Page 4 of Greed: The Savage (Seven Deadly Sins #7)

A ddien loathed the Marquess of Thornwick with the fire of a thousand blazing hot suns. The haughty, arrogant toff with a nauseating sense of superiority and icy disdain for those around him represented everything she hated.

And now she’d be forced to work in tandem with him.

How was it possible for the Earl of Dynevor to fall so quickly from savior and king to tormentor?

Addien panted from the exertion of getting herself into a ridiculous day gown with ties up the back. In the bevel mirror of her fancy new rooms, her pointy face mocked her. Stray strands of black hair clung to her temples, framing eyes of unnatural violet she’d never been able to hide.

And she hated this lonely, elevated chamber as much as she did Thornwick.

The joy she found at the Devil’s Den came from the familiarity of it. That referred to her post, her private space, the people she shared hallways with, the ones she kept the same work hours as.

It came from being near Roy, the surly guard who understood her and who she understood in return.

They were the same. Born of the streets, wary of all, never ones to judge a person for their birthright.

She scowled. He was the opposite of Thornwick in every way and the reason she’d been pining for Roy for the past three years.

She’d vowed she’d work up the nerve and courage to state her feelings plainly, to declare herself and her admiration and affection for him.

And there wasn’t a more dangerous thing in all of London than to expose oneself so emotionally to anyone.

But for Roy, it was worth it. He was worth it.

Now, her chance had come and gone. They went from working side by side to not even keeping the same hours at the same place, and now her being squired about the ton by the loathsome—

Knock.

Judgmental.

Knock .

Condescending.

Knock.

Infuriating!

“I’m coming,” Addien shouted.

The miserable cur kept up his incessant pounding. “You are pressing too hard upon my patience. We are on the verge of being late if you don’t get yourself out here now, Addien.”

Her panic picked up. Addien frantically resumed her efforts. She stretched her arms behind her, until her muscles ached and strained from the awkward position.

“Would you give me another damned minute?” she raged.

He didn’t let up.

Knock —

Addien’s desperation mounted. Her heart hammered from the pressure he put on her with each solidly powerful blow he landed on her door.

Knock —If Dynevor heard…

Knock —If he knew Addien was on the verge of making she and Thornwick late for their first appointment together…

“You walk upon thin ice, madam.”

But a single call to Dynevor and he would know Addien was out of compliance.

Rage and dread turned her belly upside down and inside out.

The noble scoundrel would put her position, her future, her very life at risk.

But then that was the way of the nobility.

They’d let the hungry starve on an empty belly and walk over their dead bodies on their way to some fancy affair where guests were dripping in diamonds and gold and dining on decadent cakes and scrumptious desserts.

Reminded just how easy it could all be taken away, her efforts were in vain. The ties, which would better be referred to as a leash or lead, remained too far beyond Addien for her to manage anything more than a sad, wide looping bow.

“Tick, tock, madam. Tick, tock.”

Sweating, Addien sprinted to the armoire and fetched her new cloak.

Even as she raced over to the entrance, she drew her cloak on and pulled her hood into place. She yanked the door open with Thornwick mid-knock.

Much to her detriment, Thornwick’s sizable fist was already on its downward path. Gasping, Addien ducked quick, and his inadvertent blow brushed back her wool broadcloth hood. His clenched fingers left a glancing blow at the side of her head.

Addien grunted and stumbled a step.

Thornwick caught her quick. “Jesus,” he hissed; the angry slash of his sharply cut cheekbones went flush with color before promptly going pale. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

He stood there, tall and broad-shouldered, dark hair perfectly in place, his chiseled features set in the kind of cold, aristocratic mask meant to make lesser souls bow. If her knees went weak, it was only from rage—not him.

“Have a care in the future, madam,” he said icily. “I nearly ended you with a fist.”

His steeled lips were hard like polished marble, but the taut corners of a mouth given to commands had gone white. He was unsettled at having struck her.

“Aww, don’t flatter yourself, Thornwick.”

In place of the barb she braced for, an errant muscle ticked like a secret at the right corner of his carved lips.

“Let’s go,” he clipped out in his flawless King’s English.

Thornwick didn’t even wait to see if she followed but marched on ahead.

His perfectly tailored jacket, snug across the shoulders, shifted with him as he walked. Addien glared after him, hating the way those tightening seams mapped the strength beneath that superfine wool broadcloth.

Addien followed in his wake.

On the way to the carriage, neither she nor Thornwick exchanged a word, sharp quip, or any other form of exchange. By the time they reached the courtyard, when he finally looked for Addien, she’d caught up to him.

He stopped so abruptly, however, she ran headlong into him.

Cursing, Thornwick grabbed her by her shoulders and kept her on her feet with a firm grip. Unfortunately, with the force she’d run into him and the size of his not at all gentlemanlike broad, big, muscular body, all the air left her lungs.

Thornwick let loose another angry curse and retained his hold on her. A hold that was most unexpectedly gentle. Through the sapphire fabric, her shoulders tingled and shivered…

With disgust , an inner voice whispered.

Except, it didn’t feel like disgust.

She’d been handled many times before by fellows in the street. Their holds had been almost as hard as Thornwick’s, but even more unforgiving. And in those moments, she’d always known loathing and dread. The absence of it with this man set loose an unfamiliar set of horror and terror within her.

Before she realized her intentions, she scrambled away from him.

“Why are you following me so closely?” he demanded.

