A smile that Elysia could have sworn was real warmed the Doorman’s sharp eyes. She wound an arm through Daphne’s. “Help me to endure this evening of endless chatter, and perhaps a small token of my appreciation will land on your door.”
Daphne let out a low laugh. “Oh, we’ll need more drinks for that. Come on then. I’ll show you how us Crown girls get by.”
The Doorman called over her shoulder as Daphne whisked her away. “Elysia, there’s a friend who would love to see you. He’s waiting in the back.”
A volcano of aggravation erupted within Elysia. The world’s most simple, foolproof plan was coming down around her ears. All they had to do was get the swaggering, drunken baboon of a man to have a single drink, and yet here they were fumbling the entire plan.
She rolled her shoulders back. Never mind the plan. She would do it her damn self. Swinging around, she scored fresh drinks from a familiar face. Gage’s man opened his fist. “Stonesfor your drinks, miss?” Soaked in an extra dose, it would have been the smart choice, but Elysia waved him off with a determined smile. Sometimes it was better to do things the old-fashioned way.
Drinks balanced in one hand, she ducked into the dimly lit alcove, and found Scarzan splayed back on an oversized pillow, puffing on a noxious cigar. He might have stolen her father’s favorite apothecary, but he clearly did not have her father’s taste. The fumes were downright disgusting. She sidled in closer, ignoring the smell. Nothing mattered but liquor sliding down that man’s throat. Scarzan’s dark eyes latched onto her, something smug and certain filling them.
She pretended to stumble, her free hand dosing out the spare poison before grasping at the tented fabric. The Doorman may have failed, but she would not. She gathered herself with a loose, drunken giggle. “Oh, I am so sorry. I do believe I’ve entered the wrong little tent.”
She giggled again and turned to leave, wobbling on uneven feet.
Sweaty fingers gripped her bare upper arm, bringing her steps to a sudden jerking halt. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me and our date.”
He shooed away the man and woman who he had been smoking with, still clinging to her arm to the point that it hurt. She took a small step closer, a confused smile lighting her face. “I am not sure I recall an invitation for such a pleasure, sir.”
Elysia stared at the oily wrinkles lining his face and racked her brains.A date?She had no idea what this foul man could possibly be referring to right now. She offered her only thought. “Are you meaning when I told you I would be at this party?”
Scarzan continued puffing on the cigar. “No, no. We had a far more legitimate deal than a passing query.” He blew a talentlesscloud of smoke into her face, causing her to flinch back as far as his grip would allow, eyes watering.
For one single moment, her mind went completely still. Frozen as it tried to comprehend his meaning.No. Her own flesh and blood had not recognized her. Topp had only known because he had suspected her and followed her to the House. It simply wasnotpossible that this despicable daughter-selling fiend could have had the perceptiveness to notice who had been sitting two chairs down from him at House Gardenia.
A broken laugh fell from her lips. It sounded like shattering glass. “I do think I would remember cutting a deal with a man like you. Would you like a drink, Diplomat Scarzan?”
He plucked a drink from the palm of her hand and held it from his fingertips. His mouth twisted in condescension. “That farce of a woman tried to come in here before as if I wouldn’t have known that she must have helped you escape that night. I reminded her that not even the House can break its own rules without consequence.”
A small oil lantern swung silently, casting both light and shadows upon them both. Scarzan took the barest sip of his drink before setting it down. Reaching into his jacket for another cigar, he patted around only to be disappointed. His other hand was still locked onto her upper arm as if she might bolt and not look back. He forgot his fruitless search, and a threat formed in his eyes. His voice dropped dangerously. “And I am more than happy to be the man who delivers the justice owed.”
“You dare speak of consequences andjustice.” She bit out the sour words, the pit in her stomach already knowing where this was leading.
He nodded slowly, not hearing a word Elysia said as his gaze slid over her breasts. His damp hand stuck to her, tugging and pulling at her skin as it ran down her arm. Clamping down on her wrist, he yanked her closer. Flat eyes shackled her own,his face near enough that she could smell the rotting smoke of his breath. “That whore didn’t have to die. But it was only fair, wasn’t it? My prize running away into the night like that.”
Disgust broke her indifferent facade into a tight sneer, but it was that damnable rage rampaging through her blood that was going to get her in trouble. It was no wonder the Doorman had not lasted more than a minute in his presence. Eyes burning, she forced her face and voice to return to even.
“And what is it you’re hoping for now?” Unable to lock down her fury entirely, it came out half hissed, a venomous snake ready to strike. Clearing her throat, she fought for some semblance of poise. Chin lifted, she continued, “I would remind you that I am all but engaged to the prince, and my father already despises you.” A slight edge of warning strengthened her words.
Wrenching her arm free, she gave him a close-lipped smile that her mother would have been proud of—a wordlessget fucked. Anger poured out like a torrent of heat through her, but she knew better than to be rash. She’d grown up in this court, she could best this man without making a scene. As much as she wanted to whip out her dagger and stab him in the eye, she couldn’t.
The party careened around them, frivolity and excess a blur outside of their gauzy tent. Music meant for dancing was a distant sound in her ear. She could barely hear it, though, barely see anything but him.
The clock was ticking and his drink remained full.Drink it, you asshole, just drink it.She swirled her own cocktail, gazing over the rim of her glass to find a grotesque, unashamed want on his face. Mission still unfinished, she carried on with the conversation. “Name your price because you know it's not going to be me.”
Scarzan leaned back on the pillow, laughing at her fight. He shook his head and switched his drink to his other hand. “You know, you remind me of my daughter with a mouth like that. And look what happened to her.”
He took another tiny, useless sip.
“I remember you always pouting around your father’s legs all those years ago. And look at you now.Ripe and ready.”He grabbed the center of her corset, ripping her into his body. The force of it had her stumbling, hands grasping and reaching to no avail. Bent in half, her chest heaved. Soft wisps of hair tickled her cheek, broken free from her perfect ballerina bun.
His voice was hot and jarring against her ear. “I willrelishtelling your father just how I’ve ruined you and you will do nothing becausethisis what you deserve.”
Her stomach rolled, a sick clammy feeling washing over her.
To her dismay, all her anger fled, leaving her bare and weak, his hand still shoved half inside her corset, up against her breasts. Her mind spun, wheeling through every possible move she could make. The smartest was to quiver and quake. Men like him lived for humiliation. It was intoxicating. A drug that would leave him open to mistakes.
Yes, he would like that. Seeing her crumpled and small.
