Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Shadows

Loren

“I think the score now, brother, is twelve to ten, sadly in your favor, but I’m gaining,” Marlow noted.

Loren flinched as the physician pierced the skin of his side with a needle.

He then took in Marlow, his friend’s eye already swelling so badly, it was nearly swollen shut, but the purpling had long since begun. Although he’d cursorily scrubbed his face, both of his nostrils were rimmed with dried blood. And a deep cut rent his upper lip.

Loren felt some heat at his jaw where he’d taken a glancing blow, but that was it.

Outside the gash at his side that came from a dagger.

Thus, Loren asked, “How is that tallied, my friend?”

Marlow also flinched as he crossed his arms on his chest, which he would do, as he’d taken some body blows (correction, that heat at Loren’s jaw wasn’t it, they’d both taken body blows, however, they weren’t visible, so they didn’t count).

Marlow did this saying, “I’m not on my back in my bed.”

Loren sighed, as with that, he had no choice but to concede the point.

Marlow ceased ribbing when he stated low, “Winnow Dupont is going to be a problem.”

Loren nodded once and agreed by stating the obvious, “Winnow Dupont is already a problem.”

He was about to say more when his bedroom door opened.

Marlow twisted at the waist to peer behind him, making enough room for Loren to see his father strolling in, face set in granite.

Bloody hell.

Ansley stepped to the side.

And there was Satrine, the hood of a cloak over her head, its folds resting enchantingly on her shoulders, the rest of the cloak’s black velvet a sheet all the way down to the floor.

He sat up abruptly, grimaced, and the physician hissed, “Remain still!”

Ansley and Satrine came to a halt at the end of his bed.

His fiancée’s eyes were aimed at the doctor’s work.

His father’s eyes were aimed at him.

“Tell me you did not call her,” Loren growled to his sire.

“After your return this eve, it occurred to me that your understanding of the fact your actions reverberate through the minds and emotions of the ones who love you was not quite being absorbed. Therefore, I’ve sought reinforcements.”

He gritted his teeth, forced himself to stop doing that even as the needle again pierced his flesh, he felt the pull join the two slashed sides together, and he turned his attention to Satrine.

“Darling,” he called.

She lifted her gaze from these ministrations to him.

“What happened?” she inquired.

He was about to say it was nothing, but he was thwarted again.

This time by Marlow.

“We were at a bordello, see.”

He whipped his head to his brother and bit, “Marlow.”

Marlow didn’t even look at him.

“We were having a whisky. Little did we know that some weeks past, when Lore was spending some time at another bordello…”

He sat up further and clipped, “Marlow, quiet.”

“Your grace, remain still,” the physician snapped.

Marlow continued to ignore Loren.

“…he’d brought himself a little trouble. He did this with intent. He has a friend who also attended that same establishment, a favorite of his, and became embroiled in a game they like to play there, which is more fittingly referred to as blackmail.”

“Brother, silence,” Loren ordered, again to no avail.

“As such, this friend also lost the woman he loved and was imminently going to marry. Our man here”—Marlow tossed a hand to Loren—“felt something needed to be done about it, and this he did. They were not best pleased he intervened in their regular swindle, and this evening, the mastermind behind it sent some men to share her displeasure. Alas, the marquess has a terrible habit of leaving some jobs undone, especially when the villain is of our fairer sex, and we suffered for that oversight this night. Though, I will take this moment to point out, Lore suffered more than me.”

Wordlessly, Satrine was regarding Marlow as he spoke, and she didn’t stop when he ceased, therefore, Loren called her again.

“Satrine, my darling, please wait for me downstairs. Once the doctor has completed his work, I’ll get decent and join you.”

Now Satrine’s eyes came to him as he spoke, and they didn’t leave when he was finished.

She said nothing for long, weighty moments.

And then she turned her head side to side, and requested in a soft voice, “Gentleman, if I may speak with my fiancé alone.”

“By all means,” his father growled.

Marlow’s face tightened in pain, but he beat back the wince as he gave her a short bow and said, “My lady.”

Both men left, Marlow shutting the door behind them.

Loren looked back to Satrine to see she was already regarding him, or more to the point, his bared chest.

