Page 6 of Greed: The Savage (Seven Deadly Sins #7)

O n the silent ride back to the Devil’s Den, Malric’s gaze cut to Addien—a look that promised her death. A familiar glint burned in his eyes, dark as forged steel. She swore he saved that flint-edged fury for her alone.

But after this morning’s flummery, he might very well do her in once and for all.

What madness possessed her? She’d excelled in every task Dynevor put to her—until now. All she’d had to do was get herself into a fine gown, hand a cloak to Lady Darrow’s butler, perch herself on that thinly padded side chair, and be quiet.

She’d gone and made a muck of it and, God rot her soul, had to watch Malric Mauley, the fine Marquess of Thornwick, jingle the baroness into a frolic.

Sick inside at even the possibility, Addien closed her eyes.

No, she didn’t care. His prick could rot off into a brick of gold for her to build a future on, and she’d still not be interested.

What she’d been, however, was something just as bad, but at least primally explicable. That hot look in his unswerving gaze had liquified Addien in her seat and sparked—she blanched—envy.

God rot her soul, she’d envied the baroness for being the benefactress of his attentions.

And, then there’d been the matter of her tongue, getting the best of her as it always did.

What in hell was rotting her brain that she was giving a fig about who the high-and-mighty gent had an itch for? She was about to get the chuck from Dynevor.

For the uneasiness churning inside, she did her best to don an unaffected, lifeless expression.

Malric hadn’t quit his stare, and she’d be damned if she let him taste her terror.

Addien wasn’t at all concerned with dying.

She’d learned long ago that life invariably proved harder than death.

At least when a person was dead, the cruelty came to a stop.

That’s what a girl—Leah, her name had been—whom Addien called a friend had said when they’d been searching for somewhere to warm their hands after a vicious winter’s freeze.

Leah died against Addien’s side that night, with icicles frozen on her lashes.

Sleep hadn’t looked that sweet on the girl.

No, Addien didn’t fear death. She feared going without a roof over her head and the constant threat of danger lurking in every shadow.

And by the furious frost in Malric’s miserably cold eyes, he not only knew the fate awaiting Addien, he relished it.

Yes, well, she didn’t intend to go without a battle.

Addien summoned a brave face. “You seemed to enjoy yourself back there, Malric,” she said with a snigger.

“This is what you’ll say?” His question contained a warning edge.

Aye, she would. All the better to keep his focus away from Addien.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were eying the lady as your future marchioness.”

The whites of his eyes expanded.

For a moment, she believed she’d pushed too far.

“Never say you were jealous, Addien,” he taunted.

Mortified heat came to her cheeks, as quick as a refusal. “No!” that espousal came forcefully, and Addien wasn’t sure which of them she sought to convince.

Unease tripped along her spine. Tossing her head back, she forced a raucous laugh. “Why would I be jealous of—?”

Her words ended on a gasp. Malric caught her wrist in the same quick, tight hold he’d had of the baroness. And just as he’d done with the wealthy baroness, he pressed his hard thumb against the inset of her wrist. His gaze burned with a warmth that touched her skin, even before his mouth did.

She knew it was coming.

Malric grazed his teeth along the tell-tale blue vein; starting at mid-palm, he traversed a dangerous trail of slick, hot kisses to the middle of her arm.

A hot ache made her shift on the bench.

Heart hammering, she snatched her arm away.

Malric’s rusty, malicious laugh was all-knowing, and humiliating for it.

As much as she wanted to curl into a shell and hide forever, Addien turned her chin all the way up until her gaze fully met his.

The marquess leaned back on his bench, reassessing her.

She waited for an explosion. This was far worse.

Malric peeled his lips back like the wolf who’d eaten poor Red Riding Hood. His nostrils went into a full flare. His eyes oozed warning. His dark eyelids twitching, he was a sight in his rage.

Not another word was spoken. After an infernally painful carriage ride, they reached the Devil’s Den.

Addien made a grab for the handle.

She was several seconds too slow for the speed with which Malric intercepted her.

“We have to report to Dynevor,” he said, his tone as veiled as his gaze.

A tremor went through her, and worse, her pathetically whispered response. “Y-Yes.”

Malric said nothing for a moment and then cursed. “Bloody hell, Addien!” He lambasted her. “You couldn’t simply take off the bloody cloak?”

She opened her mouth to tell him to go to hell, and then caught it.

