The Hellion (Wicked Wallflowers #1)(59)

“If she were bent on hurting us or our club, she would have let me continue on as I was.”

“If she were attempting to bring harm to any of us or our hell, she would have proceeded exactly as she has, as well,” Ryker said, and there was a foreign gentleness that only made his counterargument all the more frustrating. “I’m simply asking you to use greater discretion where she is concerned. She’ll be here until the end of the Season at the latest, and married hopefully sooner, and when that happens, she’ll have no reason for any loyalty or obligation to our family.”

The weight of a boulder crushing down on Adair’s chest restricted his airflow. Given that three weeks had passed and there’d never been a suitor, or even a waltz or walk in the park, it had been all too easy to forget the purpose that brought her here—that she was only here to marry a nob, and then . . . and then, what? Then she’d just go? And there would be no more discussions about the Hell and Sin or the London night sky or—

“Adair?” his brother urged with a concern in those two syllables that brought Adair’s head shooting up. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” he said quickly. “I’ll have a care.” Impatient to have his brother gone so he could be alone with the upheaval of his thoughts, he motioned to his desk. “I’ve matters to see to before my appointment with Phippen today.” That, at least, was the truth.

Grateful that Ryker had always steered away from discourse that was too personal, he stared after him until he’d gone. And even as the panel clicked shut, Adair remained staring at it. Sucking in a breath through his teeth, he covered his face with his hands.

His brother was both correct and incorrect where Cleopatra was concerned. Adair would wager the future of the Hell and Sin that the young woman didn’t intend any ill will on his establishment. And yet, of all the charges leveled, there was only one that held him motionless, and his stomach churning—she would marry.

Her union with a nob was the only possible conclusion to her brother’s . . . and her . . . plans. It marked a ruthlessness to all the Killorans that should only further deepen his antipathy for that family, and his mistrust of her.

Yet, God help him, with his usual logic and Ryker’s reminders, he fought the urge to remain here when all he wanted to do was go off and find her.





Chapter 16

Later that night, Cleopatra knelt at the edge of the cradle, contemplating the sleeping bundle resting there.

Even with the presence of the snarling Wilson, whom she’d the misfortune of being saddled with by Black, and a new, cheerful nursemaid happily bustling about the room, organizing the linens, Paisley Black’s nursery was the last place Cleopatra should wish to be.

The babe blinked her impossibly large blue eyes several times, and that cloudy gaze moved over Cleopatra’s face. Alas, there had always been something calming in being around babes. They represented the most unsullied part of a person’s soul. At this age and size, defenseless as one was, the evil one might carry hadn’t yet come out. There was nothing but an inherent need and willingness to trust.

Only this time, being here with this babe was not solely about lingering around innocence. It was about him.

Adair Thorne, whom she’d been moments away from kissing when Ryker Black interrupted. Given that untimely appearance and Adair’s absence for the remainder of the day, there was no doubt he’d been raked over the proverbial coals for his dealings with her.

She scrunched her mouth up. Of course, her own brother would have been as vigilant if one of Adair’s kin was forced into the Devil’s Den. It was not, however, Black’s wariness that grated—it was Adair’s. She smiled sadly at the dark-haired babe.

Penelope’s daughter let out a loud whine, and Cleopatra instantly slipped her finger into the tiny palm, which curled reflexively around it. She closed her eyes, finding and selfishly taking the solace offered by the small child. For if she was being truthful with herself, at least in this instance, she’d admit that she was terrified out of her bloody mind.

“I don’t trust for a moment that you wouldn’t snuff the life out of that babe,” Wilson called out from where he stood at the window. Arms folded, his left heel propped against the wall, his was nothing more than a feigned insouciance.

The nursemaid, Beth, faltered. Stifling a gasp behind her fingertips, she looked between Cleopatra and Wilson.

Where Adair’s doubts had oddly cut like a knife, this man’s rolled as easily off her back as every other insult he periodically hurled her way.

“With your lousy judgments, it’s a fortunate thing for you that you’ll never be more than a second-shift guard,” she said, directing that insult to the babe.

Wilson’s leg slid back to the floor, the plush carpet muting the thump of his heel. “Ain’t you have a fancy nob to try and catch,” he jeered. “Ah, that’s right. You might have a queen’s fortune, but not a respectable lord would ever marry a guttersnipe such as you.”

Having been brutalized and bullied by Diggory, Cleopatra knew that to engage was to feed and perpetuate the viciousness. She sang a slightly off-key tavern song that had always soothed her sisters.

As I was a walking down Paradise Street

A pretty young damsel I chanced for to meet.

She was round in the counter and bluff in the bow,