“How many children are you in the habit of picking up, Mr. Reading?” she responded. “Oh, I forgot, the devil sacrifices babies, does he not?”
“He doesn’t…” He stopped protesting. “You’re teasing me, are you, Miss Harriman?”
“Just a little bit,” she allowed. “I shouldn’t—things are hardly humorous right now, but since I’ve seen the difference between gossip and reality firsthand I have little doubt that the Comte de Giverney is nothing more than a self-indulgent hedonist. ”
He took the seat across from her, and she held her breath, afraid it might not hold his firmly muscled weight. It creaked, but survived, at least for the moment. “As is his best friend,” he said, his voice less than reassuring.
“Really?” she said, her voice bright. “I’ve never seen a self-indulgent hedonist before. I have to say I’m a bit disappointed. You don’t look very dissipated to me. Maybe you haven’t been at it for a terribly long time. ”
“Long enough,” he said beneath his breath.
There wasn’t much she could say to that. “Could you tell me where my sister is? Why didn’t she return with you?”
“Again, there’s the problem of the carriage. ”
“Oh, dear. I forgot. Your poor carriage. We can’t afford to have it cleaned, but Jacobs and I can see to it. ”
“It’s not my carriage. And Rohan has more than enough servants to deal with it. More than enough carriages for that matter. ”
“Rohan?” she echoed.
“The King of Hell. The Comte de Giverney, the Viscount Rohan,” he clarified.
“The man who has my sister. ”
“He’ll return her safe and unharmed. Francis doesn’t waste time with innocents. Unless your sister’s shabby clothes and stern manner hide a lurid background. ”
It shouldn’t have bothered her, but she pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders, hiding some of her own shabbiness. Her only clothes were those passed down from Elinor, one stage closer to the ragbag, something this exquisitely attired gentleman had no doubt noted and inwardly mocked. “I’m afraid we’re living in straitened circumstances, Mr. Reading,” she said, lifting her head. “We’re awaiting word from our father, who will doubtless come to our aid, but in the meantime there is no denying that our fortunes have suffered of late. ”
He said nothing more than, “Indeed. ”
“I get the uneasy suspicion that you’re holding something back, Mr. Reading,” she said. “Or were you simply going to cast more aspersions on my threadbare wardrobe?”
“I’m afraid you’re so pretty that I hadn’t even noticed your wardrobe, Miss Harriman. Your sister doesn’t have the advantage of your beauty. ”
“If that’s supposed to make me feel better it’s failed,” she said, finally getting angry. “My sister is very striking, and only shallow gentlemen would fail to realize that. ”
“I’m very shallow, Miss Harriman. You enchant me. Your sister terrifies me. ”
“Good,” she said. Then realized how it sounded. “I mean, good that my sister terrifies you, and I would certainly wish that I could do the same. ”
He looked at her. “In fact, you do terrify me, Miss Harriman, for quite different reasons. ”
“I can’t imagine why. ”
His twisted smile was far from reassuring. “I think you would prefer I not mention it to you,” he murmured.
“I don’t understand. ”
“You don’t need to. I believe I should make certain your mother is settled. ” He rose, and he suddenly seemed a great deal more alarming. He took her hand, so small in his large one, and pulled her to her feet, with such strength that she practically flew into his arms, only her presence of mind and his quick thinking preventing such an absolute disaster. He lifted her hand to his mouth, that twisted, scarred mouth, and kissed it. Leaving her to stare after him, momentarily distracted.
Elinor awoke in a dimly lit room deliciously warm for what seemed like the first time in years. Her stomach was pleasantly full, her feet didn’t pinch and for a few brief moments she felt almost…peaceful.
And then she opened her eyes and saw a man sleeping on the sofa across from her. And not just any man—King Rohan himself. Her quick intake of horrified breath was almost silent, but he opened one eye anyway, looking at her.
“Yes, you slept with the devil, Miss Harriman,” he drawled. “And lived to tell the tale. ”
She sat up, shoving down the cover that someone had thoughtfully draped over her, then realized her shawl was gone as well, and during her sleep the threadbare bodice of her ancient dress had shredded just a little bit more, exposing too much of her chest. She needed a fichu as well as her shawl, but woven cloth was a scarcity and she’d thought the shawl would give her modest coverage. She was wrong.