Chapter Ten
R osilee resisted the urge to glance back at the duke several times. Was he watching her? Why did she feel so alert to him? She swore his gaze burned on her, and that caused all sorts of gooseflesh to run across her skin. Her awareness of him frightened her at times. She barely knew the man. Yet, every bit she did learn of him made her even more curious about him, and eager to discover more.
“Do not be so nervous, my lady.”
She laughed. Nervously. “Well, saying that makes me even more nervous.” Especially approaching the dance floor for her first dance in society.
Why had she agreed to this?
Why, oh, why?
Just as they arrived at the outskirts of where everyone gathered to dance, she stopped, grabbing the earl by the elbow. “Wait.”
The earl glanced at her, concern filling his brows. “Is anything amiss?”
“I can’t dance,” she barely managed in a whisper.
“What?” He turned to her.
“I. Can’t. Dance.” She gave a nervous chuckle. “I mean, I can if I must, but not without embarrassing you, my lord.”
He stared at her without blinking and then burst out laughing. Not mocking in any way, but a sort of merry laughter that allowed the tension to ease from her body. “Then,” he murmured leaning close, “shall we take a stroll around the room?”
“Yes,” Rosilee said in relief. “I’d like that very much more than dancing.”
He took her hand from his elbow and placed it on his arm. “Well, I won’t complain. We will be able to converse more this way.”
She smiled at the man and found herself meeting his eyes more steadily. The Earl of Stagbourne was a handsome man, though in a refined, polished sort of way. Not as rough around the edges as the duke. His golden hair was neatly combed, his cravat impeccable. He was certainly prettier than the duke, who had an infuriating tendency to be both rugged and dangerously attractive all at once.
Why am I even comparing them?
“So, you are the Duke of Crane’s ward?”
Rosilee nodded, trying not to notice all the stares on them. “We’ve only recently arrived in London.”
He smiled at her. “Such a pity you didn’t arrive sooner. We might have enjoyed your presence at more events.”
Rosilee smiled. “I’m happy to have decided to join a bit of the excitement here in town now.”
But she hadn’t forgotten why she had attended the ball.
Leopold.
She hoped her brother was safe and holding on. And he must also be worried about her. But he knew her, too. Or at least, he ought to have known she would not have accepted this loss he caused. And as such, she could feel the steady weight of her mission on her shoulders. And she couldn’t forget the other specter that loomed close as well— Baston . He had followed her to London, she was certain of it. He hadn’t said so outright back at the inn, but it seemed the most likely possibility. Who else could he be looking for but her? A shiver ran down her spine at the thought. Fortunately, he didn’t rub shoulders with the upper crust to the point of being invited to balls.
Stagbourne, ever observant, glanced at her again. “You seem troubled, my lady.”
“I am a bit, in fact.” She turned to him.
She couldn’t do this.
She couldn’t go about in sweetness pretending there wasn’t a bitter cloud above her. “I shall be blunt, my lord. I am in search of a husband. I’m afraid I don’t have time for this .”
He blinked at her again, this time his mouth opened and closed along with each blink. Finally, he managed, “ This? ” He laughed once more. “Is this not the very manner by which one gets to know another, which may then lead to marriage?”
Rosilee started, caught off guard by the earl’s response. “Perhaps it is,” she said slowly, her tone softening. “But I fear with my limited time, I cannot afford to—”
“—waste it?” Stagbourne finished for her, raising an amused eyebrow. “My dear lady, I hardly think a walk in pleasant company can be considered a waste of time. Perhaps I can even be of aid to you.”
“Aid to me? We have just met.” She paused, admitting, “The duke is already helping me.”
“You mean Crane?” He nodded thoughtfully. “I see.”
Rosilee swept her gaze over the ballroom. May people were sneaking glances at them, and once more, she resisted the pull to search out her “guardian.” In fact, she caught herself mid-glance, snapping her attention back to the earl. Darnation! Why did her mind keep drifting toward the duke? His brooding presence had an uncanny way of lingering, even when he wasn’t within arm’s reach—especially when he was not.
