Chapter 6 #2
“Blue, black and browns are colors,” Dorian scoffed. “Now, are we to waste time debating the intermediary colors or are we here to talk business?”
Taking a seat across from Dorian, the viscount crossed his legs. “Is that really what you want to talk about?”
Cocking his chin on his fist, Dorian sighed. “What did Wellington tell you?”
“Enough,” Drake replied. “You do know that you are playing a dangerous game with Carrington, Beaumont.”
“I’ve been warned,” Dorian exhaled. “That is not what I need to talk about.”
“But it is what I want to talk about,” Drake’s voice dipped as he lost the cavalier attitude and leaned in.
“If you want to get into the Serpents, Beaumont, there are sacrifices you are required to pay. Carrington does not give you power, he does not give anyone power, unless you are willing to give him the guillotine that he can execute you with.”
Dorian closed the ledger he’d been working on, leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the table. “And what kind of leverage did you give to him?”
“He knows a secret from my youth and the rippling effects that came from it,” Drake said cagily.
You mean the man you killed to free his daughter from his abuse. Yes, I know about that.
“You are prodding a hornet’s nest. The man is dangerous, and unpredictable,” Drake said.
“There is nothing about me that Sterling does not know,” Dorian shrugged. “He took me out of the gutter and trained me. Or, well, had his men train me. What is there that he does not know?”
“Whatever there was before the day he met you,” Drake replied. “That could be your sticking point.”
“Sterling can take a merry trip to hell,” Dorian said tiredly. Especially since I do not want Sterling’s position, I just want the information he has. “Can we get back to the business at hand, which is business.”
Rolling his eyes, Drake took out a folio. “It depends on what you are looking for. Do you want a failing business so you can rebuild it and have a monopoly or join a set of lords with an already successful business and take a share.”
Reaching for the folio, Dorian replied, “Let us make a list of the risks for both, shall we?”
Two hours later, when Drake was off downstairs playing his hand at Whist, Dorian was forced to think back to earlier, the kiss. Surely, Evelina had to be cursing his name, and she had a right to do so.
Not once had he ever given her the impression that she was any more to him than a pawn piece to get him greater leverage. Now, with the kiss thrown into the mix, she must think he was playing a twisted game with her.
If Dorian were true to himself—he didn’t know what the devil he was doing either. Ellie had pulled something out of him he had let lay dormant for years—compassion.
Wit—he had plenty of that.
Lust—bucketfuls of that too.
But someone to care for—not many.
How is confusing her, caring for her?
Frustrated, he scrubbed his rough hands over his face, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes. “Focus on the plan, man. She is of worth to Sterling, ergo, she is the key to getting the information I need from Sterling.”
What about saving her from that mud-sucking monster?
“That too,” Dorian groaned.
For the first time in a decade, Dorian did not know his head from his feet. On the one hand, he wanted to get the information about his uncle… but on the other, Evelina was so innocent, so pure, she did not deserve to be a lamb to the slaughter.
The girl was gorgeous, that could not be disputed, and he felt his stomach turn while thinking how Sterling would have blemished that beauty. Not to mention her bright, spitfire spirit. Sterling would have snuffed those flames out in weeks.
“Maybe I should take Wellington up on his standing offer to visit his doxies,” Dorian groaned. “I am simply concupiscent.”
Despite that, his mind still strayed to Ellie; he could picture Evelina’s large green eyes widening as he stripped every stitch from her body, the moment the naiveté would change to wantonness as he laid her down and how red she would go when his eyes raked over her bare form.
“God damn it,” he huffed. “Here I go again.”
Casting his eyes over the piles of folios on his desk, he knew no more would come from that night. Casting another look at the ormolu clock on the fireplace mantle, the clock chimed the hour as eleven, the sound as loud as fireworks at Vauxhall.
He should go home, especially now after the mess of last night.
But could he trust himself with Evelina there? Surely, she would want an explanation for his uncharitable actions earlier. He could avoid her and go to one of the sprinkling of properties he had in and around London— but he despised the cowardly way out.
