Chapter 6
DRASKO
Such was the brutal machine of wealth and power—it needed sacrifices. This was all part of a plan, a game orchestrated by a vicious heartless man who, for decades, had sold and traded people’s lives like his diamonds.
Considering the strange day, Drasko had to remind himself of why he was here, with all this wealth, with her .
He was cordial at dinner, despite the fact that Grace Sommerville— correction, Mrs. Mawr —had changed into a different dress, a black one, like she was at a funeral.
She requested wine. Getting drunk was certainly a way to ease the tension. Her haughtiness was gone, and she asked questions about the house. Her voice was timid yet determined. Curious yet cold. It did not make sense and puzzled him.
“Your house is quite a masterpiece,” she said.
It was. But he had asked Samira to pay special attention to arranging the new bedroom.
Rose silk and plush carpets, fresh flowers and a floor-to-ceiling vanity mirror.
There was a beautiful parlor with sensual paintings and lavender furniture.
Despite his somber mood about what was happening, he hoped his wife was comfortable.
Considering the circumstances and her na?veté about what was transpiring, she was doing quite well.
“Your maid gave me a tour,” she said, taking slow sips of wine. “A library, bathing chambers, indoor plumbing, electricity, a greenhouse, an office, a library”—she glanced up at him—“all for you alone?”
He tried to make sense of her newly adopted polite attitude. “You and me , yes.”
“I see. You have a music room”—she smiled into her wine glass—“with plenty of exotic instruments but no piano.”
He did not respond, waiting for her to brag about her musical vocation and request a piano.
She did not.
“Perhaps, we should talk,” she said after dinner.
Yes, they had to. And she was the first one to ask. Surprising, really, but even then, it didn’t raise Drasko’s suspicion.
“Whisky? Is that what you drink?” she asked too eagerly when they settled in the drawing room. When he nodded, she offered to pour him one.
She was learning. Pretending . But that was all right with Drasko. Except the intensity in her eyes was different from this afternoon. Her politeness wasn’t genuine. Nor was her readiness to oblige.
“You don’t need to serve me. I don’t ask that of you,” he said, noticing her quick smirk at the word “serve.”
She stiffened as she passed him the drink—a minuscule movement that didn’t escape him. Yet, he couldn’t make sense of it.
“I assume that we shall work out what you expect of me,” she said.
“And what you expect of me in return,” he countered.
“I don’t have expectations. But I would like privacy and freedom.”
“Ambitious. So, you do have demands.”
“Rules, I suppose. I did not ask for this. You, on the other hand, have a certain interest in this union, which puzzles me. I know who you are, or at least I have heard of you.”
She took a brave sip of wine from her glass.
He took a gulp of whisky, amused by her sudden business-like manner.
“You have money, Mr. Mawr. You can afford to provide for me. And that wealth of yours?—”
Wealth of yours —she certainly knew her way with words.
“—somehow depends on this union.” She met his eyes and cocked her head. “Am I correct?”
Clever.
“My wealth comes from diamond mining in India.” He took a sip of the whisky she brought him, then another, suddenly thirsty and surprisingly uneasy at being alone with her. “Surely, you’ve heard of it. But you are right, other things depend on this union, or the fact that it needed to happen.”
“Oh?” She lit up with mild delight. “So, you need it on paper only? We are done, then?”
The words made his jaw tighten.
She was too quick, too arrogant, too confident, and he didn’t like it a bit, considering she was his wife and now in his care.
“We are positively not done,” he said with a smile. “The way I see it, you need it more than I, considering you don’t have a penny to your name. Darling,” he added just to throw oil into the fire.
A dangerous spark flickered in her eyes at the last word.
Darling… He liked the sound of it. She didn’t. Good . Her eyes were even more beautiful with that haughty sparkle in them. He enjoyed seeing her unraveled, nervous, irritated. By God! Anything that knocked off the invisible crown she wore at her piano performances.
She rose abruptly and walked to the sideboard.
Drasko caught himself staring and peeled his gaze away from her, gulping the rest of the whisky in his glass.
“There,” he heard her say, her footsteps approaching, and met her defiant gaze as she halted in front of him with that brazen smile again.
Mischief flickered in her eyes— why? —as she batted her impossibly long black eyelashes and— interesting —handed him another drink.
She clinked her glass against his. “Cheers!” Then she took a big gulp out of it and almost choked.
He chuckled, taking a generous swig of his drink, though the whisky tasted too bitter tonight.
“I have a suggestion,” she said suddenly, too cheerfully, and turned her expectant gaze to him.
What Drasko didn’t expect was his wife to take a seat next to him on the sofa.
Her perfume tickled his nose, the scent of hair powder so exquisite it filled his head. The room felt too hot.
Drasko loosened his tie. He was too tipsy.
Only two drinks and he felt like he had drunk a bottle after a sleepless week.
Something was wrong, and it wasn’t the untimely feeling of languid pleasure spreading through his body at her nearness, though she had an effect on him, he admitted. Her eyes were too bright, like stars.
“What is the suggestion, may I ask?” he heard himself say, his voice unusually low.
“Regarding the marital duties,” she said in a voice strangely distant.
“Despite this marriage being on paper only, the duties are part of the deal.” He didn’t necessarily intend to act on it but was curious about her reaction.
“I see.” Her eyes flashed with defiance.
Oh, he wanted to yank her toward him and kiss her, those lips that would inevitably belong to him, one day, someday , if only to punish her for what she was and what she’d said to him once, though she probably didn’t remember.
He shook his head, trying to get rid of the unusual haze in his head. He said something else and didn’t understand the meaning of his own words, his mouth dry. Another gulp of whisky didn’t help, so he chugged the rest and shook his head again to rid himself of the dizziness.
“I suggest we do it once,” her distant voice said, “and get it over with. Surely, neither you nor I want to?—”
Her voice trailed off—something about the consummation, about the heirs. But Drasko kept thinking about her sensual lips, her talented slender fingers, the way she cocked her head as if checking on him, how close she was, how much closer he wanted her.
The drink in his hand was empty. Two, he had had two, though he wasn’t sure anymore. Time was too slow. He was drunk. No, not drunk—he was falling. Falling, falling, falling. And he knew that feeling, knew it wasn’t whisky or his tiredness.
“Mr. Mawr?” She moved closer, too daring for their first evening together.
It didn’t make sense. Neither did the room swimming before his eyes.
“Another drink?” she asked, sweetly but with a hint of surprising danger.
And then he sank into darkness.