Page 47 of Claim

“Come on.” Theo took a sip, sweeping his gaze around the room. “While they’re all busy posing for Tatler. I came prepared.”

“Very thorough,” I said drily. “But I’ve just eaten.”

Theo tipped his head. “We could simplify. Oral?”

“Once again, the offer is impressively delivered. But once again, I’m going to decline.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “I’ll have to tell Ollie you’ve changed.”

“You can tell Ollie whatever the fuck you like.” I inclined my head towards the edge of the room. “And if you’re in the market for indulgence, you might find Benjamin Rothwell more accommodating to your particular needs.”

Benjamin was half-hidden by a potted palm, unwrapping something discreetly in his palm before he lifted it to his nose.

Cocaine. At a baby shower.

White powder. Silver-spoon world.

Drugs here vanished with a dab and a laugh while the men who moved it, cut it, bled for it were catalogued, charged, and left to rot. Razor, the man I loved, sat in a concrete box, while this disappeared up the treacherous Benji Rothwell’s nostril between canapé courses. Even Wolfe across the room with his polished charm, shaking my father’s hand as if he was one of him, trafficked in his own, quieter poisons.

My gut clenched.

Theo followed my line of sight and wrinkled his nose. “Not my type.”

“I don’t think he’s anyone’s.”

“Oh, how wonderful!” Mother swept in then, all bright eyes and floating silk. “I’m so pleased you boys have found each other.”

I closed my eyes.

Theo, perfectly trained, lifted his glass to hers. “It is, Mrs Hale-Fitzroy. And I was just persuading Tristan here,” he tipped his flute towards me, “to give me a tour of the house. I’d love to see where the little cherub will be sleeping.”

I shot him a look.

Mother beamed. “Oh, you simply must, darling. You could show him the games room while you’re up there. Marcus has a full-sized snooker table. You play snooker, Theo?”

“I do like bending over a firm table with a good set of balls.” Theo smirked at me, taking a sip of his drink. “Game, Tristan?”

I could have throttled him.

“Well, don’t let me keep you.” Mother stroked my arm. “Catch you at dinner, darling.” She gave me an air-kiss then drifted away.

“You’re a prick,” I whispered, watching Wolfe lean into my father’s ear before turning aside.

“But your mother likes me.”

“Mm.” I didn’t look at him. My attention stayed fixed on Wolfe as he carved a smooth path through the room, parting it without effort. His gaze found mine and held.

He didn’t look away.

Neither did I.

And I could feel his eyes stripping me back, layer by layer, as if he could reach beneath skin and bone and read exactly who my heart belonged to. Thankfully, someone in a dark suit intercepted him, drawing him off before the moment could settle into something far more dangerous.

“So you know old Lord Wolfey?” Theo asked, flippancy gone to be replaced with something sharper. He’d seen it. Understood it.

“A touch.”

“Ah. Ollie was right.”