Page 51 of Pride: The Rogue
“Hunger and desperation will make you do things society tells us are crimes and sins.” One corner of Lachlan’s mouth lifted in a cynical smile. “All the while, those moral zealots live their comfortable lives and don’t give a single damn about the ones outside their ranks. We may as well be invisible.”
She gave an exuberant nod. “Precisely.”
How very good it felt to be with someone who understood, and who’d not condemn her—even though, she deserved to be.
Livian drew in a shaky breath. “I’ve never shared that part about myself,” she revealed. “Not even with my sisters.”
He chuckled. “Do you truly believe, me, of all people would find you wanting?”
At that gentle query, Livian’s heart both warmed and hurt.
“You’d show me grace,” she murmured. “And yet, you would not extend that same courtesy to yourself.”
“Is that a question?”
Lachlan’s expression gave nothing away.
“No.” She shook her head. “It is an observation.”
She held her breath, wanting him to say more; to share some piece of himself the same way she had—but he didn’t.
Instead, they sat in a comfortable silence; the crackling fire behind them lent a calm, coziness to that silence. All the while, they wordlessly passed the rapidly dwindling tankard of milk back and forth, each taking sips of the opposite side.
Livian raised the pewter glass to take the final drink.
“I fought,” Lachlan said, and she froze with the rim to her lips. “I was part of a fight club.”
Unsteadily, she set her tankard down.
Her mind raced. All Society knew of the Lost Lords. They’d been children of the peerage who’d been abducted and sold to people on the streets. Her brother-in-law, Malcom, had been one of those unfortunate souls. That was how Verity, a reporter, had met her now-husband. Among those lost lords, there’d been ones forced to fight for the same organization Lachlan just mentioned.
“Savage’s Fight Society?” she whispered.
“Ah, you’ve heard of it, then.”
Her lips worked.
“Your sister’s newspapers?”
She tried to find a hint of what he was thinking from his tone but found none. “Y-Yes.”
He nodded.
“I saw the money they were raking in using me as a fighter and got away real quick. I started a ring of my own on the street. Wasn’t long before lords were coming to place wagers. I kept the profits, grew the ring, and then one day, happened to save Argyll’s arse.”
“The luck piece,” she murmured.
He’d once thought so. “Yea, the luck piece.” Fury tightened the harsh, angular planes of his face.
“They betrayed you,” she murmured.
He tensed and gave her another one of those deep, unnerving, assessing looks. “What makes you say that?”
There was a warning there.
“Bertha,” Livian said softly.
His brow dipped.
