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“My Lord, what’s the matter?” she gasps. Her bulging eyes have returned to normal, but still, they widen at me as she chases her breath.
“Get out of my sight. You bore me,” I say, flicking my hand and turning my attention back to the books and the dreary process of counting numbers.
“But My Lord, haven’t I done as you asked?” She looks up at me before settling on her knees. “I can do better,” she says with a smile.
She’s done as I asked. She has pulled on my pipe, hard and fast, just the way I like it. And yet, she bores me. Her raven hair, covering rounded bosoms and perfectly pert nipples, like ripe berries, her slender waist and delicate curves, her quim—none of it satisfies me anymore.
As she leans forward for another disgraceful attempt, I place my hands upon her face, growling like the beast they call me, and I shove her away. “Leave! Now. I’m done with you.”
“But My Lord, I have nowhere else to go,” she pleads.
Looking up at her, bare with her petticoat and corset in hand, her eyes leak, but I’m not stirred. “And why, pray tell, do you think that concerns me?” She still looks upon me pitifully. “Answer me!” There’s silence. “Do you wish for me to repeat myself?” I ask.
“No, My Lord. I only ask that you consider. I’ve served you well, and the wolves will make a meal out of me. I’ll be dead within the hour,” she responds.
“Yes. You will. If you question me again.” I look up at her now, no smile on my hard face.
“My L-Lord,” she stutters.
Sighing, I reach for my pistol, waving it at her. “Harlot, which would you prefer? Death by my hands or a chance at survival? I think you’ve gravely misunderstood our arrangement. You’re nothing but a whore. The greatest mercy I can extend to you, is letting you leave with your life. If, however, I must repeat myself, you risk me changing my mind.” My jaw tightens as I count to ten, fighting the urge to withdraw my kind offer.
Luck must be on her side; she leaves before I reach the end of my count.
Sighing and groaning, I lean back against the wooden chair, tossing my head against the shelf behind me and throwing my quill aside. The pounding in my head swells, and my eyes grow heavier. My blood quickens from the constant perusing of my unbalanced accounts.
I study my breath as the door swings open.
“Who dares to disturb me in the library?” I grumble, slowly opening my eyes.
“Sir, we’ve found him,” Lucian announces.
“Ah, Lucian,” I respond, sitting up.
The light from the lantern and candles around the room illuminates his face. A scar runs down his left cheek from when he came to my rescue, the only night I was caught slacking, some years ago. He’s from the rougher parts, where the roads and buildings, made of stone or wood are grey from smoke and dirt. Where stagnant water settles and vermin promenade to attract their mates as if they too are citizens. Where geese run about the land, gossiping, and honking in the most unbecoming manner, and the thwacking of axe against wood is constant.
On that night, he is sleeping in the woods, no doubt to avoid the noise of his stifling town, when he hears a scuffle. I’m outnumbered as fools attempt to rob me of my fine hooded cloak, pistol, and the bag of gold hanging from my horse. Together, we take them down. With blood pouring from the slit in his face, he assists in taking them back to my mansion, hidden deep in the forest, where I kill them. A discreet surgeon is called to fix his face and from then on, he’s been a trusted ally.
He stands before me now with his waistcoat unbuttoned and flying open like a cloak over his trousers and vest. His boots are muddied. So are his pants, to be fair. Only he would dare to come upon me without warning, and only he is allowed to. “You’ve found who?” I ask.
“Townes Primrose.” He grins.
With those two words, I’m wide awake. “Well, that’s brilliant news, indeed. It’s worthy of a celebration.” I grin, clapping my hands together. “Say, do you care for a spot of brandy?” I ask, standing to retrieve the vessel of spirits from the special cupboard beneath the wide glass window behind me.
“Come. Sit. You’ve done well. And where did you find the old fool?” I ask, grateful for the joyous distraction. Lucian doesn’t move from the door or accept the glass extended to him. With muddled brows, I lower the glass on offer and take a sip from my own.
“In Colderidge. We followed him through the woods, but he’s a clever bastard. We lost him…”
“Lost him?!” My fist and my glass crash upon my desk at once. “How could you lose him, you idiot?!”
“There’s no need to worry, sir,” he says, raising his voice over mine. “There’s an inventor’s convention coming to Lhyrenia, only a three-hour ride from Colderidge, by carriage. I have no doubt he’s going to be there,” Lucian says.
“You have no doubt? Let’s hope your guesses are right; if they aren’t…” I’ve moved from the desk to stand over him, towering over his shorter frame.
“You know you don’t frighten me as much as you frighten everyone else, don’t you?” he says, looking up at my face, unflinching as he waves his hand toward me.
“I don’t frighten you? Is that right?” I ask, lowering my head so that my nose touches his, and he can’t see anything past my face or my eyes digging into him. “Well, you better hope you find him. You may be my only friend, Lucian, but I find being friendless has its charms.”
“Yes, My Lord.” He grimaces, forcing a nod before making a turn out the door. He doesn’t remind me of him coming to my rescue, because in some ways, I also came to his. Because of me, he no longer bears the night’s beating and the day’s torture. Thanks to my kindness, he can sleep in a bed and feed his desires. My debt to him has been paid. I owe him nothing, including the promise of sparing his life, should he cross or fail me. He’s as dispensable to me as anyone else.
