Page 5 of Greed: The Savage (Seven Deadly Sins #7)

T hornwick and the wide-hipped, deep-bosomed baroness, Lady Sybelle Darrow, engaged in what any passersby by the west window would take for a polite morning call.

Alternately, it would require someone to be seated in the same sun-washed parlor overlooking the baroness’s verdant and fastidiously tended gardens to know the true nature of their discussion.

Any polite lord or lady would be objectively horrified by the scandalous exchange unfolding. Granted, there wasn’t a single respectable member of High Society who’d step foot inside the baroness’s residence—which made her the ideal bride.

“I long for…”

Scratch-scratch-scratch.

For the dozenth or so time, Thornwick, seated at a rosewood table with a floral porcelain tea service between him and the baroness, glanced towards that faint rustling.

The scratchy disturbance also, for the dozenth or so time, interrupted Baroness Darrow as she gave a testimony of her reasons for wanting to take part in the virgin auction.

“I long for…” she repeated. The widow’s big lips, painted bright red, formed a pout so severe it leant an ugliness to her otherwise pretty countenance.

“You long for the forbidden,” he supplied on a silken hum, mollifying the wicked widow enough for her to continue prattling about her natural desire for unnatural proclivities.

Restless beyond measure, unbidden his gaze slid to the silent servant in the corner. That would be silent, if it were not for the occasional and very pronounced scratch-scratch-scratch of Addien fidgeting with her cloak and the gown she wore underneath.

While the coy baroness droned on, Thornwick kept up his study of Addien.

She’d refused to surrender the finely woven cloak to Lady Darrow’s butler.

There was a gown underneath, wasn’t there? Zounds, he both hoped so and wished not.

In fact, she’d put up quite the fight, one filled with cockney curses for the baroness’s strapping butler and even more threats when the fellow made the mistake of trying to take the garment off her.

Addien came alive in that instant, snapping and spitting and hissing, and giving life to the nickname Dynevor affixed on the minx.

“…touch it one more time, and I’ll form a noose and choke you with it, butler…” Addien had spat.

Thornwick had been both suitably infuriated by her wild ways—and dangerously aroused by them. Even now, the blood in his veins thickened in remembrance of her feisty display.

He’d wanted to bend the volatile chit over his knee.

Ultimately, before Thornwick brought the chit and melee to order, the baroness had raced to the foyer in an unfavorable start to his and Addien’s first appointment together.

Now, with nothing more than Lady Darrow’s tiresome coquetry, Thornwick gave leave to the fantasy of Addien. What was underneath the cloak that’d led Addien to put up such a resistance at being separated from the garment?

What did she wear underneath that cloak?

Or what didn’t she wear?

On the wing of that scintillating question came a host of rogue’s possibilities.

“I must confess, I do not prefer to be taken roughly,” the baroness explained in the same blasé way she’d shared her tea preference moments earlier.

Unfortunate. He notched that as a near disqualifying mark against her as a potential wife.

Addien, however?

Addien with her fire and ferocity would want it hard and fast and every way. As the baroness went on and on, Thornwick took a slow breath in through his nose.

The untamed hellcat felt his stare; she knew it was reserved for her. She knew because Thornwick let her know.

In her usual fiery display of defiance, Addien lowered her hood all the way, so he could feel and witness the full force of her glare.

Thornwick and Addien continued on with their silent battle from across the room.

One thing was certain, with that spirited sprite, there’d be no endless buzzing about rumors. No; every—usually biting—word to leave Addien’s lips came with purpose and intent.

His blood heated.

She sneered.

And he brought his focus reluctantly back to the baroness. What proved to be a regrettably observant baroness.

Her eyes narrowed, sharp as a blade.

On their way to Lady Darrow’s residence of Lowther Grange, Thornwick made it clear to Addien, she had one job—remain invisible.

With that task, he’d done both he and Addien a favor.

He could operate without her interference.

And Addien? Well, given the stealth which she moved throughout the Devil’s Den, she would sail through her first assignment with ease.

That was, she would sail through, as long as she could keep a tight rein on her tongue.

In the greatest turn of irony, she’d proven she was silent as the grave with her mouth, but she was anything but in every other way.

