by Dayna Quince
And if he hadn't stepped between his brother and Sir Kirby, it could have been his brother who'd been shot and not him, and maybe he wouldn't be here. Maybe he'd be mourning the death of his brother.
The single thought made everything he’d done worth it. No matter how skewed or reckless his brother’s moral compass might be, Callen didn't think his brother was bad, just immature and impulsive.
That didn't mean he deserved to die.
Sir Kirby had challenged him. He knew the odds, and he was cognizant of the risks of dueling. However, that wouldn't stop Sir Kirby's uncle, a very powerful judge, from attempting to persecute Theo to the highest extent of the law. Who could fault Callen from wanting to keep his brother alive?
His only little brother.
He wasn't about to watch him die. Not when he could do something about it.
But what to tell little miss night scavenger? Was she telling the truth?
“Why were you out collecting herbs at night?”
“I believe I've already given my reasons.”
“Please forgive me. I do not understand why you would do it in the first place.”
She let out a little huff of annoyance, and for some reason, he found it endearing and a bit arousing.
“I'm one of nine daughters, as you know.”
He nodded.
“We all have our roles in the family. It's what keeps the household running—”
She paused and maybe it was a trick of the firelight, brandishing her pale skin in a rosy glow, but he thought she might be blushing.
“I am… I do the cooking,” she said, “and while I may not be the best at it, it is my job and so I do it.”
Was she embarrassed? It wasn't the role a woman of gentle birth should fill. He kept his censure to himself. It wasn't her fault. Roderick and Weirick had said enough about Mr. Marsden’s terrible instincts for farming and managing his estate. They did try to help and direct him, but the man was simply an imbecile and his family suffered for it. As neighbors, they could only do so much. Husbands are what the Marsden daughters needed, someone to rescue them and protect them.
His stomach muscles tightened. “Go on,” he encouraged.
“My food is edible, but over the years I've tried to improve my chef skills and developed an interest in the use of herbs. Not only did my cooking taste better, but I learned many herbs have medicinal purposes, and I started to collect and learn more. I learned how to make salves and tinctures, and I have a kit of necessary items to help keep my family healthy.”
“I see. That is quite commendable.”
“But not at all something a woman of gentle birth should be doing.”
“I'm in no position to judge you,” he admitted.
“So, where does this leave us?”
Indeed.
It would be a risk to assume she wouldn't tell someone about what she saw, even accidentally. No one could know what he and his brother were up to. Even their friends, Weirick and Roderick. He didn't want anyone else to bear the burden of the scandal, should it come to that. But Christ, what was he going to tell her? What was he going to do to ensure she didn't utter a word about what she saw? Judge Blackwood had powerful allies and even his own investigators.
He had a reputation for making sure the nobility were punished for their crimes and their titles couldn't protect them. It didn't help that Theo and Sir Kirby had a long history of animosity. His brother just stirred up enemies and trouble alike wherever he went.
Callen thought quickly and then it came to him.
There was one thing he might say that could fool her, at least for a little bit. He wasn’t going to seduce her like his brother suggested, though he could see why the thought had come to him. She was infinitely seducible, sitting there so soft and creamy in the firelight. Her dark curls tousled, her smoky brown eyes flickering with reflected fire. He could imagine himself sweeping her to the floor and covering her with his body right here in front of the glowing hearth.
But then, what would he do? She was an innocent, and she was here at this house party to find a husband that could not be him. He couldn't seduce a woman without the promise of marriage and then leave the country. He wasn’t so low as that, not even for his brother. He would have to keep his distance and keep those thoughts buried deep in his mind, where fantasies of a life not sweeping up the broken shards of his brother's reputation consumed most of his time.
That and managing his family’s four estates. Just thinking of a life not looking after his brother made him lightheaded. How much more time would he have? He could get a hobby, read more, ride more, spend more time at his clubs. He'd save heaps of money and he could…marry a girl from Northumberland.
The thought startled him.
Where had it come from?
He knelt down before her and took her hand.
“What I'm about to tell you can never be repeated to another living person.”
She raised both brows this time. “But I can share it with the dead?”
He smiled. He couldn't help it. She had a peculiarly dry sense of humor, and he wished he had the time to truly appreciate it.
His smile fell away. “I am an agent of the Crown,” he lied. “My brother and I are conducting business imperative to England's safety.”
She frowned “But the war is over. It's been over for a decade or more.”
“A war is never truly over. England has many enemies. When one is defeated, another will always take its place. Preparation is key. His Majesty's servants are always on watch and well—I won't divulge my secrets and the purpose of my meeting on the beach, but just know it was official business of the Crown and you should not worry. You are safe here, I will always see to that. But you cannot tell anyone who you saw or what you saw.”
She sucked in a breath.
Her hand felt so small in his, so fragile, like a little bird cupped in his hand. He had so much power over her that it made him uneasy. He wanted to let go, but not until she swore to him.
“Of course,” she said.
“No one but my brother and I are involved in this. Not even our friends know, which includes the duke. They think we’re just here to enjoy a party and take in the scenery.” He cupped her cheek. “And the lovely company, but we aren't.”