He opened his mouth but found his luck had not changed as he was foiled again.

“Allow me to get this straight,” she continued in that soft voice, her attention lifting to his face. “You were at a bordello tonight.”

“Dear heart—”

“And were set upon by rogues who you’d angered at another bordello you were at some weeks past.”

“Satrine—”

“However, where you weren’t tonight, or last night, or the one before, and the one before that, and so on, was anywhere near me.”

The physician grunted a sympathetic, fraternal grunt.

Loren fell silent.

She said nothing.

He hissed in breath as the doctor poured alcohol on his now-stitched wound.

The man then stoppered the vial, set it aside and looked to Satrine.

“Milady, this request comes at an inopportune time, I’m aware. But it would be most helpful if you could aid me with the bandage.”

Damn it all to hell.

She nodded, came forward, threw back the front folds of her cloak and lifted her hands to drop the hood from her hair.

Loren sat up as she assisted the physician in winding the bandage around his stomach and tying it off.

As usual, she smelled phenomenal.

She immediately retreated when this was done, the doctor packed up his bag, and bending over him, he whispered, “Good luck.” He then straightened and said to Satrine, “If his grace rewins your favor, I ask you to be certain he rests, at least for a good week. Nothing strenuous. He must allow the healing to set in.”

Loren found it alarming she didn’t nod her agreement. She simply dipped her chin in acknowledgement.

The physician took his leave and Loren took his feet.

“I believe you heard him say you should rest,” she noted.

He wasn’t facing this on his back.

He also wasn’t facing this with his chest bared. He knew the blows he took to his torso were already bruising, but even if he didn’t, her gaze falling to those areas would have told him.

He swiftly walked to the wardrobe in his dressing room, seized a fresh shirt, and pulled it over his head while returning to her.

She hadn’t moved from the spot he left her in.

He halted a few feet away.

Not knowing what to say, because he didn’t know her very well, therefore, he didn’t know how to read the strangely void expression on her face, he simply whispered, “Sweeting.”

“Is it a lost hope this friend of yours was at his favored bordello only to sip a whisky?” she asked.

Loren did not answer.

“I see,” she said, her voice again soft.

“It is not that he didn’t bring misfortune onto himself. He did. It is that the greater wrong was what they were doing. He wasn’t the only one they’d fleeced, Satrine.”

“I’m pleased you understand that the architect of his own downfall was indeed your friend,” she replied. “Now, I’d like to know if there were further nefarious shenanigans you were intent to see to at this establishment you were attending tonight.”

He had no response to that either.

At least, no good one.

“I was spending time with a friend,” he gritted.

He watched her swallow, something unbearably tragic moving through her expression, and then she said, “I’m not up on all things aristocracy, Loren, as you know. But one thing I do understand is that it’s your duty to produce an heir.”

This was not a good turn in the conversation.

He took a step toward her.

She took a hasty step back in a manner he stopped.

“I can’t begin to imagine you don’t know what a catch you are, sir,” she said. “You can have any woman you want.”

“I don’t want any woman. I want you.”

“You do?”

Shite.

With the way he’d been avoiding her, that was a pertinent question.

“Satrine, my dearest—”

“Were you with a woman?” she whispered.

“No, I was not. Nor was that my intent in being there this eve.”

Her brows rose. “This eve?”

Fuck.

She was far too clever, and it was frustrating that it could be annoying when most of the time it was appealing.

“I cannot contend I have not partaken, my love, but that was before I met you. Not after. And not ever again,” he promised.

“You seem to have missed it, your grace,” she continued whispering, but her words were now aching. “I don’t need you anymore.”

The pain in his body, at his side, every blow he sustained that night was nothing compared to the pain those words sent searing through him.

“Even if Father could cut us off, we’ve succeeded in procuring all the funds we need to see to our futures. You are no longer marrying me to protect me, my family. But more importantly, I’m no longer marrying you for any of those reasons.”

Loren stilled as his mind blanked.

Except for the understanding that she was marrying him for…

Him.

“The flowers have been decided,” she shared. “My gown and Mother’s gown and Maxine’s gown are all currently being crafted. The menu has been set. We await Father’s trial and then we’re away to Dalwin. But we don’t need to be.”

