“He knows a secret from my youth and the rippling effects that came from it,” Drake said cagily.
You mean the man you killed to free his daughter from his abuse. Yes, I know about that.
“You are prodding a hornet’s nest. The man is dangerous, and unpredictable,” Drake said.
“There is nothing about me that Sterling does not know,” Dorian shrugged. “He took me out of the gutter and trained me. Or, well, had his men train me. What is there that he does not know?”
“Whatever there was before the day he met you,” Drake replied. “That could be your sticking point.”
“Sterling can take a merry trip to hell,” Dorian said tiredly.Especially since I do not want Sterling’s position, I just want the information he has.“Can we get back to the business at hand, whichisbusiness.”
Rolling his eyes, Drake took out a folio. “It depends on what you are looking for. Do you want a failing business so you can rebuildit and have a monopoly or join a set of lords with an already successful business and take a share.”
Reaching for the folio, Dorian replied, “Let us make a list of the risks for both, shall we?”
Two hours later, when Drake was off downstairs playing his hand at Whist, Dorian was forced to think back to earlier, the kiss. Surely, Evelina had to be cursing his name, and she had a right to do so.
Not once had he ever given her the impression that she was any more to him than a pawn piece to get him greater leverage. Now, with the kiss thrown into the mix, she must think he was playing a twisted game with her.
If Dorian were true to himself—he didn’t know what the devil he was doing either. Ellie had pulled something out of him he had let lay dormant for years—compassion.
Wit—he had plenty of that.
Lust—bucketfuls of that too.
But someone to care for—not many.
How is confusing her, caring for her?
Frustrated, he scrubbed his rough hands over his face, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes. “Focus on the plan, man. She is of worth to Sterling, ergo, she is the key to getting the information I need from Sterling.”
What about saving her from that mud-sucking monster?
“That too,” Dorian groaned.
For the first time in a decade, Dorian did not know his head from his feet. On the one hand, he wanted to get the information about his uncle… but on the other, Evelina was so innocent, so pure, she did not deserve to be a lamb to the slaughter.
The girl was gorgeous, that could not be disputed, and he felt his stomach turn while thinking how Sterling would have blemished that beauty. Not to mention her bright, spitfire spirit. Sterling would have snuffed those flames out in weeks.
“Maybe I should take Wellington up on his standing offer to visit his doxies,” Dorian groaned. “I am simply concupiscent.”
Despite that, his mind still strayed to Ellie; he could picture Evelina’s large green eyes widening as he stripped every stitch from her body, the moment the naiveté would change to wantonness as he laid her down and how red she would go when his eyes raked over her bare form.
“God damn it,” he huffed. “Here I go again.”
Casting his eyes over the piles of folios on his desk, he knew no more would come from that night. Casting another look at the ormolu clock on the fireplace mantle, the clock chimed the hour as eleven, the sound as loud as fireworks at Vauxhall.
He should go home, especially now after the mess of last night.
But could he trust himself with Evelina there? Surely, she would want an explanation for his uncharitable actions earlier. He could avoid her and go to one of the sprinkling of properties he had in and around London— but he despised the cowardly way out.
Giving up on working, he donned his coat, sent for his carriage, and left the night in Weston’s capable hands. The night was chilly, but Dorian had felt colder temperatures before, with much less clothes on.
Pivoting, he gazed at the entrance of his establishment, at the tall columns of cream-colored marble that rose up to gilded, Corinthian capitals where they met the painted ceiling.
It belonged to him. Ordinarily, this fact brought a charge of satisfaction. Tonight, however, he felt...weary.
When the carriage rolled to his feet, he called out. “Home.”