Apparently, for all the ways in which Thornwick left her unsteady, she’d had no such effect on him. Which was more than fine. It was not only for the best. It was for the absolute betterment of mankind. She didn’t want anything to do with a toff.

“Why are you stopping so quickly?” she riposted.

That same muscle in his mouth she delighted in setting off resumed its familiar—in her presence—tick.

“Let’s go,” he said curtly.

With an extravagant sweep of her arm that matched his earlier gesture, Addien motioned for the waiting conveyance with Lord Dynevor’s crest emblazoned in gold upon the door.

A faint smile ghosted the corner of Thornwick’s lips.

She drew back.

Surely not…

Surely it was merely a trick of the sunlight.

When the carriage was set into motion, heading for the finest end of London, Addien fought the urge to squirm on her bench.

They were, at best, angry and reluctant partners in an assignment.

At worst, they were mortal enemies in every other way.

Unnerved by keeping close quarters with him, and unwilling to sit with that discomfort, Addien fixed her attention on, well, everywhere and anywhere that wasn’t him.

This marked only the second time she had been in such a grand conveyance. The first and last time before this one had been the day Lord Dynevor saved her from the hangman’s noose.

The second time being now.

The wonder of the carriage’s trappings still held the same ability to distract and awe Addien.

The walls were gilded, painted an actual gold. So bright its shine actually hurt her eyes. The plush, upholstered cushions were a crimson velvet, so soft they were finer than any makeshift structure or materials she’d fashioned into a bed over the years.

Her gaze landed on the crystal windows, brightly gleaming as the gold in the carriage, and her reverent expression stared back.

And why shouldn’t she be awed? She could have lived in these quarters and happily for the rest of her life.

This tiny space to nobility was a kingdom for people like her and—

In the makeshift mirror made by the window, her gaze collided with Thornwick’s wintry stare.

She instantly brought her features into a mask. She’d let herself slip, clearly. He’d caught her gawking like some pathetic ninny impressed by things.

Of course, he would mock her for it. That was his only way.

Addien curled her fingers tight as he opened his mouth and steeled herself for his jab.

“I know Dynevor has gone through your latest responsibilities at the Devil’s Den, however, it would be helpful for us to discuss them once more,” Thornwick said, all business.

Good. All business, she understood. That was safe. It was comfortable.

“As you said, Dynevor and I already spoke. I don’t need directions or instructions or anything else from you. Is that clear?”

Alas, this fancy fellow was determined to frustrate her at every turn. He didn’t take her bait.

“You’re to sit quietly in the corner,” he continued.

“You are not to talk. You are going to gauge the lady’s reaction and get a read for her feelings about being part of the auction.

You aren’t to weigh in. You aren’t to even discuss or ask questions in front of me, to me or anyone.

Only when we are back in the carriage will we review the meeting.

Then and only then, you’ll share your opinions. Are we clear?”

With his staccato orders and deadened tones, he’d missed his calling to lead the King’s army.

“I don’t—”

He cut her off impatiently. “You don’t answer to anyone?”

Odds bodkins, he’d known exactly what she’d been about to say.

“Yes,” he said jeeringly, “I know what you were thinking.”

She feared her flush gave her away.

“These are not my orders. They are Dynevor’s, Addien. As much as you would love to defy me and constantly do so at every turn, I also know you are not going to displease or do anything to threaten your position at the Devil’s Den.”

Flummoxed and wanting to throw her head back and howl with fury and frustration at how damned bloody accurate his read of her was, Addien plastered a smile on instead.

“I was going to say that all sounds reasonable, Malric .”

A ripple crossed his sharp, strongly defined features. Over the fact she’d thrown him off with her response? Or the fact she’d laid ownership to his name?

With this Highness of High Horses? She’d wager the latter.

“Nobody calls me Malric,” he whispered.

Ah, so it was the latter. It was all Addien could do to keep from smiling a genuine God’s honest smile at having shaken him and forcing him to lose some of his rigid control.

She let her lips form a pout. “Oh, come now, Malric .”

His expression tightened instantly.

“If we’re going to be working in close quarters, and you’ve given yourself leave to call me Addien, then turnabout only seems fair? Unless…” Addien made her eyes go big. “I never took you for one of the sorts to take offense at some street rat using your fine, fancy Christian name.”

“You being the rat?”

His somberly delivered question clashed with her biting banter and brought her up short.

Addien tried to nod or speak or serve some biting rejoinder.

“Let me share something about my feelings on rats with you, Addien.” His smooth baritone whispered like the softest satin she’d ever had in her fingers, and it elicited the same shiver of awareness.

“In the work I do? The term rat is reserved for the contemptible sort. Sneaks. Informers. The disloyal.”

It was hard to hang onto his lecture when his words washed over her like falling velvet. “Is that how you see yourself, Addien?” he asked quietly. “Is that how I should view you?”

Was he…? Did the marquess mean…? In a fog, she shook her head. Malric inclined his head.

“Now that we’ve settled that, it is time to go inside.” The marquess, all icy-frost reserve once more, called her attention to the window.

They’d arrived.

Addien had to tell her brain to tell her feet to move.

Had Malric just chided her for referring to herself as a street rat? Surely not. That didn’t make sense. None of this did. Likely, that’d been his intention.

As of right now, Addien was sure of just one thing.

She’d never wanted a promotion at the Devil’s Den.

But after finding herself caught in a place between caution and curiosity over Malric, her next advancement, anything that would get her away from the Marquess of Thornwick, couldn’t come fast enough.