Page 81 of The Shadow of Breninsol
“Just honey.” She shifted in her seat, not feeling comfortable that he had served her.
He portioned out a teaspoon’s amount, and they both watched, transfixed by the slow drizzle of the sweet nectar into the dark cup. After the marquis stirred the contents back and forth, he placed the teacup and saucer in front of her.
“Thank you,” she numbly replied, as she met his mercury eyes. As always, they gave little away.
Eleanor averted her eyes to stare into her black cup of sweetened coffee, as a wave of emotion swept over her that she’d been unprepared to feel. The tightness in her chest was so profound that she felt the desperate need to massage the area to alleviate the discomfort, as if physical touch could somehow soothe the intense sensation.
His voice was almost gentle as he asked, “Anything wrong?”
She blinked, remembering herself. “I didn’t think…you’re a marquis.” She inwardly cursed herself for stating the obvious.
Of course, he knew his own bloody title, idiot.
“And?”
She really felt stupid now, but she continued while feeling the colour in her cheeks rising. “I…I thought you had people serve you, or…you know, me. Not the other way around.”
He let out a puff of air, a small white cloud briefly visible in the crisp morning air. She assumed that was a sign of whatshe’d said was humorous. “Marquisis my title, but we’re not at court, and I rarely like the formality that comes with my title. Being a marquis doesn’t stop me from pouring coffee. I have two hands, after all.” He nodded to her cup and watched her drink it. No doubt he didn’t believe that she liked her coffee as dark as possible.
She savoured each sip of the best tasting coffee she’d ever had, trying not to think about those hands of his, especially not those fingers. There was something strangely domestic about this, and she didn’t know how she felt about that. The rich, warm liquid filled her, and she closed her eyes and sighed contentedly. It had been a long time since she’d tasted such glorious coffee. She’d become accustomed to the watered-down bland dishwater the madam had for her ladies. As she opened her eyes to savour another sip, she saw the marquis’s amused smirk.
“What?” She realised he was still watching her, and it unnerved her.
His lip curled. “I didn’t think you’d like a strong coffee.”
“Why? Because I’m adelicate female?” She couldn’t help the sarcasm dripping in her voice, but it was too early for her liking.
He scoffed. “Darling, you are anything but delicate.”
She scowled, ignoring the comment. His coffee was as black as hers. She didn’t know why that annoyed her, gazing instead at the lake and the coming day reflecting off the water. The coffee initially distracted her from her thoughts and anger, but she felt it rising again.
She was a Favour. It wouldn’t be long before he went on the market for a wife, possibly in a few months or a year. Stars, he might already be betrothed. Nobles acted quickly once a betrothal was settled. That was how these things worked for these people. With a click of their fingers, their wealth enabled them to command an army of servants for a wedding preparation.
She’d have to stay and be here for all that. Unless he retired her or returned her during the Collection. He held her future in the palm of his hands. Those very hands that’d made and served her morning’s coffee.
She didn’t think she could stay here, especially not to bear witness to the ever-revolving door of women that’d warm his bed. Although, it was a risky option, she could easily escape, it wouldn’t take long to study the guard’s patrol rotations and patterns, but…then what? Live a life of a wanted criminal? A wave of nausea and icy dread trickled through her, making her shudder. It was the same reason she and others hadn’t fled The Ladies Grace. Being reported to King’s Justice would put a wolf’s head on her. It wouldn’t only be the bounty hunters searching for her but those who needed the reward money, and everyone needed the extra money.
However, the marquis differed significantly from those of Madam Grace: he would put his considerable wealth into searching for her. A man like the marquis wouldn’t forget that she’d ran out on him. It wouldn’t matter how many years it’d take him; he’d be relentless in his search and drag her back regardless, and then she’d be well and truly discovered. In those years of searching for her he’d age while she’d remain exactly the same.
It almost went without saying that, regardless of where she ended up, as long as she remained in Breninsol, she’d keep her contracts with Valen. However, that infrequent work didn’t pay well, especially not compared to the marquis’s wealth.
“How much?” Eleanor asked, trying to sound offhanded about it, but inside she felt anything but. She hated how desperate it made her sound. “How much did you buy me for? I’ll find a way to pay you back.” She tried not to cringe at hearing herself say those words and how it sounded. It revealed a weakness in her.
He turned to look at her, his silence a palpable thing, seeming to weigh down the air between them as he studied her. With a deliberate movement, she sat up straighter, her gaze unwavering but revealing nothing as she looked back at him.
He raised a brow.
What thefuckdid that mean?
She couldn't read the man. His face showed no emotion.
Instead of answering her, he said, “Are you aware that your employer adds to your debt?” Her jaw hardened, but he continued. “I’ve seen her accounts. Your…amount has increased since you started there.”
Shit.
Of course it had.
Madam Grace made sure her ladies were indebted to her. Working off her ever-increasing debt hadn’t been as simple as she’d thought when she’d agreed to that old bat terms at the card game. It was never that simple.