He took another step to her, murmuring, “Satrine—”

Unable, it seemed, to utter many complete sentences that night, she retreated while interrupting him.

“I want you to have what you want.”

“I already told you that’s you.”

“You deserve better.”

“There is no better than you.”

“You don’t know this now, but that isn’t true. And whatever is holding you back from me, I urge you to trust those instincts, and find the woman who’s right for you.”

Those words were alarming, but he had another problem that was taking precedence in the now.

She’d picked up her skirts and was actively leaving.

He followed.

He slammed the door she was opening, she whirled to him, and he kept his hand at the door by her head, his body blocking forward escape. His other hand he sifted into the folds of her cloak to curl his fingers at her waist and fully cage her in.

“Please step back,” she said to his throat.

“My apologies, my lady, but in this moment, you’ve no choice but to be at my whim.”

She lifted her gaze to his.

Amber swimming in desolation.

He caused that.

His gut wrenched.

As such, his next words, guttural and wretched, sounded torn from him.

“Don’t let me go.”

Her lips parted.

“My hold is slipping, Satrine, don’t let me go.”

“Your hold on what?”

“On anything that is good in this world.”

He heard her pained gasp and felt her light touch at his abdomen.

“Loren.”

“Darling, I don’t seek your company because I don’t want you consumed by the darkness.”

“Your darkness?”

“Indeed.”

“You aren’t dark, honey.”

“You will never know, because I will never tell you the shadows that live in me.”

She lifted a hand to his jaw and moaned, “Baby.”

He dropped his forehead to hers but did not lose his hold on her eyes.

And for the first time in his life, he begged.

“Don’t let me go.”

“You are good, Loren.”

He shook his head, not breaking their contact.

“How can you not see how wonderful you are?” she asked.

“I would like to say that this is the reason why I want you. That you make me believe that, even if it isn’t true. And perhaps, in part, it is. Mostly you, and your mother, and even Maxine remind me why I did the things I did. You also remind me strength can be both bold and gentle. You remind me that there are lights that do not dim. And I need that.”

“Then you shall have it.”

By the bloody gods.

He closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to her shoulder.

She wrapped both hands around the sides of his neck.

“I also hope part of it is that you want to ravish me…eventually,” she jested.

He drew in breath and lifted his head to catch her eyes.

“Absolutely,” he replied.

Her smile was tremulous, but it was there, and so was she.

She was also no longer trying to leave.

Which was the only reason Loren allowed himself to relax.

“Can you promise me not to dash about town, exacting justice with your flesh and blood, until, at least, that cut begins to heal?” she asked.

“I will make you that promise if you promise in return not to leave me.”

“I’m not leaving you, baby,” she whispered.

“I mean tonight. I mean now.”

Her eyes got huge.

She misunderstood him.

“Make no mistake, dearest, I very much wish to couple with you, but that will not happen tonight, after I’ve had too much whisky, not to mention I gave and received a beating. Though I do want you by my side while I sleep.”

“Won’t people talk?”

He felt his brows draw together, for she had been sequestered for decades and thus did not know many of the ways of her world, but her mother was an adult when she’d been sent away, and she definitely knew.

Surely, she’d explained this to her daughter.

“Our pending alliance has been announced in the papers,” he reminded her.

“Yes, Mom and I approved the wording when Ansley showed us what his secretary drafted.”

Perhaps she and her mother had not discussed it, for it wasn’t she who was promised to him, but Maxine. They might not have ever imagined Satrine would make an alliance.

And it was fair to say, much had been happening since.

Therefore, it was up to him to educate her.

“Propriety dictates I behave in a gentlemanly manner while courting you, but once our union has become official, that being announced and public, we are at liberty, and even encouraged, to explore what a life together will mean in all its manifestations.”

Again with the big eyes and, “Wow.”

He couldn’t believe it with all that had happened that eve, but he felt his lips twitch.

“Yes…wow.”

“Do you heal fast?” she asked.

There was his Satrine.

“I do.”

She arched into him and replied on a grin, “Excellent.”

And there was his save.

His savior.

His Satrine.