Page 57 of Seducing the Knave

So, he’d thrown himself into work—taking on tasks he hadn’t done since he’d been a much younger man with a fraction of the resources currently at his disposal.

Even Carver had noticed Max’s odd behavior, giving him arched looks and curious glances which Max flatly ignored.

What could he say to the man? That he was twisted up in lust and longing for a haughty, headstrong woman who preferred a narrow sofa to the plush comfort of his bed?

Carver wouldn’t believe it, anyway.

And now Max had tasked himself with the unsavory job of dealing with Dune. After barely five minutes with Max, the pimp was already on the verge of falling apart.

He just needed a bit more incentive.

Dune looked up as Max reached for his rumpled neckcloth to lift him off the floor. The terror that twisted his bruised and bloodied face filled Max with disgust.

Why was it that the men who most liked to mete out violent punishment were also the ones so predictably incapable of receiving the same?

As a rule, Max hated having to employ such tactics himself, but when the situation warranted it, he did what was necessary.

In this case, however, he wasn’t even slightly inclined to show mercy. Not when he could still recall the many scars and disfigurements the man had inflicted on so many women. And then there were the fresh cuts Max had seen just that morning on a girl younger than Caillie. Whenever Max was faced with this aspect of his life, he reminded himself that in some cases he was the only thing standing between the most vulnerable of London’s residents and fates that were often worse than death. When women and children were left with little recourse for survival beyond becoming prey for the wolves, they needed something more powerful and more vicious than the wolves.

They needed the Griffin.

Dune whimpered and cringed as Max sneered at him with the full force of his fury and disgust. “D’ye remember what I said I’d do if I found ye’d been using yer blade again?”

Dune held up his hands in supplication as his eyes rolled wildly about, as though searching the room for some reprieve he’d never find. “I...haven’t...I swear. I won’t never do it again.”

Max smiled. “Too bad I don’t believe ye.”

He pulled back his fist, aiming for a spot on the man’s jaw that was already swelling.

#

THREE DAYS.

For nearly three whole days, Elle had been left to her own devices while Max was off doing...whatever it was he was doing.

After waking up half-naked in Max’s bed the other day, she’d made sure to avoid overindulging in ale with her dinner. Her memories of him coming home that night were just vague enough to cause a rush of heat to her cheeks every time she thought of it. His warm, male scent. The low hum of his voice near her ear. The strength of him standing solid at her back. Then the heady sensation of being swept up in his arms.

No doubt he’d gotten a good laugh out of how insistent she’d been about climbing into his bed.

At least she hadn’t had to witness his amusement first-hand since he left the room before she awoke and did not return until late in the night—after she’d already settled in to sleep on the sofa.

She should be feeling gratitude for his extended absences.

Instead, she was irritated. Frustrated. And bored.

With Langworth’s gracious assistance, she’d managed to sell her bracelet—the last piece of smuggled jewelry she still had in her possession. Having the ready cash gave Elle some sense of security, but it wasn’t enough to allow her the freedom to strike out on her own.

Langworth had also arranged to have messengers sent to everyone she knew in London, requesting an opportunity to reestablish an acquaintance. She wasn’t exactly sure what she hoped to gain from the connections—assurance that her reputation hadn’t been completely ruined, perhaps. She still needed allies against societal opinion and a place to stay where her cousin wouldn’t be able to get to her. But in the end, it didn’t matter. Not a single one of them bothered to send a reply with the messengers.

Jasper’s twisted tales had been shockingly effective. No one was willing to take on the responsibility of a disturbed young lady, even if they had once respected her parents.

And without support from people with the means and resources to stand against Jasper, she was left with no recourse. Even marriage was looking less and less likely since she’d have no one to sponsor her out in society where she might have a chance of finding some gentleman willing to marry a young lady surrounded by whispers of madness.

She was utterly stuck.

And once she realized the truth of that, Max’s bedroom—comfortable and secure as it was—started to feel less like a safe haven and more like a personal prison as her frustration and forced inactivity shifted into a growing restlessness.

She couldn’t spend another day in this room staring out the window with no one to talk to except Langworth, who barely managed a few short words while delivering her meals or water for her daily bath.

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