His firebrand partner must have sensed his fury from across the length of the parquet floor. How could she not?

He was distracted and, by the tight set to his mouth and eyes, annoyed at Addien being here.

The same as before each of the other twelve or so times, Addien made herself go absolutely still.

Thornwick scowled at her.

She glared…

His eyebrows dipped.

Not at him.

He followed her gaze to the centerpiece of her blistering disdain.

Oh, Christ.

“…my carnal interests…” the baroness trailed into a whine. “What was I saying?”

Good God, for the life of him Thornwick hadn’t a bloody clue anymore. That was, if he ever had.

Since he’d joined the demimondaine for tea , the widow hadn’t managed a complete answer to the debauched questions he’d put to her.

No, she had. You just have eyes for another…

A sour note crept into Lady Darrow’s words. “Are you certain she has to be here, Thornwick?”

“Club rules, Lady Darrow,” he said.

Funny that. When the day began and Dynevor informed Thornwick of the altered plan which required he bring the tart-mouthed servant along for his interviews, he’d been of the same opinion as Lady Darrow. Now, Addien proved to be the most diverting of the two women this day.

The baroness gave a hmph. “Yes, well, I do not like the way she is glaring at me.”

“I’m fairly certain she’s glaring at me.”

They both looked at Addien.

She is going to murder me.

The baroness mulled at her lower lip. “I do believe she is glaring at the both of us.”

Thornwick peered at an impressively taciturn Addien, and damned if he didn’t want to get a rise out of her. “No, I’m quite sure it is me. Miss Killoran and I are not friendly,” he explained.

They were going to be a lot less friendly after all this.

The widow perked up, all smiles and giggles once more.

He cut a glance Addien’s way.

Given the flashes of crimson on her cheeks, if she got any hotter, she’d sizzle up.

It was the wrong imagery. Evocative. He found himself besieged by the feisty Addien Killoran as a veritable Hestia, sprawled before a hearth while the flames blazed around her.

Why should that conjuring make him hard as a pike?

The baroness was right here before him, his for the taking. The debauched bride to drive the duke to his overdue death. Add to that, she had a lush body made for bedsport.

There came a soft thump.

“Send her away,” the determined widow coaxed. “It would be eminently more entertaining without her here.” The wanton slid a delicate but purposeful foot up his leg. She brought it to rest at his throbbing cock.

While she teased him with her toes, he forced himself to renew his consideration.

Granted, they needn’t sit across the table for meals or even attend the same events. The role he needed her for required none of that. She’d make him a great bed partner, and wouldn’t demand his loyalty, and definitely not his non-existent heart. Nor would he make any such demands of her.

Addien, on the other hand, she’d demand everything from a man.

His breath grew ragged, on no account of Lady Darrow’s.

Right now, he’d have taken ten spitting-mad Addiens to the tiresome widow.

Sensing her efforts weren’t having the intended effect, Lady Darrow returned her foot to the floor.

The brunette’s pinched gaze again trailed briefly over to a conspicuous Addien in the corner.

“There is talk, my lord,” Lady Darrow said, picking up the teapot to pour herself another cup.

“Talk?”

The baroness returned the porcelain teapot to its place on the tray. “Amongst the ladies who’ve taken part in the auction. They claim Lord Dynevor and Mr. Latimer never required such stringent measures of the participants until only recently.”

Gossip proved to be the fuel that kept the widow’s interest and thoughts together.

Lady Darrow inched closer. She dropped her elbows on the white Italian lace tablecloth. With her body perfectly arced towards Thornwick, her ample cleavage remained on perfect display, in garish but not completely unwelcome presentation.

“One may surmise, there was some kind of scandal with one of the ladies involved.” The baroness, with her shrewd gossip’s eyes, watched Thornwick closely. “What say you?”

What say him?

She’d been a top candidate for the role of Lady Thornwick. With every passing second of her droning on in a bid for salacious secrets, she was giving him a glimpse of what marriage to her would be like, and none of it was good.

“I’m afraid I cannot say,” he murmured.

Lady Darrow let slip a coquettish giggle. “You wicked devil.”

Scratch-scratch-scratch.

God grant him patience.

