Page 63 of The Shadow of Breninsol
“How often does your…employer hit you?” he asked in a voice that held an edge to it.
Blinking her sleepy eyes, she brought herself back from her thoughts to look at the man sitting next to her. His gaze softened as he looked at her. How long had he been studying her with that expression? Maybe it was her imagination, but he gritted his teeth when he said “employer”—as if the word tasted like damp dirt in his mouth.
She narrowed her eyes, not wanting to give him any emotion other than her general annoyance. Eleanor didn’t want to admit to the embarrassment and shame she felt about Madam Grace, and her natural fondness for hitting anyone that angered her. “What do you care?”
“You seemed…used to it.”
Eleanor shrugged and answered in a tone that showed it was a matter of inconsequence. “Whenever any of us displease her. She’s displeased every day. She knows how to make it sting but not bruise, so we can still work.”
Eleanor didn’t know why she answered him honestly, but she didn’t feel like embellishing the truth to him. Strangely, she felt a slight satisfaction that the hard facts might shake his delicately wrapped world.
He stiffened at hearing her honesty. His belief everyone lived a charmed life, like his, seemed naïve to her. Eleanor didn’t know why he’d asked, nor why he would care.
“Here?” Eleanor asked as the same manservant with blonde hair opened the carriage door. Bringing her here, of all places, bewildered her.
The Kingdom’s Museum was a large building with veins of marble running through the stone. There were some similarities between the facade of this public building and the party palace. During his reign, King Caradoc the Second built it to house the kingdom’s treasures his line wished to display publicly. For a fee, naturally.
For younger generations, it served as a place of learning, showcasing aspects of the kingdom’s history the king’s line intended to spread and share. For older generations, it was a place to remember the stories passed down to them.
“You don’t like art?” he asked as he gracefully exited the carriage.
Ignoring his question, Eleanor remained seated in the carriage and stared at him in disbelief. “You needed company to comehere?”
“Why not?” the infuriating man replied.
“Because…because…” she trailed off, unsure why a museum visit was problematic. She’d been here before, but she hadn’t used the front entrance. That was for the paying patrons.
As she was trying to think of a sufficient excuse, he interrupted her thoughts. “Then I don’t foresee any reason we can’t be here.”
Her eyes narrowed on his extended gloved hand. She remembered all too well what it was like to have that strong palm hold her. Eleanor shoved those memories aside and left the carriage unassisted.
His response was to arch a somewhat amused brow and extend his arm with a glint of a challenge in his eyes.
Eleanor rolled her eyes at him and this ridiculous show, but placed a hand on his sumptuous arm, giving him the lightest of touches.
“Shall we make a deal?” His velvet voice promised things she shouldn’t be thinking about, especially not with him.
Eleanor hesitated. “I’m sure we’ve already got one of those going on right now,” she replied, referring to last night’s bargain, the source of her predicament.
“What we say and do today stays between us. Deal?”
Interesting.
Whatever this lord wanted to do, he didn’t want it to become common knowledge. She didn’t care for her reputation, but he clearly cared about him, depending on whatever depraved request he’d be making of her. It could ruin his future of securing himself a prized high-ranking courtier to further his line. What made him believe she would stick to her word? Again, thoughts of him having a secret fetish went through her mind.
“Why? What are you going to do?” she asked, wary of him.
“Many things.” His lips curled deviously. “Think of it as an insurance if you’d like. If I hear you’ve been gossiping about our time together, then I can spread some nasty rumours about you,and I’m sure you’d agree that would have a more damning effect on your reputation than mine.”
She scoffed at the thought she had a reputation that she cared about. Being who he was, his word would carry weight she didn’t have; he could easily ruin her clientele by claiming she had a disease or something equally nasty. That would make Madam Grace pack her off to one of her less desirable establishments, leading to her spending an exceedingly long time to pay off her debt. That wasn’t even the worst of it. She’d be with no access or hope of alcohol, even the cheap wine she’d become used to. She couldn’t deny being intrigued by what he would say and do with this new bargain.
“Deal.”
His lips twitched, pleased he’d extracted some sort of twisted promise from her which unsettled her.
By the time they had struck this bargain, they were already halfway up the museum’s large steps, leading to a pair of open doors guarded on both sides to protect the kingdom’s precious history. A short man wearing a sandy coloured long-sleeved doublet that stretched across his gut awaited them.
He wore a shiny gold circular brooch pinned onto his left breast. Its centre was hollow, reminiscent of a penny, only this was much larger and in a shiny gold colour. The brooch resembled ones she’d seen in the Exchange; to pin a shawl into place, or to denote their guild or some level of position. It demonstrated, along with his air of self-importance, that he held a position of power here.
