J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4 - J. R. Ward [131]
Wrath stalked to the door. “Haul ass, V,” he snapped.
When he got downstairs, he sensed Beth’s presence and found her coming through the painting. He walked up and put his arms around her, hugging her fiercely. He would have her avenged before they were joined. She deserved no less from her hellren.
“Are you okay?” she whispered.
He nodded against her hair and then looked at Tohr’s shellan. “Hey, Wellsie. Good of you to come.”
The female smiled. “I thought she deserved some support.”
“And I’m glad you’re here.” He pulled back from Beth long enough to kiss Wellsie on the hand.
Vishous strode into the room, fully armed. “Wrath, man, we off?”
“Where are you going?” Beth asked.
“I need to take care of something.” He ran his hand down her arm. “The other brothers are staying here to help get things ready. The ceremony will start at midnight, and I’ll be back before then.”
She looked like she wanted to argue, but then glanced at Wellsie. Something seemed to pass between the two females.
“Be safe,” Beth finally said to him. “Please.”
“Don’t worry.” He kissed her long and slow. “I love you, leelan.”
“What does that word mean?”
“Something close to ‘dearest one’.” He picked his jacket off a chair and gave her one more peck on the lips before leaving.
Chapter Forty-three
Butch combed his hair, slapped on a little cologne, and slipped into a suit that wasn’t his. Just as the medicine cabinet in the bathroom was lined with different aftershaves and shaving creams, the closets were full of brand-new men’s clothes of various large sizes. All top-drawer, designer stuff.
He’d never worn Gucci before.
And though he didn’t like being a mooch, he just couldn’t see Marissa in the same clothes he’d been wearing last night. Even if they’d been particularly sharp—and they weren’t—he was sure they now smelled like a bar: V’s Turkish tobacco and booze combined.
He wanted to be fresh as a daisy for her. He really did.
Butch took a turn in front of a full-length mirror, feeling like a pansy, but unable to help himself. The black pinstripe fit him well. The bright white, open-collared shirt made his tan come out. And the sweet pair of Ferragamo loafers he’d found in a box were just the right amount of flash.
He was almost handsome, he thought. As long as she didn’t look too closely at his bloodshot eyes.
The four hours of sleep and all that Scotch showed.
A soft rapping noise sounded.
Feeling like a poser and hoping it wasn’t one of the brothers, he opened the door.
The butler looked up with a smile. “Sire, you look quite dashing. Fine choices, fine choices.”
Butch shrugged, fussing with the shirt collar. “Yeah, well.”
“But you need a handkerchief in your breast pocket. May I?”
“Ah, sure.”
The little old man buzzed right over to a bureau, pulled out a drawer, and rifled around. “This should be perfect.”
His knobby hands worked the white square into some kind of origami masterpiece and stuffed the thing into place on Butch’s chest.
“Now, you are ready for your guest. She is here. Are you receiving?”
Receiving? “Hell, yeah.”
As they went out into the hall, the butler laughed softly.
“I look stupid, don’t I?” Butch said.
Fritz’s face grew serious. “No, not at all, sire. I was just thinking how much Darius would have enjoyed all this. He liked a full house.”
“Who’s Dar—”
“Butch?”
Marissa’s voice brought them both to a halt. She was at the head of the stairs, and she took Butch’s breath away. Her hair was up high on her head, and her gown was a pale pink sheath. Her shy pleasure at seeing him made his chest swell.
“Hey, baby.” He walked forward, aware that the butler was beaming with delight.
She fidgeted with her dress, as if she were a little nervous. “I probably should have waited downstairs. But everyone’s so busy. I felt like I was in the way.”
“You want to hang up here for a while?”
She nodded. “If you don’t mind. It’s quieter.”
The butler chimed in. “There’s a second-floor sitting porch. Just go down the hall. It’s at the end.”
Butch offered her his arm. “That okay with you?