He dragged his hand away, his greedy fingers reluctant to let go as they grazed the line of her jaw. He let her hand go and stood, fighting the urge to keep hold of her. He clasped his hands behind his back.
“Of all things, I didn't think that,” she said.
“What did you think?”
She looked up at him and blinked her wide, innocent eyes. She was not lying.
“Smuggling,” she said. “I thought Weirick and Roderick were running a smuggling ring.”
Callen caught a laugh in his throat. Perhaps he should have gone with that, but he'd already planted his lie. He was an agent of the Crown. So be it. The weight of his dishonesty settled over him like a rain-soaked greatcoat, cold and heavy.
Weariness settled into his bones. He was too old for this.
Sometimes, when he woke in the morning and considered his reflection, he couldn't recognize the weathered soul staring back at him. He'd misplaced his youth, it seemed. Now there were fine lines around his eyes and little specks of silver in his morning beard, but his hair had not yet begun to change.
He was not a vain man, but it had startled him to see how much of himself had disappeared over the years. The young man he used to be was gone and before him stood a stranger.
He didn't know this man. He didn't know what purpose he served other than as his brother's keeper.
With regret, he realized he hadn't used his time wisely. He hadn’t done all the things he wanted to do. He'd done all the things he was supposed to do. Go to university, pursue women, dutifully attend his father’s summons, learning all he could about the estates he now ran. But what he'd failed to do when he had the time and the energy was find himself. Discover who he was—the kind
of man he wanted to be.
He supposed he turned out all right.
He was a responsible, considerate person, but there was a great big void inside, possibilities he'd missed, wholly absorbed as he was in his duties. The largest of which was not his title and responsibilities as heir, but the care and management of his brother. Theo had the particularly useful talent of bending people to his will. Though he never achieved much by way of accolades—at university or in professional prowess. As a second son, his options were limited to the church or military. But Theo chose neither. He simply existed for his own pleasure, and he'd convinced the world that somehow he deserved not only their respect but their unending praise.
His mother and father had doted upon Theo, catering to his every whim, and some of that cursed adoration had infected Callen too. He'd always envied Theo for his lack of responsibility, but the envy had eventually turned to resentment.
By inheriting his father's earldom, he’d also inherited Theo’s problems. Their father had been rather negligent about disciplining Theo as a boy. Theo had a witty charm and a contagious smile that could nullify any anger toward him, rendering his mother and father into fits of giggles when they ought to be issuing discipline.
Callen’s eyes burned, too dry from not blinking as he’d stared at the fire, lost in his own bitter thoughts.
He refocused on Miss Lunette. He'd almost forgotten she was there. How absurd was that? She was the most beautiful thing in the room.
Once more his brother seemed to steal all focus. But right now, Theo was gone and it was just he and Miss Lunette—Luna, as her sisters called her. The moniker suited her. She had a pale, softly rounded face that glowed like a full moon, delicate and ethereal. He could stare at her for hours, contemplating his life choices in silence.
There was a pixielike magic to her that drew his attention, her tiny frame pricking his instincts to shelter and protect. He was protective by nature or at least he had been of his brother.
How nice to have something to protect like her, someone who truly needed his protection, dainty and meek as she appeared to be, but in her eyes he could see a quiet strength. She could protect him too, from what he didn't know, but she just might be able to save him.
He shook himself free of the thoughts and focused on the fire, which was in need of a new log, but they couldn't remain in this little office anymore. He ought to see her to her room and make sure Theo had returned to his—that he wasn't stirring up mischief elsewhere in the castle, drinking himself to stupidity in the billiard room or eating all the food preparations for the morrow in the kitchens.
“I should take you to bed," he said. His heart kicked into an excited erotic pace.
Take her to bed.
No, not bloody likely. He glanced away and closed his eyes before images started to fill his mind.
“Come, I'll walk you to your wing of the castle.”
She stood and moved toward the door. “Thank you, my lord.
“Promise me you won't go searching for herbs at night. Again,” he asked. “It’s not safe. You don't know who could be out there."
“I understand your concern, but I must do what I have to do."
“For your sisters?” His gaze fixed on her. She stood with her hand on the knob, but then she turned toward him, waiting. He squatted before the fire and shuffled the coals around, smothering the last bit of glow in the room. He heard her indrawn breath as darkness fell around them. He replaced the poker on the stand and stood, coming to her side.
He stood before her, but his eyes had not yet adjusted, and she was nothing more than a black shape. He reached for the knob and his hand touched hers.
“You needn't ever be afraid, not with me,” he said.
“I know,” she whispered.
The urge to kiss her came on so fast and so strong, he couldn't move for fear he might crush her to the door and devour her.
How old was she? He couldn't be certain. She didn't have the sheltered paleness of the typical English young lady, forbidden from being exposed to the sun. She didn't appear to be fresh out of the schoolroom nor was she firmly on the shelf.