“You see . . . what?”
He shrugged, and leaned over to whisper, “Why his expression is so thunderous.”
“Thunderous?” Why should it be? She resisted another urge to look. “Is that so?”
The earl’s smile deepened as his eyes flicked discreetly to where she had left her companion. “He seems to have taken quite an interest in our stroll.”
Her heart pounded. “You must be mistaken.”
“I don’t think I am,” the earl murmured. “I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck rising.”
Rosilee laughed, and they strolled a few moments in silence before she said, “I imagine he is just protective.”
“And I dare say, if expressions could choke a man, I would’ve been laid out flat the moment you stopped me from dragging you onto the dance floor.”
Rosilee was suddenly amused. “That would mean you haven’t been paying attention to me, my lord. The duke is indeed popular.”
“Oh, I’ve been paying attention to you, which is why I’ve also remained aware of your guardian.”
Her response was cut short by a shadow falling over them, a quiet intrusion that seemed to still the very air around her. Rosilee blinked at the duke, her heart giving a sudden, unexpected jolt. It felt as though the world paused, just for a moment, leaving her breath caught somewhere between marvel and wonder. And a touch of curiosity. He wasn’t supposed to be here, not like this—watching, waiting. And certainly not looking at her so... intensely.
“You’re not dancing.”
Oh, dear lord. That’s right. She hadn’t thought of how it might look to others. But then, she hadn’t expected him to look at all.
Didn’t you? Haven’t you been wanting to look, too?
Dear heavens! What was she even thinking?
“Crane,” Stagbourne greeted the duke, his tone far too jovial for the tension that was suddenly sizzling. “Lady Rosilee and I decided to forgo dancing. Is that a problem?”
“No.” Clipped. He glanced at Rosilee. “I . . .”
She watched as words failed this big man. It was quite the spectacular sight. And it made her heart pound like mad.
I’m in so much trouble.
Moments earlier
“Crane.”
Blake stared at an almost—very almost—mirror image of himself. His chest went hot and cold at the same time, instant beads of sweat forming on the palms of his hands beneath his gloves. A scar split the man’s left brow, as much as a unique identifier as the man’s looks, and he sported some light bruising around the corner of his eye.
“You’re a Fury.”
“ A Fury?” The man laughed. “Is that how you greet a half-brother?”
Half-brother . The very word felt foreign on Blake’s tongue.
“You—” His voice dropped a low, disbelieving. “What are you doing here? Don’t you Furys never leave Brighton?”
“That’s only Drake. And Saint. We are not all the same. There are seven of us. All handsome. Do you even know which brother you are speaking to?”
“You are the one they call Reaper.” It was a peculiar feeling, meeting a half-brother at such an event, and also speaking with each other as though the cavernous chasm of being utter strangers didn’t gape between them.
A brow shot up. “How do you know? We’ve never met. In fact, you’ve never met even one of your brothers.”
Blake’s gaze flicked over the man’s scar again. “I still know who’s who.”
“I should feel flattered, then.” The man looked him up and down. “In any event, what are you doing here? You never leave your dark castle.”
Blake’s gaze moved to the dance floor, hunting for a vibrant shine of yellow, unable to find her amongst the dancers. His brows drew together, his gaze flicking over the room as a whole. Beads of sweat broke out in the palms of his hands.
Then he found her.
She and that Stagbourne were taking a turn about the room and laughing. A deep scowl broke over his face. Why weren’t they dancing? Damn it, he was glad they weren’t—it would have been torturous to watch—but what on earth were they doing? Not knowing, just wondering, was a form, perhaps a worse form of torture, too.
“Ah, yes, that is the lady you arrived with, is it not?”
Blake stiffened, but he didn’t glance over to his half-brother. “What do you know about her.”
“Not as much as you, I suspect, but enough.”
