Elegant Sins (Dark Secret Society 1)

“I like the quiet,” I said softly, looking out from the white stone terrace toward the acres of woods that surrounded the property. “What about you? What are you working on? Anything interesting?”

But before he could answer, Mrs. Hawthorne appeared at the pocket doors. She bowed her head to Montgomery and then set both of our plates on a silver tray. Before leaving, though, she set an invitation in front of both Montgomery and me, then left without saying a word. That woman was freakish in her devotion.

Montgomery had been relaxed and easy with me all morning, but now a frown furrowed his brow.

“Go on,” I said. “Open it. What are we in for this time?” My heartbeat sped up even as I asked.

At my words, Montgomery came out of his trance and ripped the cream-colored envelope open, yanking out the invitation inside. I did the same and quickly scanned the text.

It looked the same as usual. Our presence was requested in the ballroom at seven o’clock tonight. I didn’t see any special instructions.

But Montgomery still looked concerned.

“Is there something I should be worried about?”

Montgomery’s eyes were distant, his eyes darting this way and that like he was deep in thought.

“My father will want to reassert his authority over me after my performance at the last Invitation.” His eyes came back to me. “Don’t underestimate him. He’s dangerous.”

I picked up my crystal goblet of water and took a sip. “But he can’t touch me, right? Because I’m yours?”

Montgomery’s eyes went hard. “Don’t get your heart set on that. This could get ugly before the end. If I try too hard to protect you, he’ll come at us ten times harder.”

This time it was me looking away to collect my thoughts. This was all so confusing. He said he couldn’t protect me, but he also said “us,” like we were together in this.

But I’d said it myself. There was no Prince Charming coming to save me. Montgomery was just trying to play it smart and if I were wise, I’d be trying to think as strategically as he was.

“Right,” I said, standing up. “I got it. We both just have to do what we have to do to get through this. No hard feelings.”

As I started to walk away, though, Montgomery reached out and grasped my wrist. “Grace.”

I paused, waiting to hear what he would say. But he didn’t follow up with anything and I pulled away, walking over to the pocket doors and waiting silently for him to escort me back down the hallway to our room.

We walked back without another word, the uncomfortable tension that had been dissolved between us the past week returning tenfold.

A box was delivered to our rooms later with two robes. The robe for me was a royal purple sheer see-through number with silk edging, while Montgomery’s was a lush, thick silver satin.

We both showered and dressed in silence.

It felt a little like preparing for a firing squad. It was so hard to know how to get ready mentally for these things when you had no idea what was coming.

But it would probably end in sex with Montgomery. In spite of my anxiety about what was coming, a thrill ran through my stomach at the thought. And then immediately soured again when I remembered that his despicable father would likely be looking on.

One thing was for sure, I could damn well use a few belts of that bourbon I always saw the men drinking at these things to calm my nerves. But apparently belles were considered too delicate for drinking or some BS like that? Either way, I hadn’t been offered so much as a drop of alcohol since I’d been here.

I snorted as I slipped into the barely-there robe. I’d just bet they’d had to deal with alcoholic belles in the past cause this shit would drive anyone to drink, if only to deal with the nerves.

And then, before I knew it and certainly before I was ready, Montgomery was taking my arm and leading me down that damned staircase.

I sucked in a deep breath and we turned the corner into the ballroom.

But to my surprise, for once, there weren’t women and men sprawled out and engaging in all sorts of acts of debauchery.

No, instead, all the Elders and other men in the Order stood around looking solemn in their silver cloaks.

And along the wall in front of the roaring fire in the hearth was a man set up with a—

“Is that—” I started to whisper but Montgomery quieted me with a squeeze on my arm. Instead, he led me closer until my suspicions were confirmed.

It was a small tattoo station. Two chairs were set up, one of which the tattoo artist was already sitting in, along with a little table of supplies including the tattoo gun and a tiny plastic thimbleful of black ink.