Chapter 54
MADISON
Pierce Worthington could ruin a woman in a hundred ways.
I was only just learning that tenderness was one of them.
Afterward, he held me against his chest…and talked.
Outside, Ravenscroft settled into evening. The deep groan of old timbers. The occasional knock of a shutter somewhere in a distant wing, the wind coming off the cliffs in long, cold pulls. The estate had a different feel after dark. Less stately. More strangely alive, as if it were watching us.
As I listened, it was odd to realize he didn't have anyone else to say these things to. I couldn’t quite grasp why he chose me to confide in.
"Did you and Jameson ever get along?" I asked, tracing the buttons on his shirt.
"When we were boys. Before either of us understood what the name Worthington meant." He was quiet for a moment. "There's a tree line at the back of the east garden. We used to race to see who could reach it first. He'd cheat every time. And I’d let him…I’d let him win. Every time.”
"What changed?"
"Our father started keeping score."
He said it the way someone mentioned the weather, but his jaw tightened, and his thumb stilled against my shoulder.
I didn't push. He'd given me more in that one sentence than I suspected he'd given anyone in years.
It wasn't until Tompkins came up to tell us dinner was served that I'd even realized how late it had gotten.
Pierce had dinner brought up to the Blue Room. A smaller table had been set up near the window.
Tall tapers in silver holders threw unsteady amber light across white damask, the cloth falling to the floor in heavy folds, its embroidered edge catching the glow.
At the center sat a small bouquet of dark roses, their petals just beginning to curl at the edges, releasing that particular thick sweetness of flowers past their peak. Not rotten, not quite, but edging toward it.
The Worthington china was ivory with a thin border of black. Mourning colors. I wondered if that was deliberate.
The silverware was heavy in my hand. The handles were engraved with the same mark worn into the china, smooth in the grip where a hundred years of Worthington hands had held them. How many of those dinners had involved plotting someone's downfall? Probably most of them.
The steak was perfect. The wine was better. A Bordeaux so dark it was nearly black in the candlelight, leaving its color against the crystal in slow, clinging legs.
I pressed my fingertip to the cut grooves in the crystal. “I don’t understand. Why would Jameson care if you married me?”
Pierce took a moment to consider this, then seemed to come to a decision. Holding my gaze, he gently said, “The death of Madison Hastings wouldn’t make the front page.”
I blinked to clear the tears from my eyes. “I see.”
Pierce noticed. He always noticed. “Madison—”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.”
“A few weeks ago you felt the same way.”
“I know.”
I twirled the wineglass by its stem, watching the blood-like liquid absorb the light. “So what changed?”
“I met you.”
The candle between us guttered in a draft from the old window. The glass was wavy and imperfect, the way antique panes always were, distorting the dark outline of the cliffs beyond.
There was that dangerous tenderness. When he combined it with honesty it was getting harder and harder to not believe him.
"Ok," I said. "I'll do it."
His fork paused halfway to his mouth. He set it down slowly.
I inhaled deeply. “We’ll pretend to get married to draw Jameson out. I'm choosing to trust you."
"I will protect you, even if it means losing everything."
Dammit, I really wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe in the dark prince who would always pick me first. I had to remind myself that one heartfelt conversation didn't erase why he'd started all of this. If I weren't careful, this would start feeling like a date.
Halfway through dinner, Pierce's phone rang. He apologized until he saw the name on the screen.
"It's okay, take it."
He didn't turn away from me. His eyes stayed on mine the entire call, and I couldn't tell if that was trust or a warning. Maybe with Pierce, it was always both.
Skylar was still out there. Working for Jameson, or with him? A pawn or a player? I didn't like the woman, but that didn't mean she deserved to die.
The only thing I knew for certain was that Jameson wanted Pierce and me dead, and he was getting desperate. Pierce hung up the phone and gave me a wide smile.
"The other piece of the plan. Greyson is on his way.”
“Your former friend who slept with—”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I need a best man at the wedding.”
“Seriously, why?”
“I need a man on the inside.”
“He’s working with Jameson?”
He wiped the linen napkin across his mouth. “Yes.”
“How?”
“He provided the blackmail materials that allowed Jameson to pull off the corpse switch.”
“And he’s coming here?”
“Yes.”
My fork clattered to my plate. “Can you please stop giving me one-word answers and just explain?”
“No.”
And there snapped the tiny thread of trust.
“Not funny.” I rose from the table and marched across the room toward the door. “The wedding is off.”
He caught me around the middle from behind. “The wedding is on.”
“You can’t—”
“I think we’ll both agree that I can. I’m not answering your questions because the less you know the better. And you will be marrying me as soon as possible, if for no other reason than you don’t want your friend to have all the fun.”
My cheek brushed his jaw as I turned my head to stare up at him. “Hailey? What does she have to do with this?”
Had he somehow dragged Hailey into this mess? I knew it was a mistake to allow her to be present in the courtroom. We knew I was up against powerful people. She should have stayed away. I had now pulled her down with me.
“She just married Greyson.”
Wait…what? I expected him to say she was now a target or arrested on a trumped-up charge or something. Anything but… “That’s not possible.”
“I assure you it is.”
“When did she meet him?”
“Yesterday.”
My eyes widened. “Yesterday?”
“She got caught in the crossfire with the court guards.”
I turned in his arms to grasp his shirt. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine.”
“And she’s now married.”
“Yes.”
“To a man she met yesterday who just happens to be working with Jameson.”
“Yes.”
“Have I mentioned that you rich people are batshit crazy?”
“Once or twice.”
“Why did she marry him?”
He loosened the belt of my robe. “For the same reason you are going to marry me.”
I tightened the belt. “I just called off the wedding.”
He brushed my hands away and pulled open the lapels, leaning forward to run his mouth along my collarbone. “Yes, but you weren’t serious about that.”
My fingertips dug into his shoulders as he flicked my nipple with the tip of his tongue. “I really was,” I breathed, my head falling back.
He tightened his grip around my waist and pulled me closer as his hard cock pressed against my stomach. “Then I need to change your mind.”