“I have been more than lenient with you, Hawthorne,” he heard a nasally voice from one of the rooms.
Cassian froze in his tracks. Which Hawthorne were they referring to? Certainly, the young lady should have left the establishment if she knew what was good for her.
“It isyouwho defaulted on your earlier pledges,” the man continued, his voice pleasant enough but with an unmistakable undercurrent of warning. “When you needed the funds, it was I who willingly gave them to you. Now that the time has come to pay, you hesitate. This will not do.”
“Iknow.”
Cassian’s eyebrow rose as he pressed his back to the wall, just outside the door. It was Christopher Hawthorne—Kit—he would recognize that loathsome voice anywhere.
“But while I may not be able to produce the cash you require at the moment, there is something… else I might be able to give you,” he pleaded.
A silken pause. One that was meant to instill more unease than a sense of expectation.
“Oh?” the man finally quipped. “I doubt that there is anything in Hawthorne House that would hold any interest for me.”
Cassian snorted indelicately at that. If he were Hawthorne, he would have been humiliated from his foppish hair down to his boots. His creditor was clearly losing patience or any form of respect for him, and the baron must have realized that, too.
“I have a sister!” the baron blurted out.
“Yes, yes, Hawthorne. I am more than aware of your family tree,” his creditor said dismissively.
“She is young, unmarried still.” More pleading from Hawthorne. “You can have her for a price. Even for a night.”
Rage, raw and unfiltered, bloomed in Cassian’s chest. He had thought Christopher Hawthorne a vile miscreant, a derelict defiler, but he had not thought him to go so low as to sell his own sister to his creditors!
He thought of the headstrong woman who had melted in his arms earlier, of how she had fiercely defended her brother against his disparaging remarks. The same brother who now thought nothing of selling her to pay off his debt.
To haveanotherwoman pay for his shortcomings. Hawthorne truly was unmatched in his depravity. Only this time, Cassian was not going to stand by and allow it to happen. He had nothing to do with the exasperating woman who had the great misfortune of being born the sister of Baron Hawthorne, but he would be damned if he let her suffer at her brother’s hands!
“I will have her.”
Both men turned toward the door in stunned silence. Cassian stared them both down with all the arrogance his very beingcould muster.
They were naught but pitiful fools, preying on the weak and the vulnerable. It would be so easy to squash them underneath his boots, but why should he dirty his footwear? His one and only concern in this matter was Juliana Hawthorne.
“Sir, you have no right to… to…” the usurer stammered. Cassian simply cast him a dark glare, and the man hastily shut his flapping mouth, but his eyes burned with avaricious light as he turned toward the baron.
“If you will give your sister to me for the night, then I shall settle your debts.”
Hawthorne was unable to hide his delight. “All of it?”
The man nodded.
“In writing?”
He scowled. “Fine. In writing. Three thousand pounds,” Cassian snapped at Hawthorne.
“Th-three thousand pounds?” the masked creditor wheezed. He turned toward the baron, who had gone suddenly pale.
Hawthorne shook his head and stumbled back. “I… I do not understand—”
“You are selling your sister, am I correct?” Cassian was losing his patience with the imbecile.
Hawthorne turned two shades paler. “There is no need to be so vulgar—”
“Says the man who is selling his sister.” He reached into his breast pocket and drew out a wad of banknotes. He counted afew and thrust them at Hawthorne. “Three thousand pounds. That should be enough to cover your debts and buy your sister a few new gowns.”
The baron flushed, but he clutched the banknotes as if they were his lifeline. Cassian sneered at the sight. The man was no worse than those who languished in opium dens, selling their souls to feed their addictions.
