items that’d just arrived.
Crisp white folded linens. Two bowls of water. One steaming. One not. Cubes of ice. A pair of scissors.
She looked up.
“I considered you might not wish to speak on the day’s events,” he said.
He’d had them sent to preserve her dignity. Tears welled in her throat.
She couldn’t speak.
Malric filled the silence. “I shared only the most essential details with Dynevor.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be compiling a report to put forward security measures to prevent any repeat occurrences in the future.” He paused. “I’m requiring Dynevor revoke Darrow and Dunworthy’s memberships.”
Addien lifted her head fast; her eyebrows scrambled to her hairline. He’d see two of his peers cast out because of—
“For all the ill opinions you’ve drawn about me in our time together, Addien,” he said somberly. “And you are, in fact, right about most.” He paused and seemed to consider. “Nearly all opinions about my character. But there is no more love lost between me and the peerage than between you and the peerage. I have little respect for men who find their fortunes not in their own efforts, but from ancestors whose good fortune and luck established their place in this world.”
“That’s why you worked for the Home Office,” she said softly.
He briefly squeezed his eyes shut, like the first friend she’d allowed herself in the street who had been stuck with a blade by Mac Diggory for some perceived slight.
She’d hurt him greatly. It didn’t bring her any sense of satisfaction. It didn’t bring her any at all.
“I didn’t mean it as an insult,” she murmured.
It seemed important. He knew that she didn’t know why. Just that it did. She may as well not have asked the question. In fairness, hers had been more of a pronouncement, a startled revelation. She’d blurted it aloud more than anything. Maybe it was just she’d wanted him to maybe share something about that loss…something about himself.
This time he proved as unobliging as ever.
