Page 42 of The Beautiful Ones

“No need to rush.” The sour smell of brandy, tobacco, and heavy sweat rolled from him. “I was thinking about our little conversation. About your contract.”

Dinah rose slowly. “Mr. Warren, sir, Madame Lebon requested the kitchen doors be locked at midnight—”

“Shut your mouth, Dinah.” His eyes never left my face. “Five hundred dollars is a small sum to my father. A word from me, and Monsieur Lebon will sign your indenture over to our estate before breakfast. Three years is a long time to spend in a house that is falling apart.”

He reached for me. His hot fingers caught a loose strand of my hair and tucked it behind my ear, his thumb grazing the cheekbone below my eye.

Revulsion crawled across my skin.

“You would find life more comfortable at our plantation,” Warren whispered. “If you learned how to be agreeable to the right people.”

I slapped his hand away.

The crack echoed through the kitchen like a pistol shot.

Warren froze. The flush upon his face deepened to an ugly purple.

“I am an indentured servant to Monsieur Lebon,” I said. My voice shook, but I kept my chin raised. “I am not property to be handled by guests. Touch me again, and I will scream loudly enough to wake Madame Lebon and every servant in this house.”

His jaw clenched. He raised his right hand as if to strike me.

A violent, freezing draft swept through the kitchen.

The embers in the hearth sputtered and turned pale blue. The temperature plummeted, changing our breath into white plumes. The lamp flame thrashed inside its glass, casting long shadows across the stone floor.

Warren stumbled backward, his teeth beginning to chatter.

A tall, slender figure stood within the courtyard doorway.

Adrian Fairhaven had returned.

He wore no coat, only his snow-white shirt and dark waistcoat. His raven hair gleamed in the blue light. His dark eyes were fixed upon Warren with an ancient stillness that froze the blood in my veins.

“The hour is late, Mr. Dewey,” Adrian said. His low voice echoed from the stone walls like wind moving over river ice. “Gentlemen of refined taste do not corner women in dark kitchens.”

Warren backed away, his face turning gray. His hands shook so violently that he nearly knocked the empty glass from the table.

“Fairhaven, I was merely asking for water.”

“Go to your bedchamber.”

Adrian took one silent step forward.

The floorboards did not creak beneath his boots. Needles of frost crept across the pine worktable and curled around Dinah's mending needle.

Warren fled without another word, his riding boots scrambling against the flagstones as he retreated toward the main house.

Silence settled over the kitchen.

Dinah stood beside the hearth, staring at the beautiful creature in her doorway with naked terror.

Adrian did not look at her. His endless eyes searched my face.

“You have a fierce spirit, Elin Andersdotter,” he said in flawless Swedish. A faint, melancholy smile touched his lips. “It is a pity you waste it protecting people who would trade you for a handful of silver.”

“You expect gratitude because you frightened away a drunken man?” I answered in Swedish.

His smile deepened.