Page 56 of Crying Wolfe
“I’m a dangerous man,” Eli stated as if it were bloody obvious. “And this…thisis a risk worth taking. I don’t care who the owner is. I will fight him in this house. I’ll fight him in court. Hell, I’ll have a stand-off in the fucking town square if that’s what he wants, I’ll shoot him in the eye at ten paces. But I’m walking away with that sapphire, and I don’t mind stepping over his body if I have to.”
“I will never understand men,” the Duchesse sighed. “This lust you have for such things. Rocks that are made valuable only because someone assigned them value so long ago, we cannot remember why. What is a sapphire? Nothing but a blue stone. Nothing to be killed over, surely.”
“Says the woman draped in rubies,” Eli teased.
“Touché, Monsieur.” That husky laugh again. “But if someone were to take these from me, I would not put myself in harm’s way to get them back. As you can see, I don’t need rubies in order to sparkle.”
Eli’s chuckle was warm and fond. “No, ma’am. No, you do not.”
Rosaline imagined the woman touching Eli’s arm. Brushing her décolletage against him in that outrageously flirty way the French had.
She wanted to claw the Duchesse’s eyes out. Yearned to storm in there and drag her husband home by the ear and—andwhatexactly? She couldn’t force him be loyal to her. Couldn’t coerce him into forgiving her any more than she could compel him love her.
So…what did she do now?
The chalice she’d taken had an empty slot, which was why she’d thought it lacked value.
But it’d been the only thing in the trove he’d truly desired.
Lord, what a mess she’d made of things. And now, Eli was about to attempt a deal with some of the most ruthless men in the underworld and the powerful nobles with whom they did business.
“The auction doesn’t begin for half an hour hence,” the Duchesse said. “Shall we dance while we wait?”
“Afraid not.” Rosaline didn’t have to be looking at her husband to see the little divot of chagrin that would appear in his left cheek when he was being self-effacing. “I never learnt to waltz. Too busy busting rock or amassing a fortune.”
“Perhaps your new wife could teach you?”
Rosaline couldn’t tell if the Duchesse was being cruel or not…if they were laughing at her.
“How about you point me in the direction of the man who owns my sapphire, Duchesse? I’d love to meet him. To get a measure of him.”
He was avoiding the subject of his wife. God, she wished that didn’t hurt so much.
“I warn you, he’s a loutish boor. He’ll wax poetic about his appalling exploits in Egypt to anyone who will listen.”
Eli made a disgusted noise. “I dislike it when people wax anything. Not poetic. Not prophetic. And not philosophical.”
Rosaline turned away as the Duchesse’s amused laugh sounded closer than before. She ducked around a corner as they reached the door from the gallery to the ballroom and watched them stroll away toward the solarium where rows of chairs were set before a podium. Eli’s broad back and strong arms created the perfect bulwark for the endlessly elegant Duchesse.
She didn’t know if she were being bold, or just reckless, but Rosaline followed them for a moment, daring him to turn around. To find her.
To know she’d found them.
“That surprises me, monsieur,” the Duchesse was saying. “You strike me as a man of surprising depths and profound philosophies.”
“Nah.” Eli’s arm lifted to swipe at the back of his neck, smoothing the fine hairs there. “In my philosophy, we are just meat, bone, and blood collecting shiny things to slake our bottomless hunger before we die.”
“How sad, that you feel this way.” The Duchesse looked over at him, true pity softening her gaze.
“It’s not so sad,” he replied. “Not for a man like me, who is about to get his shiny rock back and put it with all my other shiny things. My collection is bigger than most, therefore I must be satisfied with the life I have.” His words were dry enough to make the Sahara seem tropical.
“I fear you will find these so-called shiny things cold and meaningless once you procure them,” the Duchesse cautioned sagely. “The joy of their acquisition will be short-lived and ultimately empty.”
“That may be…but there’s been a voice in my head for six years, screaming at me to hunt it down. Keeps me up nights. Interrupts any moment of peace I might carve out for myself. And I need to silence it for good.”
The Duchesse gave him a searching look from beneath her lashes, and Rosaline wondered if he’d confided in her about his brother, Caleb. Or if she were just a very perceptive woman.
“As you say.” She dipped her chin in a nod of deference.