“There are matters I wish to discuss with you. More than just a night at the Devil’s Den,” she took care to whisper that last part. “I do not want her here, Thornwick,” she said shrilly.

She was unrelenting—in the most unfavorable way.

Thornwick’s jaw locked, and even the grind of his teeth didn’t break the ire-filled stare-down between a seething lady and luminous lioness.

Thornwick launched a seductive siege, intended to save them all. “I am afraid my hands are tied,” he purred. “Only in the literal sense.”

He took the baroness’s hand, not with the gallantry of a gentleman but in a claim. With his thumb, he pressed hard on the delicate hollow of her wrist. Her pulse pounded in eager anticipation, and he made sure not to disappoint.

Where this powerful client and perfect bride for him were concerned, there’d been enough disappointments this day.

Thornwick let his stare upon her take on a feral gleam, and as he inched her fingers closer to his grinning lips, he, with eyes that mocked, dared her to look away.

As if she could.

His calculated performance had the intended effect.

The hungry little hitch of Lady Darrow’s breath filled the sun-washed parlor.

This time, the lusty baroness didn’t hear the smooth swish of broadcloth in the corner.

Thornwick did.

That was neither here nor there; he’d handle Addien Killoran later. Much later.

The wanton widow’s eyes fluttered shut.

From the moment Addien entered behind Thornwick and perched herself on a straight-backed, tight-upholstered side chair reserved for servants, the widow had been distracted by the third member of their party.

He fixed a hot stare on Addien.

The infuriating minx gave him a mocking wave in return.

A fierce hungering seized him.

Scratch-scratch-scratch.

Thornwick released a carefully modulated growl to muffle Addien’s latest antics.

He grazed his teeth along the inseam where Lady Darrow’s hand met her wrist.

With the brazen beauty properly absorbed, he put his ire where it belonged—on the unpolished enchantress in the corner.

Addien Killoran was determined to see them both fail.

He should care more than he did. And he should want to fuck Addien Killoran an even less lot than he did.

The bold imp held his hot stare. His gaze bore so deeply into her face, he eventually detected the slight quiver of the minx’s lips.

Reflexively, Thornwick tightened his grip on Lady Darrow’s wrist with such force, the wrong woman moaned.

“I want more from you.” He directed that hungry profession at the woman it was truly meant for.

Even with the length of the room denying them, the savage lust between him and Addien swelled to unrelenting temperatures.

There came another, subtly different rustle of fabric as the baroness reached under the table and rubbed herself between her legs.

Addien’s supple, cupid’s bow lips formed a sneer as she boldly watched his seduction of Lady Darrow unfold.

Lady Darrow, whom he’d on just remembered about. He gave the forgotten widow another sharp bite.

She whimpered.

The heat in Addien’s smoky eyes revealed disgust.

The source of her aversion intrigued him.

Was it directed at the unashamed baroness who flaunted herself like a trussed-up prize? Thornwick’s practiced seduction? Or was Addien awash with disgust over her own body’s response to him and all of this?

As for Thornwick? The baroness had painted herself out of the proverbial painting the moment Addien’s hood went flying back.

The same could not be said, however, for his infuriating partner.

Addien went back to fussing with her cloak.

Rustle-rustle-rustle.

“Why don’t we try and forget her?” he suggested, before the baroness could vent her anger on Addien.

As anticipated, the lady’s pique dissipated. She batted lashes nowhere near as long and seductive as Addien Killoran’s. “I would like that, my lord,” she simpered like a shy virgin.

Addien would never simper.

“Now, I am fully engaged and engrossed. Why don’t you tell me, Lady Darrow, what it is exactly that draws you to…” Thornwick lowered his voice. “The depraved .”

Lady Darrow’s breath hitched. They leaned across the table, their bodies in synchrony. He had to muster up interest for his would-be marchioness. Still, he had no qualms about doing what needed be done to ease the ruffled feathers of a potential patron. He had always been fully committed to his—

Another rustle came—this time followed by a snorting laugh.

With a shriek, the nagging baroness flew to her feet. “I cannot do this with her here, Thornwick! It is too much. She is too much.”

I am bloody going to ring the minx’s neck.