She was ripe, he would say, seasoned over time, nurtured by the sunlight and fresh air of the country into a plump and juicy young woman. He would love to savor her like a plump peach, but she was forbidden fruit to him.
Circumstances had made that so.
He twisted the knob with both their hands and the door opened. They left the study. He stopped at the end of the hall where he knew the sisters to be housed in their rooms. He would go no farther.
“I'll stop here. I'm sure you can make your way to your room?”
“Yes,” she said, and he saw a spark of the smile, her lips a deep plum color in the diminished light but still just as tantalizing.
“Good night, Miss Lunette.”
“Good night, my lord.”
She drifted down the hall, as silent as a ghost, and he could not make himself turn away. He saw which door was hers and made sure she went inside, the click of her door echoing softly through the hall. Only then did he turn away and retire to his own room.
Chapter 4
Luna had been too exhausted the night before to properly undress. After all that had happened, she’d done little more than kick off her soggy boots and stockings, set them near the fire to dry, flung her cloak over the chair, and plopped into bed. She couldn’t remember falling asleep, but she did dream. In her dream, she'd been caught up against that cold rough rock again, but in front of her was not Mr. Denham but his brother, taller, broader. And she'd been swept away by an emotion stronger than she'd ever felt before.
He’d kissed her and not gallantly; ’twas no gentle peck to her cheek.
He'd kissed her like she was his salvation. All lips and tongue, which was odd because she'd never experienced such a thing. She knew some kisses could involve the use of the tongue. Her mother had told her so.
But how did she know how it felt? Luna wondered this as she washed and dressed that morning. She assumed her subconscious had simply put together sensations, but her curiosity was piqued. The kisses had been marvelous, but as the morning drew on, the dream grew fuzzier until all she could recall were her own feelings. Her body had become a beacon of sensation, and she didn't know what to make of it.
Her condition only grew worse as she went into breakfast and there he was, sitting at the table as if he wasn't a secret agent of the Crown. Conducting dangerous business right beneath their noses with his brother, looking as innocent as can be.
Mr. Denham caught her stare and winked.
No, there was nothing innocent about Mr. Denham. He was most definitely not someone she should trifle with. He may be younger than his brother, and far less intimidating to her senses, but he was his own particular brand of dangerous, and she had no intention of finding herself alone with him.
As for his brother…
Her focus moved to him. He sipped his coffee or tea, she couldn't be sure, not speaking but watching his brother and Lord Selhorst engage in conversation. Perhaps she had dreamed more than just a kiss. Maybe she had dreamed the entire encounter last night.
His gaze flicked to her and the clash of their eyes jolted Luna like a sudden clap of thunder.
She nodded in greeting and then directed herself to the sideboard and began to fill a plate. But her heart and her breathing had already taken off in a race to see who could outpace the other. After filling her plate, she took a seat beside Josie and Nic and began to eat her food.
“You’re a bit late this morning,” Nic said.
“I didn't sleep well,” Luna answered.
“It's odd, isn't it? One would think it would be a relief to have a bed all to oneself, but instead I feel so strange, like it's too much space and I'm exposed to attack.”
Luna took a sip of her tea and frowned at her sister. “Attack?”
Nic shrugged. “Silly, I know, but so is the fear that something is lurking under the bed, and yet as c
hildren we used to leap from the counterpane so the monster couldn’t snatch us.” She giggled.
Luna smiled. “Thank you for the reminder. I shall have to jump into bed this evening before it can grab my leg.”
“It's interesting how things we know not to be true can still make us afraid, no matter how ridiculous. Like when Papa once told us we had to sleep with a glass of water beside our bed so a werewolf wouldn’t get us.”
“But only during the full moon,” Luna said.
Nic grinned. “Tonight is a full moon.”
The mention of the full moon brought her back to last night on the beach, the three figures in the sand, the ship out on the water…
What could they have been doing?
Well, it wasn't any of her concern. He called himself an agent, which meant he was a spy. She felt a small thrill. Was that a good thing or bad thing?
She spooned some fish onto her fork as she peeked at him farther down the table. She couldn't help but see him in a whole new light. Everything he did now seemed dangerous and mysterious, as if it had some secret meaning. He appeared tired, his eyelids heavy with little creases at the corners like he was slightly squinting, perhaps fighting off the pain of a headache? Did he not sleep well?
Did he dream of their encounter, like she did, but in a much different way? What did he dream of?
Capturing foreign spies, holding meetings in dark alleys where one couldn't turn their back for a moment. And what of his brother? She moved her gaze to him. He seemed so relaxed and carefree, as though he hadn't a worry in the world, but perhaps it was all an act. Was he a master spy himself?
With a face like that and his youthful exuberance, it might be hard for anyone to say no to him and not inadvertently divulge deep secrets. But Luna didn't feel the same captivation when she stared at him. Not like when she watched his brother so intently.
She had no right to know what they were doing. It simply wasn't her business.
Her solid English blood knew there was no greater service to the Crown than those of the unsung heroes, the ones who performed in secret, some dying without friends and family ever truly knowing the heroic sacrifice they made.