Shock slammed into her.

Why…he was trying to give her a way to try and save herself.

That humanity, she didn’t expect from him.

Perhaps that was why she lowered her head and, with fingers that shook, unfastened her clasp. Humbled and brought low by having to explain her idiocy to this man, she briefly paused.

His breath caught noisily.

Addien shrugged out of the finest garment she’d ever worn to reveal the second finest garment she’d ever worn.

“Couldn’t do up me laces,” she said, her voice smaller than it’d ever been. “And I don’t need…” Except that wasn’t true. She took in a deep breath. “I don’t want a maid about.”

She couldn’t even look at him. She didn’t need to. She knew precisely what he thought of her and her silly pride. Oh, the fun he was about to have at her expense.

Just say it, she silently screamed.

The marquess sighed. “Turn around.”

Turn…

Befuddled, Addien did as he commanded.

No words were spoken. There was only silence as he, with a deft hand, laced up her dress. His long fingers, hard and strong, moved with effortless grace.

Her heart hammered as he tended to her gown like a devoted lady’s maid.

The knuckles of his left hand briefly grazed her spine and, through her lawn chemise, her skin burned.

His startling beneficence, the tender ministrations of a man so hard and hateful, left her shaken.

Since his hire, Addien had spent so much time trying to get herself out of the icy guard’s company that she’d not truly looked at him until now.

It was as if, in creating the Marquess of Thornwick, the Maker had toiled over a Grecian masterpiece—the bold slashes of sharply chiseled cheeks, the flawless symmetry of a slanted aquiline nose—but finding no man worthy of such beauty, God had offset his face with a jaw a touch too heavily squared, marked by the faintest dimpled cleft, as though to mock the arrogant peer with a fleck of softness he could never be rid of.

In a mocking nod to her notice, the marquess’s icy lips quirked. “Next time, Addien? Employ the maids.”

With a gasp, Addien hurriedly snatched her cloak into place, burying herself within the folds, hiding all over again.

Humiliation, shame, and self-disgust set her face aflame.

And here she’d been worried about facing Dynevor, and now she couldn’t get out of this carriage with Malric quick enough.

When they were inside the club, proprietor and head guard, Lachlan Latimer, were waiting. His harsh, hard countenance was grimmer than usual.

“Killoran wants you in his office now.” The other proprietor and head guard directed them.

Addien’s stomach sank all the way to her tightly clenched toes.

She’d been wrong. She’d happily take humiliation at Malric’s hands to this.

When they reached the earl’s offices, Addien latched her fingers onto Malric’s sleeve.

She forced herself to swallow her pride a second time, and given Dynevor, there’d likely be a whole lot more swallowing happening.

“Thank you for keeping what happened during the meeting between us,” she said.

“What are you talking about, Miss Killoran?” His tone managed to pack haughtiness, condescension, and pity into one.

Her toes curled sharply into the soles of her slippers. “In the carriage—”

“In the carriage, I righted your gown because it required righting,” he said coolly.

Oh, God. She wanted to melt into oblivion.

He’d made her feel safe. He’d let her believe…

Did he let you believe, or did you merely want to see kindness because you so needed it?

“You bloody rat,” Addien rasped.

Malric wound his fingers so tight around her forearm, she drew in a fast breath. Burned by his touch, she switched her stunned gaze between the hold he had upon her and his punishing eyes.

“I am no bloody rat,” he whispered. “My loyalty is absolute and is reserved for my employers. They are the ones I answer to. You are nothing.”

The deadened stare heaped upon Addien’s self-worth—the sum being zero.

Addien managed a wavering nod. She wanted to call back the impulsive slight, and not out of fear but because of the blade of guilt that sawed away at her.

He’d been a better person by far today. When she’d referred to herself in that derogatory way, he’d subtly reminded her of her worth.

Whereas she? She’d behaved like a petulant child.

“I am…” Addien grimaced. “ Sorry . I should not have used that insult.”

Malric drew back and then quickly collected himself. “Sorry is but a word, Addien.” His expression revealed nothing. “Prove it in your ways going forward.”

Not to people in the Dials. A sorry meant something…which is why no one spoke them.

Addien inclined her head. “You have my word. I shall not ever call you a rat again.”

The marquess did a deep search of her face and appeared mollified by what he saw or didn’t see.

Addien sneered. “Next time, I’ll have a more creative, fitting curse for a bugger like you.”