Page 93 of Lord of Fortune
He didn’t look pleased to see her. On the contrary, his mouth pitched into a frown, and his brow furrowed. “What the devil are you doing here? Came to finish me off?” He went directly to the sideboard, where he poured himself a glass of something. Gin, she assumed. That had always been his drink of choice.
She noticed he used his left arm for everything, leaving his right arm bent at the elbow. She couldn’t discern his wound or any bandages beneath the volume of his sleeve.
She took a few steps away from the door at her back even as she strained to hear what Penn might be doing. “How is your arm?”
He threw himself into a chair near the hearth and glowered up at her. “You bloody shot me.”
She’d prepared a response for that. “Youabandoned me.” She narrowed her eyes at him and crossed her arms over her chest—this part wasn’t an act. “The creditors took nearly everything. I was humiliated. I had to return to my family in shame.”
He sipped his gin and let the glass dangle from the fingers of his left hand. “I am sorry for that. I truly didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Then why did you do it? Why marry me in the first place if you planned to leave?”
“I didn’tplanto leave.” He shrugged. “But your father and grandfather were intolerable, and it was simply easier to bid you adieu.”
“Except you didn’t. You left while I was visiting my grandfather. I came home to an empty house. You didn’t even leave me a note. For all I knew, you could’ve died.” After a time, she’d begun to hope so.
He took another drink of gin, then set his glass on a table beside the chair. Leaning forward, he blinked at her. “Did you love me so much, then?”
No, she hadn’t loved him at all. She’d been infatuated by his charm and looks at first, but marriage to him had quickly proven to be anything but a happy ever after. He drank to excess, stayed out late—and sometimes didn’t come home at all—and spent too much money. How much money she hadn’t realized until after he’d left. He’d supposedly worked as a translator, but she rarely saw him work.
She couldn’t tell him the truth, not when she was trying to convince him she wanted to be with him again. She swallowed against the revulsion rising in her throat.
“I’ve missed you,” she said, avoiding his question about love. “I’m sorry I shot you. I was just so angry that you’d left me. And it seems you used me into the bargain. Did you marry me just to learn my grandfather’s secrets?”
“You’re far more astute than I gave you credit for, but then you’re several years older now.” His gaze traveled leisurely over her body. “More than just your mind has improved.”
She nearly gagged at the lascivious look in his eye. But then his gaze turned dark. “Still, you shot me, and the wound could fester.” He sniffed.
Feigning concern, she took a few steps toward him. “I’m terribly sorry. I wasn’t thinking clearly—can you blame me?”
“I suppose seeing mewasquite a shock for you. But damn, woman, I’d no idea you could shoot like that. Just nicked my arm, but it was enough to make me bleed like a damned gutted pig.” He picked up his gin and drank the lot, then held up the glass to her without a word.
This was something she remembered well—pouring him gin. She went to the sideboard and filled the glass as much as she dared. Perhaps she could get him drunk enough to lose consciousness, and then she and Penn could find the book easily and be on their way. However, if memory served, Thaddeus was particularly good at holding his drink.
She handed him the gin and tried not to flinch as his fingers grazed hers. Thank goodness she was wearing gloves.
He sipped the gin and narrowed his eyes as he contemplated her. “You going to stand all day?”
She pivoted and sank onto the settee, angling herself so she could see the partially open door to the other room. Thankfully, she’d closed it enough that they wouldn’t be able to see anyone moving around inside. They could, however, perhaps hear something if Penn wasn’t careful. And the doorhadcreaked.
Suddenly, she wished she had a glass of gin. Maybe it would calm her nerves. No, she needed her wits about her.
“You seemed to know of the Camelot group,” he said, eyeing her speculatively. “How?”
“My grandfather told me about them,” she lied. She’d discussed various lines of conversation with Penn and Gideon last night so that she would be prepared. “They stole his dagger from me.”
“I heard it was from Penn Bowen, that damn treasure hunter. I followed you with him—first to London and then to Oxford.” He took another drink of gin. “You seemed quite…close.”
“He was a means to an end,” she said flippantly. “He knew things that could help me find what I sought. As you said, he’s a treasure hunter. Probably the best.”
Thaddeus snorted. “Probably. But not any longer. Where is he now?” His expression turned smug, and Amelia had to fight not to laugh.
Right under your bloody nose.
“Tell me, my darling, what is it you seek?” His endearment sickened her, but she kept her expression placid.
She didn’t want to say the book, for fear he’d go looking for it while Penn was trying to steal it. “I’m not certain anymore,” she said, trying to draw out their conversation. What was taking so long? That room Penn was searching wasn’tthatlarge. Surely he should’ve found it by now.