Blake clenched his jaw. “We have always stayed out of each other’s way. But I will obliterate you if you step into my sphere and mess with what’s mine.”
“ Yours? ” A low daring chuckle. “It seems rather like yours is about to be snatched away.”
His fingers dug into the fabric of his cravat, adjusting it repeatedly as Lady Rosilee laughed again. “Stay out of my business.”
“Oh, keep your calm,” the man drawled. “I have no interest in being obliterated.”
“Just how did you get into this event?” Blake asked annoyed.
“A certain fellow named Baston secured me an invitation and asked to pick up his lady.”
Fury, fast and swift, swept through him. “Touch one hair on her head and—”
“Would I do such a thing?”
“—I will burn down your precious Brighton along with every single one of your properties, before I destroy every one of your equally precious shipping routes. There will be nothing left for you to ever reassemble from the rubble that will be left by me.”
“Dear God, man. I won’t touch a hair on her head.”
“Good.” And not reassuring at all.
“But Baston still plans to.”
“And why are you embroiled with him?”
“I’m not. We ran into each other at a tavern, and he asked me to do a job after I lost a set of hands against him.”
Blake finally looked over to meet Reaper’s gaze, his jaw tightening as he absorbed the information. It was absurd, really, how natural it felt to threaten a brother he’d only just met. “You play games with men like Baston?” His voice was hard, clipped. “That alone tells me you’re a fool.”
Reaper—or whatever this half-brother’s real name was—shrugged with an infuriating nonchalance. “I lost, and he asked me to help him as repayment. I had planned to simply flick him off my sleeve like a speck of dust until I learned, from his incessant prattle, that the lady he wanted was with you.”
Blake cursed. How had the blackguard discovered that? Baston must have more eyes and ears than he thought.
“Rest assured, I’m not here to cross you, Crane.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Will you believe me if I said I wanted to meet my mysterious half-brother, the duke?”
Blake couldn’t help but feel a cold shiver crawl up his spine at that. This meeting still felt foreign. Unnatural. The idea that they shared blood, the same father —this man who looked so similar to him yet carried an entirely different energy—was enough to unsettle him.
He wasn’t prepared for this.
“No.” His gaze drifted back to Lady Rosilee, still strolling with Stagbourne, grinning at something he’d said. The tension in Blake’s chest grew tighter. “I won’t believe it.”
“I don’t blame you, though it’s the truth.”
“Then you should have visited my dark castle if you were that curious.”
“I didn’t want to take the chance of that being my last resting place.”
Christ, were all the Furys this snippy?
“You’re glaring hard enough to burn a hole through the man,” Reaper remarked. “If you’re so concerned about him, perhaps you should do something about it.”
Blake’s glare snapped back to his half-brother. “And you think you know what I should do?”
Reaper chuckled again, folding his arms across his chest. “Just an observation. It seems rather obvious you have more than a guardian’s concern for the lady.”
“She’s my responsibility.” Just responsibility. He’d given her his word. He needed to stand by it.
“Mm.” Reaper drawled. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
Blake’s pulse quickened, his fingers itching to put his half-brother in his place. “What would you know about responsibility?”
“More than you think.” Reaper’s gaze darkened, the jovial tone fading for a moment. “Like I said, I didn’t come here to challenge you, Crane. Believe it or not, I’m not your enemy. But if Baston is involved, we both know things are about to get complicated.”
“I thought you met him in a tavern.”
“I did,” Reaper said. “Saint, however, had some rather ill-fated dealings with him in Brighton.”
“Did he lose a wager too?”
“He’s not one for cards.”
“You should take a page from his book. Foolish.”
“What can I say, I live on the reckless side of town.”
Of that, Blake was sure.
“Nevertheless, while I might not complete Baston’s task, doesn’t mean that tomorrow someone else won’t.”
A warning.
He didn’t bother responding. He stalked away from his half-brother, his eyes locked on Lady Rosilee, his mind set on one thing: she was not slipping through his fingers. Not tonight. Not ever.