Dark Deception (Vampire Royals of New York #1) - Sarah Piper Page 0,57
with a gulp.
“I see Duchanes took your invitation to heart,” Aiden said. “Brought the whole bloody house.”
“And his… donors.” Dorian’s fingers tightened on his glass, wishing he could slam it into Duchanes’ smug face. The sight of those emaciated women made him want to do something violent. “And Malcolm wanted to ally with this reprobate. What the hell was he thinking?”
“I’m not sure he was.”
Dorian shook his head, attempting to free himself of his thoughts, but it was an exercise in futility. The party and Duchanes both weighed on him, but so did last night’s conversation with Chernikov. He and Aiden had spent the afternoon paging through his father’s journals and walking the twisting, dark pathways of the crypts all afternoon, but if there were ever any clues to where his father had hidden the Mother of Lost Souls sculpture—or to the details of his agreement with the demons—time had long ago destroyed them.
“No one’s getting in there tonight, mate,” Aiden said, as if he could read Dorian’s thoughts. It certainly felt that way; even when they were children, Aiden had always seemed to know just what to say, just how to put Dorian’s rattled mind at ease.
“If anything can ruin us, Aiden, I’m certain it’s contained in those crypts.”
“Where it shall remain until you and your brothers discover and eradicate it.”
“Don’t let anyone else in the garage tonight, either,” Dorian said, bolting the door they’d come through. “I don’t want them breathing on my cars. I already caught the old man trying to take the Rolls Royce for a joyride.”
“Armitage still has a driver’s license?”
“No, the old codger. Thankfully I got to him before he found the keys.”
Aiden clapped him on the shoulder, his smile unwavering. “Sounds like you’re having a splendid evening, just as I predicted. Have you had enough to drink?”
“Just so you know, I’m holding you responsible if any of these prats steal the family jewels.”
“Didn’t your father sell off the family jewels to book our passage to America?”
“It’s a figure of speech, Aiden. Don’t test my patience.”
“You don’t have any patience. But if it makes you feel better, I don’t think your guests are thieves. After all, they’ve paid handsomely for the privilege of your company.”
“That’s fine, as long as you understand it’s coming out of your pay if they are.”
“You need another drink. Here, have mine.” Aiden handed over his scotch. “I insist.”
Dorian downed it quickly, then set the glass on a shelf behind them, taking a deep breath. “All the bloody yakking. The smiling. And now House Duchanes is here, bringing down the value of my property with their very presence. I don’t like it.”
“It’s for a good cause.”
“We should’ve just made a donation.”
“I’m not talking about the children’s museum. I’m talking about Isabelle and the company we’re about to acquire. Despite your best efforts, and the fact that you wouldn’t let the geezer drive your car, it seems Armitage and his board members are quite enamored of you.”
“Is that so?” Dorian asked. He’d never admit it to Aiden, but the news filled him with more than a modicum of relief.
“Word is, Mr. Redthorne, you’re the dog’s bollocks.” Aiden pressed a hand to his heart, shooting Dorian a wistful smile. “If only they could figure out why you’re still single.”
“Any theories?”
“Oh, the usual. Deep emotional wounds, fear of commitment, only-child syndrome, take your pick.”
Dorian laughed. “I’ve got a house full of siblings, you knob.”
“I’m just the messenger.” Aiden clapped him again on the shoulder, giving him an encouraging squeeze. “Come along now. If we don’t get back inside, they’re bound to come looking for you.”
“I hate this, you know. Worst idea you’ve ever had.”
“You say that about all my ideas. Especially the good ones.”
“This time I mean it.”
“Great! Now that we’ve got that sorted.” Aiden opened the inner door that led into the massive kitchen, now bustling with caterers and bartenders. “Come on, then. In you go.”
Dorian followed him inside, then punched in the alarm code, securing the garage behind them.
After fixing themselves another round of drinks, the men weaved through the crowded kitchen and into the great room, Dorian doing his best to avoid eye contact while Aiden deflected the talkative guests. By the time they reached the expansive open foyer, Dorian was feeling marginally better.
Aiden had been right; the guests were having a grand time, laughing and chatting amongst themselves, enjoying the hors d'oeuvres and drinks his caterers delivered on elegant silver trays. Now that they’d seen Dorian at home, behaving