The Coil catered to the various men the Duke worked with—merchants, landowners, and investors. Deals here were straightforward, free from the social pretenses of London. Still, Adrian was mostly here for Edward Kettering, his right-hand man and the manager of the Obsidian Card. When discretion and sharp thinking were required, the Duke relied on Kettering, who was also a trained accountant.
Upon his arrival, the forty-five-year-old manager was already sipping on a beer.
“Your Grace,” the other man greeted, rising to show the Duke respect.
Adrian gestured for him to sit down. He understood the rules, but he liked going to the Serpent’s Coil and other places outside of London because he didn’t want his life to be completely controlled by polite Society. If he wished to have a private conversation with Kettering, they would not be disturbed here. He also ordered a tankard of the tavern’s strongest draught and quickly gulped half of it.
“I assume all is well with our accounts?” he asked evenly after wiping a dribble of liquid from his chin.
“All square, Your Grace. We’ve done the business and then some. Got the usual readies and a bit o’ brass. I’ve also clocked a few gaffs bringin’ in the lolly. Still, we gotta keep a sharp peeper out, all the same. I’ve been seein’ Briarwood’s touts sniffin’ about the boozing kens.”
Adrian was not surprised. Briarwood was competitive and nothing, not Adrian’s marriage to Daphne or an oncoming tempest could stop that.
“Briarwood does not know what stability looks like. Let them sniff if they want.”
“Gawd’s truth, Your Grace. I’m game as pebble on what we’re doin.’ We’ve got proper pals in the flash houses, especially the Obsidian Card. They know we run on quiet and discretion. Still, I wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink if I didn’t mention ‘ow unsettled I am about the pace they’re pokin’ their minces ‘round the spots.”
“They come supposedly incognito?”
“Aye, Your Grace. But our chaps clocked the whole squad of ‘em sharpish. See, might he be tryin’ to sneak a wag in, since he reckons yer wool-gathering with the new wife?”
“Me? Wool-gathering?” Adrian echoed, looking and sounding offended.
Deep inside, though, he wondered if his wife was not already distracting him. He had been so close to kissing her before, but had stopped himself before he took advantage. It had taken every ounce of his self-control to pull himself away from her luscious mouth that was just begging to be kissed.
Adrian lifted his tankard once more and gulped heartily, aiming to squelch the fire of his passions that were bubbling and brewing hot for his wife, but even as he drained the dregs and slammed the mug down on the tabletop, he still felt dissatisfied.
“I deeply apologize, Your Grace,” Kettering hastily said, lowering his gaze to his lap.
The Duke rubbed the bridge of his nose thoughtfully. He was rattled by the earlier encounter with Daphne—there was no denying that truth. His feelings for her were confusing. He wanted to seduce her, but he also wanted her to want him first.
There was a spark, or so he believed.
Her lips trembled and he could tell she saw how his gaze had dropped to them. But her defiance remained.
She had built walls around her heart and mind to protect herself, and for good reasons. She was born of a cruel father and a mother who only saw her as a product to sell. A link to theton.
Adrian stared at the bottom of his empty tankard.
But there was something between us before.
He had felt her anxiousness and known that she was doing her level best to conceal her feelings.
If only she had acted. If she had given me a sign…one single indication that she wanted me to take charge, I would have…
He could not allow the image to coalesce in his mind. Lately, his thoughts had been filled with visions of Daphne. Sometimes, she was merely dancing a lively jig or sauntering through the drawing room and making plans for how she wished to redecorate next. But other times he pictured her removing pins from her hair and allowing the luxurious locks to topple around her shoulders.
Adrian was aroused by the mere thought of seeing his proper wife so undone.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Adrian muttered at last, remembering that he was in a crowded tavern and meant to be having a conversation with his consultant, Kettering. “I may be a little distracted. It always happens when things are not quite as I anticipated.”
Kettering nodded in understanding. The two were just about to settle in companionable silence when a booming but familiar voice pierced through even the noisy tavern.
“Well, well! But how did I know you’d be here even though you had just married, Wolfcrest? You seem to be plotting something important, like the downfall of your enemies.”
Caleb St. John, Marquess of Amberwell, Adrian’s closest friend, sauntered over, already certain to be invited. He looked too cheerful in the dim backdrop of the Serpent’s Coil. He slapped Kettering hard on the back, making the older man splutter over his beer.
“Good evening, Amberwell,” Adrian greeted dully. “I am certainly not surprised that you are here.”
