Page 44 of Vicious Kingdom (Dynasty of Queens #3)

A m I the kind of man who can be a good husband?

The evidence seemed damning. I was bitter and resentful.

My temper ran hotter than the Sicilian sun.

The only good marks on my character came when I could forget my own trouble and focus on my wife’s needs.

When she arrived hurt. When she was drunk off her ass, then hungover and zombie-esque.

I shifted in my seat and picked up the glass of red. My motto in business and in life was that in everything I set out to do, I would do it well.

I am not doing the husband thing well.

I might not have set out to do it for the noblest reasons, but here I was. It was time to tackle my inner demons, to make things right—and do a better job.

I could be a good husband. It should be easy. Annaliese was every man’s fantasy, and instead of embracing the lucky hand I’d been dealt, I was playing recklessly.

“How do you like the meal?” I asked, leaning over.

The abruptness of my question made Anna start. She looked up at me. “It’s gross.”

A rough laugh escaped me. Dio, she was blunt. We’d paid a thousand dollars a plate to be here, and while the money was for charity, the least they could do was provide a decent meal.

“I agree.” I pushed mine away. “What do you say we grab a bite of something when we leave?”

Annaliese looked at me as if I’d sprouted two heads. “Ookkaayy?”

“Oh, darling, you’re here!” a shrill voice beamed.

In a cloud of stinking perfume, a woman swept into our space, interrupting my attempt at mending things with my wife.

“But of course I am, Janet,” Annaliese smiled. “Who else is going to offer a scathing review of society’s behavior, expose their scandalous secrets?”

“I keep saying you should write a blog. You’d be a veritable Lady Whistledown!” Janet leaned in conspiratorially, her diamond earrings catching the light. “Speaking of scandalous secrets, did you hear about Vivian Hartley’s husband?”

“No!” Annaliese gasped, her eyes lighting up with interest. “What happened?”

“Well.” Janet lowered her voice to a dramatic whisper. “Apparently he’s been spotted three times this month at that new club downtown. You know, the one with the private rooms upstairs?”

Annaliese covered her mouth, a giggle escaping between her fingers. “He went to the Jade Temple—again! That’s where he was caught the last time.”

Janet nodded. “Guess he never learned.”

“Not with his secretary?” Annaliese leaned on the back of her chair, tipping it onto two legs.

I braced myself, ready to reach out and catch her should she tip.

While I didn’t give two shits about their topic of conversation, it was mesmerizing to watch her come alive like this.

I would wager that while she seemed to be eating this content up like any other hungry socialite, my sweet Annaliese, the talented little authoress, was actually making a deeper case study of humanity, storing the information for use in future stories.

“Worse! With his wife’s yoga instructor!”

They both erupted into peals of laughter, Janet nearly spilling her champagne.

“That’s nothing,” Annaliese countered, dabbing at her eyes. “Did you see Margaret Thornton tonight? That necklace she's wearing?”

“It’s gorgeous,” Janet pouted. “Bigger than the one I had last month.”

“Where did you leave yours?” There was a damn twinkle in the musical lilt of my wife’s voice.

“I took it to the jeweler’s to be cleaned and reset—”

“And?” Annaliese mused.

“No!”

“Yes!”

“That witch! She’s dead,” Janet gasped, straightening. “She wouldn’t dare.”

The woman dashed off, but not before embracing my wife in a swift, parting hug.

I frowned.

Because Annaliese had winced. It was quick, and if I hadn’t been watching her like a hawk, in tune with her every breath and enchanted by her features, I wouldn’t have caught it.

“Come with me,” I beckoned, keeping my voice level.

My wife gave me a funny look but obliged. “Where are we going?”

“Over here,” I evaded. “Tell me, what’s behind that jewel story?”

“Oh.” Annaliese laughed. “Margaret is broke. She bribed the designer to replace Janet’s diamonds with fakes, paid him with some of the stones, and then paid her debts with the others.”

“And kept a few for herself?” I led my wife out of the banquet hall and to the women’s room.

“Exactly.”

I pushed inside. “Anyone in here?”

When no one answered, I held the door open for Annaliese. She peered inside, then shot a look over her shoulder. “Curiouser and curiouser, Mr. Baldwin. What will wagging tongues say about you sneaking in here with me?”

Fuck them.

The moment the door closed, I reached for her. While my touch was gentle, it still made Annaliese clench her jaw and draw in a tight breath.

Spinning her around, I tugged at the zipper on the back of her dress.

