Chapter 16
DRASKO
How the Earl of Weltingdon Got Duped!
Or Is It a Trade-Off?
Elias theatrically read yet another headline as he and Drasko sat in the office of the Mawr Building.
“Please, don’t,” Drasko pleaded on an exhale, shaking his head in annoyance.
“Perhaps, if you talk to reporters and explain, these sleazy headlines will go away,” Elias said, scanning the rest of the news. “It has been over two weeks, and the city is still buzzing about your wedding.”
“Perhaps, if my wife didn’t try so hard to show her resentment, we could indeed pull it off in public.”
“Speaking on the topic, when are you going to introduce me to your wife? Or join us for dinner? My mother inquired about you. So did Uncle Sydney. You have some sort of deal with him, I heard.”
“Elias, my wife doesn’t leave the house much, doesn’t care, would rather I didn’t exist.”
“You are exaggerating. Did you try to win her over?”
“Actively.”
“Did it work?”
“Could I buy your friendship with money?”
“Absolutely not.”
“You see? So, I am trying to buy her patience instead.”
“Would you like to invite me over? I shall be the judge of your wife’s character.”
“Do you care?”
Elias rolled his eyes in annoyance. “When did I not care about what was happening with you?”
“This little incident will resolve itself eventually.”
“Little incident?” Elias barked out a laugh. “You are married, mate!”
“And she doesn’t want to have much to do with me. So, what is the point?”
“You are fooling yourself. I will go visit her, then.”
“Suit yourself. Send my best regards.”
Drasko blinked in annoyance, rose, and walked up to the window.
His gaze soared over the city below, its crowded streets and the buildings, rising higher every year.
After centuries, at last, Europe was once again powered by knowledge more than titles.
Science and technology were paving new paths for those who possessed unique skills and ideas.
This was where Drasko was meant to end up after years overseas.
Yet he missed India, its nature, the simplicity of life.
It was June, his favorite time of the year, the monsoon season with its rains and luscious greenery.
He hadn’t yet written to Rupesh with the marriage news.
He should. The English newspapers were delivered to India with much delay.
Yet, Rupesh had probably read about it already.
Drasko wished he were in India. There, he could get lost just about anywhere. Unlike London. It suffocated him, as did his fancy three-piece suit
And now he had her .
Drasko tried to spend as much time as possible away from the house.
He needed to avoid her. His initial anger gone, he understood that while he had agreed to this game with Uriah years ago, Grace had no knowledge of it.
She was his wife against her will. So, he needed to tread carefully—break her in, tame her, show her what he was.
If she still resented him, there was no way to force her to like him.
He wasn’t an animal. But, by God, he wanted to be!
Every glimpse of her, every whiff of her perfume made him wish he were a brute so he could take her into his bedroom and snuff out that haughty gaze of hers with his caresses.
She was a beautiful woman, yet untouchable.
His, yet only on paper. Still, his heart burned with a hopeful “what if.”
Something else bothered him.
For years, he had watched her from afar, at her concerts and social gatherings. Her interactions with her guardians were peculiar. He couldn’t help noticing how stiff she was around them, how well-practiced her responses were, how often she flinched at the mere sound of their voices.
The Sommervilles were decent people, but somehow void of feelings. He had asked them about Grace’s practicing routine, of course. He wanted her to have the best, even if it came with a bit of negotiation on his part.
But the Sommervilles had washed their hands of the entire deal as soon as they had gotten the settlement money as per the letters.
Odd, really.
But Drasko saw to it that Grace got her pianos. Prided himself as he remembered the way Samira talked about her new mistress.
“When the piano men left,” she had said, “missus started playing. Oh, sir! She is an angel. Or a devil. I do not know how to put it or what gives her music so much power. The entire service staff of the house stood behind the music room door and listened to her play. Eden only smiled proudly. She heard it for years, you know. But Narayan closed his eyes as he swayed to the tune. Old Borga from the kitchen shed a tear. Missus is… Oh, she is… Sir, do make her happy! She is so lovely!”
Yes, she was. And she was his. With her elegant posture and skilled fingers and rosy lips and hazel eyes and the talent that conquered London and far beyond.
Except she hated him.
He needed to work more so he didn’t have to hear her play the piano.
He liked her music too much. It affected him too deeply.
It stirred the memories from the past that needed to stay buried.
It assaulted the fortress he had built around his heart—not to keep himself safe, no, but to protect others.
Her, too. She could not get too close to him. Drasko knew what that would lead to.
And yet, he couldn’t help himself.
Last night, he had listened to her play. From the hallway, like a thief in his own house, still like a statue, afraid to scare her off. The guards had perked up like they’d heard the most beautiful siren’s song.
But as soon as Drasko had approached the door to the music room, she had stopped playing as if she knew he was there.
She was extraordinary, her sense of music exceptional. He felt every key, every chord tugging at the strings of his heart. And he couldn’t have that—feeling vulnerable or not at his strongest.
He wasn’t worried—yet—but was uneasy. The dead man kept him on his toes.
Elias eased his days with his company. His Indian servants made him feel more at home.
His men were loyal, for he paid them like royalty.
Even the Metropolitan Police were paid by him—he never knew when he might need their help.
All his bases were covered.
Except her.
Grace was like the wind that blew over the high wall of his fortress. Like the groundwater that trickled through the stones. Like the scent that was carried through the air and got in his every pore.
They said that danger was tangible. Fools! The danger was an invisible force that possessed one’s heart and mind a second before it was too late to act. You took the heart and mind of a man—and he was a prisoner.
Right now, Drasko was on a sure road to incarceration. He knew it, of course. In vain, he had tried to tell himself for years that she didn’t matter. It was too late. She was now part of the game.
A knock at the door turned Drasko around.
“A visitor, sir,” his assistant announced with a mysterious smile. “Mrs. Mawr.”
Elias’s eyes snapped at Drasko, who muttered, “Oh, hell,” under his breath.