Page 128 of The Boxing Baroness

He wasn’t surprised to find Dominic and the deposed King of Sweden already there. Both men were enjoying a glass of something, standing off to one end of the long dining table, warming themselves in front of a roaring fire.

Dominic looked up. “Ah, Staunton—looking more like yourself, I see.”

Sin had, out of caution, had his valet pack one outfit of fine clothing. He had found it, along with his toiletries, waiting in the room where he’d been taken. For the first time in weeks a servant had shaved and dressed him. He felt strangely naked without his beard.

“Drink?” Dominic offered.

“Please,” Sin said. As much as he wanted to beat the other man bloody, there was nothing to be gained at this point by behaving uncivilly.

Sin turned to Gustav while Dominic poured him a glass.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” Sin said, dropping a court bow.

The king’s gaze slid nervously to Dominic, as if he couldn’t quite believe Sin’s greeting was genuine.

It wasn’t, of course, but again, why insult his host?

“This is quite an unusual room,” Sin said, rather than asking what he really wanted to know: Just what the hell do you want with Marianne?

“It used to be a ballroom,” Gustav said. “That area above was a minstrel’s gallery. I have no need for a ballroom, so I turned it into a dining room.” The king hesitated, and then added, “I must apologize for locking up you and your companions.”

“Most of my companions are still locked up,” Sin pointed out.

Dominic handed him a glass. “We shall let them out—once we’ve spoken with both you and dear Marianne and have guaranteed your cooperation. Also, Marianne will likely wish to have this conversation in private.” He cocked his head and smirked. “She might even wish to send you away.”

“If that is what she prefers, I will abide by her wishes.”

Dominic laughed. “I must admit I never saw this coming—you and her,” he clarified, as if Sin hadn’t already guessed. “Good luck getting her to see reason and allow you to set her up somewhere in London. Lord knows I tried for long enough.”

Fury boiled in his belly, and it required a herculean effort not to give in to it. But then that was what Dominic craved: conflict.

Instead, Sin said, “Marianne preferred taking a weekly beating on stage to becoming your mistress? How singular.” He raised his glass and took a sip of some rather fine brandy.

Dominic’s smug smile turned unpleasant. “Your tendency toward superiority is rather out of place in this situation, isn’t it?”

Sin ignored the question and asked one of his own. “Were you involved in ransoming the other men—the three soldiers?”

“Not that it is any of your concern, but no, I was not.”

“Obviously you know them,” Sin said.

“We are acquainted,” Dominic admitted. “If you think to get any information from me about them, you are sorely mistaken.”

“Ah, honor among thieves.”

“Honor is for fools, my dear Staunton. It is self-preservation that motivates me.”

Before Sin could respond, the door opened and Marianne entered.

All three men stood.

Sin didn’t know what the other two looked like, but he knew that his own mouth was hanging open.

She wore a red velvet gown that would have been in fashion in the fifteenth century. The bodice laced up the front with thick gold cord and the dagged sleeves were long enough that the points almost reached the floor. Her hair, which had grown out during their trip without his realizing it, was a riot of short, loose ringlets, with a gold circlet nestled among the curls. She looked as if she’d just walked out of a Renaissance painting.

She was breathtaking.

“Welcome, Miss, er, Simpson,” Gustav said, the first of them to gather his wits.