“Leo! Don’t,” she gasped, pulling away.

“Why?” My touch trailed up to cup her chin, so she was forced to look at me.

She swallowed hard. “If we’re going to do something scandalous, we should keep our clothes on. You know? So we aren’t caught naked?”

“Scared to show off for the jackals?” I rubbed my thumb on her chin, waiting for the lie.

“No,” she breathed. “But….”

I wrapped an arm around her waist, keeping her close. The teeth clicked as I drew down the fastening.

“Leo, please….” Desperation choked her voice.

My wife was keeping yet another secret.

The sight of her back sent a bolt of white-hot rage through me. Angry bruises, the kind I wore after a mixed martial arts fight, stained her skin.

I peeled the dress off her shoulders.

She didn’t resist, but her whole body trembled.

Her front was worse.

Purple splotches marred her ribs, spreading like spilled ink across her sun-kissed skin.

Finger-shaped marks wrapped around her upper arms, yellow-green where they were healing, deep plum where they were fresh.

Across her collarbone, an angry red welt had formed, and beneath her breast, a constellation of contusions bloomed in various stages of healing—some faded to a sickly yellow, others still swollen and dark as midnight.

“Annaliese.” My voice was barely a whisper, rage making my vision blur at the edges.

She shifted from foot to foot, but didn’t avoid my stare, locking eyes with my reflection in the mirror. Her arms crossed over her chest in a futile attempt to hide the evidence.

“Who did this to you?” I reached out, hovering my fingers over a particularly vicious mark along her ribcage without touching it.

“It’s nothing,” she muttered. “You should see the other guy.”

Her attempted quip fell flat.

“I’m going to be needing a name, wife.” I caged her against the counter, as if my body could shield her from what had already transpired.

She shook her head.

That small, determined act of defiance unlocked the cage where I kept my inner beast.

With a roar of pure rage, I lashed out. My fist connected with the mirror.

It cracked, spider webs of broken glass shooting across the frame as small fragments rained on the marble countertop.

Annaliese scooted out from my hold. Her fingers clawed at her back as she struggled back into the dress. Pain was scrawled over her face from something that should be a simple task.

Cursing, I closed the distance. My hands, so capable of destruction, were tender as I pulled the dress over her shoulders. Fingers fumbled at the zipper, slipping once to catch the tiny guide. When I finally managed to pull it up, Annaliese rounded on me.

“You can’t attack him, Leo.” She pushed my chest. “He’s too popular. It would be disastrous! And you’re already in enough hot water with your business.”

I had no intention of letting him walk away. No, when I caught him, he was dead. It would look like an accident; no one would know it was me. I was about to tell her that. To force her to give me a name.

There was a choice that lay before me.

Push her and risk the fragile bond that needed to grow stronger between us. The alternative was that I bottle my rage—for now.

Because one way or another, that sonofabitch was dead. Right now, Annaliese needed me to be gentle, to take care of her needs.

“What can I do?” I asked, dropping my hands to the side. “Those look like they hurt. Do you want to see a doctor?”

Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth, garbled a sound, then shut it.

We stood there, breathing hard, and watching one another.

“I’m serious, Anna, tell me what you need.”

She stepped into me and fisted my suit jacket. “Just this.”

At her insistent tug, I bent. Her mouth crashed into mine.

Her lips were soft but demanding, a wild desperation in the way she pressed against me.

I met her urgency with my own, one hand sliding to cradle the back of her neck while the other settled gently at her waist, mindful of her injuries.

I tasted her need, her fear, the words she couldn't say.

She pressed closer, fingers climbing to tangle in my hair, pulling me down with surprising strength.

I groaned against her mouth, parting my lips as her tongue sought entrance. The sweet taste of champagne lingered between us, but beneath it was something uniquely Annaliese—honey and sunshine and a hint of danger. My heart hammered against my ribs as if trying to break free and join with hers.

Annaliese’s breath hitched when I deepened the kiss, her body arching into mine despite her injuries. She was fire in my arms, consuming everything in her path. My self-control, my anger, my sanity. All of it burned away, leaving nothing but raw need.

I wanted to bury myself inside her, to claim her.

To consume and be consumed by her fire until nothing remained of either of us but ash and satisfaction.

My dick hardened with painful intensity as I pressed her against the counter, careful of her bruises yet desperate to feel every inch of her against me.

“Anna,” I whispered against her lips. “I want—”

The bathroom door swung open with a bang.