It felt strange to admit such things to the duke, especially considering that even her own aunt did not know the whole truth.
As far as most people were concerned, Olivia was Thalia’s daughter through birth. Her father was a commoner who left when she was born, and forced Thalia to raise her as a single mother. It was a truth that Thalia was happy to perpetuate, needing people to believe it because she wanted the best for Olivia.
However, as she had just told the duke, Olivia was not technically her daughter. Not in the legal sense, anyhow. He was now the only other person who knew this, and Thalia held her breath as she waited for his answer.
He studied her closely. No words said. Each second which passed feeling like a minute. Her legs were still shaking. Sweat began to bead on her forehead. Her stomach twisted. Her heartthumped. It wasn’t enough that he might turn her down, but what if he told others? What if…
“As you say,” he said finally. “I wonder if she is as interesting as her guardian. Somehow, I very much doubt it.” With those final words, the duke stormed across the room, heading straight for Thalia.
Her eyes widened and her body seized. It was like a mountain bearing down on a small hill; a shadow growing so dark it smothered the world and all that was in it…
But then, he was past her, heading for the door. When he reached it, he turned back and looked at her a final time. “I will have the arrangements made at once. When they are, I will send for you.” And then, he was gone.
Thalia didn’t even realize that she was holding her breath until the duke left and she gasped in fresh air, breathing deeply, body trembling as the room turned around her. She stumbled to a nearby chair and fell into it, more deep breaths as she reckoned with all that had happened.
It was good news. Exactly what she had wanted and needed. She should have been thrilled, dancing on the spot and crying out for joy. And yet, she simply could not bring herself to such levels of reverie.
Despite everything, there was that burrowing feeling deep within that it was not the duke who had been ensnared and then trapped by her own wicked machinations, but the other wayaround. And when he found out… another cold shudder struck Thalia at her very core.
Six
“Ithought I might find here you,” spoke a familiar voice from over Ronan’s shoulder. “Drowning his sorrows. Drinking away his misery. Hoping the answers to his woes might be found at the bottom of his glass, and so on. Choose your cliché.”
Ronan’s lip curled into a sneer as he took a long sip from his mug of ale. He did not turn to see who had spoken, as he had no need. He would know that voice anywhere.
“I wasn’t exactly hiding,” he muttered as the speaker fell into the seat across from him. “Now I’m wondering if I should have done.”
His Grace, Sebastian Vale, the Duke of Eastmoor, was perhaps Ronan’s closest friend… if such a term could be used by two men who hardly saw or spoke to one another. He was another of the Wicked Dukes, who’d since moved on from such devious titlesonce he’d fallen in love, changed his personality entirely because of it, and no longer had time for men like Ronan.
Not that Ronan begrudged him of the fact. As Ronan had long since come to learn about himself, he did better on his own. Preferred it even. If not for his own sake, for that of others.
“As opposed to your usual modus operandi?” Sebastian snorted. He was classically handsome, and aware of it, constantly taken with a look about him as if he just expected people to do as he asked and be grateful they were given the chance. But that was just because they so often did. “Isn’t hiding what you do best?”
“Is it hiding if nobody looks for you?” Another mouthful of ale.
“Yet here you sit…” Sebastian looked over the near-empty tavern, one that had perhaps five other drunks spread across the interior. “In the exact same seat that you always do, which was once reserved for men who were even worse company than you are.” His silver-eyes glimmered, the meaning apparent.
“I don’t know what you mean…” Ronan shifted uncomfortably.
“I think you do,” Sebastian grinned. “But I won’t push. I’d hate for your fist to find its way into my jaw… by accident, I am sure.”
“It won’t be an accident if you continue to push,” Ronan growled, to which his dear friend cackled.
As to what Sebastian was suggesting?A coincidence and nothing more…. Even if the arrogant sort that he is would never believe it.
This tavern just so happened to be the same one where the Wicked Dukes used to meet at on a monthly basis. And this table just so happened to be the same one where they would sit and drink and wallow in pity as they judged the world around them.
That was years ago now, and Ronan couldn’t remember the last time all four of them had met together.
Sebastian seemed to think that Ronan had chosen this place to come and drink on purpose. As if he wanted to be found or was hoping one of them might come and see him. As if heneededsuch a thing as that. Which was ridiculous, and damn insulting. Ronan of all people didn’t covet companionship or company, and he wasn’t about to start now.
“What are you doing here?” Ronan grumbled, wanting to change the subject.
“I think you know.”
“I doubt it’s because you like to look at me.”
Sebastian laughed. “Come now, Ronan. Did you really think that your misdeeds last evening could escape my sharp ears? And if not mine, that of my dear wife. She gossips as if her life depends on it.”