Giving up on working, he donned his coat, sent for his carriage, and left the night in Weston’s capable hands. The night was chilly, but Dorian had felt colder temperatures before, with much less clothes on.
Pivoting, he gazed at the entrance of his establishment, at the tall columns of cream-colored marble that rose up to gilded, Corinthian capitals where they met the painted ceiling.
It belonged to him. Ordinarily, this fact brought a charge of satisfaction. Tonight, however, he felt... weary.
When the carriage rolled to his feet, he called out. “Home.”
“Bennet,” Dorian said while unlacing the scarf from around his throat. “Was Miss Frampton any trouble?”
“None whatsoever,” the footman bowed.
“Thank you, and good night for when you and your men change the guard,” he replied while stepping inside as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting.
A little relief came with the thought that Ellie was asleep, thus allowing him a fleeting delay to explain himself the next day. In the next short-lived moment, this relief vanished; Evelina was curled on the divan, with a book dangling precariously from her fingers.
The tome slipped from her fingers and thudded to the carpet. Sweeping the book up, he read, “Canterbury Tales. The fanciful sort, are you.”
She must have fallen asleep reading. Shucking his jacket and hat, he rested them on a nearby chair, and gently, he lifted her, then carefully, he tucked her against him so that her body was secure. His strong arms held her tightly as he strode down the hall; she weighed absolutely nothing.
Moonlight seeped through a crack in the velvet drapes, casting the surroundings in a silvery glow. The tester bed with a feather mattress was made and balancing her on one arm, he tugged the blankets down.
The room was fit for a queen with walls covered in grey silk and a soaring white ceiling where plaster swirls gamboled in the corners. He set her down on her bed.
Her lashes were dark fans against her cheeks, and an ivory counterpane was pulled up to her neck. She looked like a slumbering angel.
Evelina stirred, stretching sleepily, the foamy white satin wrapper moved tautly over her subtle curves. He was treated to a peek-a-boo view of a cherry nipple through the thin material of her nightgown.
Her lashes fluttered and her emerald eyes had a dreamy haze over them—before they sharpened. Her hand flung up and cracked across his jaw before she scuttled away, grabbing at her wrapper.
“You!” She squawked, her head flashing left to right. “What are you doing in here!”
Flexing his jaw, Dorian replied, “I’d hoped for a thank you. Or should I have left you on the divan so you could crick your neck?”
Her glare fell. “Oh. I—I thought something else.”
His lips curved. “Do not fear, lady prude. Your innocence is still intact.”
“Should I thank you?” She tipped her chin up. “I think a man with even a speck of honor to him should respect a lady’s privacy. Especially since you’ve stolen two kisses that you were not allowed to take.”
Cocking his brow, Dorian replied, “Is that right? I did not see you protesting any of my kisses. As a matter of fact, you clung to me as if you did not want them to end.”
Evelina had the temerity to glare at him while her face flamed. “That is not—that is not what happened! You took me by surprise.”
“Don’t lie,” he countered. “You wanted those kisses.”
“Your arrogance is unbelievable,” she huffed. “Do you consider yourself Adonis reborn?”
“Yes.”
She looked ready to have a conniption.
Stepping back, Dorian rubbed his smarting cheek, “I’ll let you sleep while I find some ice. For a slight Miss, you do pack a punch.”
“I’m sorry,” Ellie replied hotly. “But you deserved that.”
Rolling his neck, he said, “You’re not the first woman to slap me and you are not going to be the last.” He paused at the doorway, then asked, “What did you think your first kiss would be like?”
“Nothing… nothing like yours,” Evelina replied, ducking her head.
Holding back a smirk, he added, “Your technique was passable, but if you want to perfect it, my door is two corridors down.”
He slipped through the door moments before he heard a dull thud slam into the other side. She’d thrown a pillow at him. Laughing, Dorian left for his room and disrobed. It was still a perverse pleasure to irk Evelina even though it was a bit cruel.
Maybe I should give as much as I take…