Read Online Crown Jewel by Megan Derr - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Megan Derr
Tags: General Fiction
Ads: Link
of footsteps—and hated the ache that sprung up in his chest at the sight of Celeste. It was not fair that he was even more beautiful than Lazzaro's vivid memories. It was not fair that despite everything, he felt better just seeing Celeste.
Oddly, his hair was braided, falling over one shoulder in a long tail and tied off with a plain black ribbon. He wore only black breeches, a simple linen shirt, black stockings, and black shoes with silver buckles. Reading spectacles dangled from a silver chain around his neck. He looked ordinary, like a clerk doing paperwork. He also looked as though he would rather be entertaining his worst client rather than spend five seconds in Lazzaro's presence. "Come with me," he ordered tersely. "Stop upsetting everyone." He did not give Lazzaro a chance to reply, but turned sharply on his heel and strode off.
Lazzaro threw aside the man he had pinned to the wall and followed him, but he was halted by the green-eyed woman. "Do not hurt him," she said. "We will make you regret it if you do, noble."
He looked at her coldly. "One of my men is dead because of something I did for Celeste. If I do not get satisfactory answers, I will teach you regret."
She stepped back and he walked on, following Celeste up the stairs and into the room Lazzaro had seen the one other time he had been here. This time, however, it was obvious Celeste had not been expecting guests anytime soon. The table which before had held a vase of expensive flowers was now buried in paperwork and a tray of food and drink. "You do bookkeeping?" Lazzaro asked.
Celeste only folded his arms across his chest. "You threatened my people to ask me if I do bookkeeping in addition to whoring?"
"Do not be flippant," Lazzaro said, very slowly resting his hands on the table so he wouldn't succumb to a fit of temper and throw things.
"You are the one who asked about bookkeeping."
To the hells with not losing his temper, Lazzaro thought, slamming his hands down on the table. "My man is dead! Santino has been with me for ten fucking years, and he is dead of a poisoning that was meant for me and nearly killed Benito as well! The bastard signed his name as Marco when he delivered the poisoned wine; I have reason to believe it is the very man who murdered my mother. Do not be flippant with me, Celeste, you have no right! Not when you are part of this, not when you fled like a fucking coward!"
Silence fell between them, broken only by Lazzaro's heavy breathing. Still shaking with anger and fear and grief, Lazzaro finally said, "You will give me answers, Celeste, or by the gods I will take them from you."
"I'm sorry," Celeste said quietly, anger falling away. He looked away, then slowly back. "I do not know who was responsible or why, but I will do everything I can to help you find out. You are correct: I am culpable. I didn't—I'm sorry my problems became yours and that your friend suffered for it. If I had known you were in danger, I would have told you, your grace, I swear it."
Lazzaro's temper died as quickly as that, finished by the sincerity of the words and the way Celeste suddenly looked tired and twice his age. With the heat of anger gone, the grief over Santino struck him hard, finally given center stage. Santino was dead; he should not be. Lazzaro should be dead, and here he was in the House of Peace throwing temper tantrums and battling with the mixed emotions only Celeste seemed able to stir.
He jumped, startled, as hands covered his, realizing only then that he had never actually managed to put his gloves on. "You need to calm down, your grace."
Lazzaro withdrew his hands before he did something stupid, like try to pull Celeste close and hold him. "I need to find Santino's killer."
"You are in no shape for hunting," Celeste said sharply. "Not when you have so little control of yourself. Sit, rest, grieve—think. The man I know would not normally threaten innocent people to accomplish his goals."
"The man you know?" Lazzaro
Oddly, his hair was braided, falling over one shoulder in a long tail and tied off with a plain black ribbon. He wore only black breeches, a simple linen shirt, black stockings, and black shoes with silver buckles. Reading spectacles dangled from a silver chain around his neck. He looked ordinary, like a clerk doing paperwork. He also looked as though he would rather be entertaining his worst client rather than spend five seconds in Lazzaro's presence. "Come with me," he ordered tersely. "Stop upsetting everyone." He did not give Lazzaro a chance to reply, but turned sharply on his heel and strode off.
Lazzaro threw aside the man he had pinned to the wall and followed him, but he was halted by the green-eyed woman. "Do not hurt him," she said. "We will make you regret it if you do, noble."
He looked at her coldly. "One of my men is dead because of something I did for Celeste. If I do not get satisfactory answers, I will teach you regret."
She stepped back and he walked on, following Celeste up the stairs and into the room Lazzaro had seen the one other time he had been here. This time, however, it was obvious Celeste had not been expecting guests anytime soon. The table which before had held a vase of expensive flowers was now buried in paperwork and a tray of food and drink. "You do bookkeeping?" Lazzaro asked.
Celeste only folded his arms across his chest. "You threatened my people to ask me if I do bookkeeping in addition to whoring?"
"Do not be flippant," Lazzaro said, very slowly resting his hands on the table so he wouldn't succumb to a fit of temper and throw things.
"You are the one who asked about bookkeeping."
To the hells with not losing his temper, Lazzaro thought, slamming his hands down on the table. "My man is dead! Santino has been with me for ten fucking years, and he is dead of a poisoning that was meant for me and nearly killed Benito as well! The bastard signed his name as Marco when he delivered the poisoned wine; I have reason to believe it is the very man who murdered my mother. Do not be flippant with me, Celeste, you have no right! Not when you are part of this, not when you fled like a fucking coward!"
Silence fell between them, broken only by Lazzaro's heavy breathing. Still shaking with anger and fear and grief, Lazzaro finally said, "You will give me answers, Celeste, or by the gods I will take them from you."
"I'm sorry," Celeste said quietly, anger falling away. He looked away, then slowly back. "I do not know who was responsible or why, but I will do everything I can to help you find out. You are correct: I am culpable. I didn't—I'm sorry my problems became yours and that your friend suffered for it. If I had known you were in danger, I would have told you, your grace, I swear it."
Lazzaro's temper died as quickly as that, finished by the sincerity of the words and the way Celeste suddenly looked tired and twice his age. With the heat of anger gone, the grief over Santino struck him hard, finally given center stage. Santino was dead; he should not be. Lazzaro should be dead, and here he was in the House of Peace throwing temper tantrums and battling with the mixed emotions only Celeste seemed able to stir.
He jumped, startled, as hands covered his, realizing only then that he had never actually managed to put his gloves on. "You need to calm down, your grace."
Lazzaro withdrew his hands before he did something stupid, like try to pull Celeste close and hold him. "I need to find Santino's killer."
"You are in no shape for hunting," Celeste said sharply. "Not when you have so little control of yourself. Sit, rest, grieve—think. The man I know would not normally threaten innocent people to accomplish his goals."
"The man you know?" Lazzaro
Similar Books
