Chapter Three
Her handsome-as-sin landlord was a criminal.
A criminal.
Her landlord.
Criminal.
The thought kept churning in Calliope’s mind like a vexing song she could not rid herself of. A handsome criminal.
Maxen Fury. Even his name made her skin prickle. With unease, of course. Nothing else. He even walked like he had no natural predator. Like the very air stirred differently around him.
Let’s not meet again, then.
Perhaps the wisest words ever spoken.
Still, why hadn’t Prince barked at the man? The hound had keen senses, but he’d simply remained curled up, unbothered by her landlord’s presence.
Unlike her.
Prince nudged her hand, and she stroked his head. “Very well, I shall forgive you this time,” she said her gaze on the door the man had disappeared through, leaving a coldness in his wake. The question remained: Did Mr. Fury believe her?
He was everything she had to avoid in her new life.
Dark, dangerous, and an unprecedented threat to her mission—a peaceful life free from those who would hurt and control her.
And he would be a threat.
The mere knowledge of his existence was an incomprehensible disruption.
Not to mention the man himself. His overbearing presence.
He carried himself like someone accustomed to control, to bending things—and people—to his will.
Just like Duvessa. And his eyes seemed to observe more than anyone had a right to.
Calliope couldn’t allow anyone to discover her secret.
And her slipper!
Now she must get rid of the matching one in her possession before he somehow discovered it with her. Though the idea seemed inconceivable, she couldn’t take the chance. But where? Somewhere far away from her shop.
On her way to post her letter to Mr. Fitz?
Calliope would most certainly have to rid herself of the thing during the day.
There was no way she was moving about in the dark streets again!
She would also have to start looking for another shop as soon as possible.
A place far from his territory as he so ominously called it.
Moving would be bothersome. After all, while this shop was not the best neighborhood in Brighton, her first concern had always been staying out of Duvessa’s line of sight.
Her stepmother might send people to inquire after her, and she’d wager they would never think to search for her here.
Besides, the shop was not meant to make her rich.
Her inheritance could last her a lifetime.
This life was meant to give her independence, and she’d chosen candles because they reminded her of home. Her true home.
However, Calliope didn’t want a villain as a landlord and the looming threat of danger dangling over her head. All her worries were reserved for Duvessa or her uncle.
She didn’t need this, this perilous position.
So, until she could relocate, she’d make herself as invisible as possible. She was good at that. Fortunately. Inhaling a deep, steady breath, she let the soothing scents of her shop fill her lungs.
So good.
No sooner had she allowed herself to relax than the chime of the bell struck her nerves full force. Bah! Should she replace the bell with another one? Something softer. Something that didn’t sound like doom swinging on a hinge.
She quickly smoothed her skirt and summoned a smile for yet another tall man who stepped inside. His eyes crinkled at the edges as he returned her smile with one that made her feel instantly at ease. So unlike her first customer of the day.
“Good day.” His gaze swept over the shelves with interest. “I’m in search for a gift for my niece. She adores sweet-smelling things.”
Calliope almost laughed at his twitch at the word things.
“Of course.” She indicated to the display on right. “There are more exotic scents such as poppy and rose, pear and peony, cucumber and honey. The ones on the other side are more simple scents like vanilla and such.”
He nodded thoughtfully, his gaze flicking to the bundles before back to her. “I’ll take each of the combination ones you mentioned.”
She nodded once and turned to the shelves, gathering each of the requested bundles quickly and brought them back to her counter to wrap.
“You’ve quite a charming place here,” the man noted. “How long have you been open?”
“Not too long,” Calliope replied while she slipped open the cabinet beneath the counter and drew out wrapping paper.
In the short time since she’d escaped Duvessa, she’d learned to be vague, to deflect questions without ever truly answering them.
She told him his total and added, “Just a few weeks.”
He fished the coins from his coin pouch and set them down. “Do you hail from these parts?”
Such a simple question, and yet the hairs on the back of her neck rose. “You mean England?” She carefully wrapped the items and pushed the parcel toward him.
He chuckled. “Forgive my curiosity.” His gaze lingered on her for a moment, thoughtful. “I quite enjoy Brighton myself. It’s the sort of town where one can be anyone or no one. I asked only because this shop has been unoccupied ever since I can recall.”
It has?
The doorbell tolled as she was about to respond, and the air seemed to shift, growing tense and almost electric.
Maxen Fury.
Again.
His presence filled the room instantly, his dark gaze sweeping over her with a look that was equal parts curious, assessing, and flat before turning to the other man. He looked at him with the kind of cold calculation that made Calliope’s skin prickle.
Was her customer a criminal as well?
For the love of wax, spare her, please.
“Mr. Fury,” she greeted politely, as if he were just another customer and not a dark cloud looming over her life.
Her landlord’s gaze didn’t waver from the stranger. “Peregrine. What brings you to Brighton?”
Such calm.
Such danger.
Such . . .
No. Do not get distracted. This man . . . He had done something to Mr. Rollings. Such danger was not the way to describe him. As though it was to be awed.
“Shopping,” the other man replied smoothly, his friendly demeanor now edged with a hint of challenge. “Is that a crime?”
Mr. Fury’s eyes narrowed. “Did I not tell you to steer clear of my territory?”
Territory.
There was that word again. It sent gooseflesh over her body. And from the look of it, her first real customer for today was not so simple either.
Her customer, Mr. Peregrine, glanced at Calliope, his expression softening slightly as he gestured toward Mr. Fury. “You should be careful of this man, miss.”
So forward.
Of course, she already knew this. Yet something about this warning unsettled her, sending a prickle of doubt up her spine.
That devil’s gaze turned to her, a hard glint in his eye. “And you, Miss Turner, would be wise to be wary of him.” He glanced back to her customer. “After all, he’s the one wandering into places he has no business being.”
I do not want to deal with this.
She looked between them, feeling trapped between two growling dogs.
She didn’t trust either of them, quite honestly, so forcing herself to remain calm and ignore them, she nudged the man’s parcel closer to him a bit pointedly.
“I’m quite capable of taking care of myself, Mr. Fury, thank you.
Now, if there is nothing else, please refrain from causing a stir in my store and settle your scores outside. ” And far away from me!
That mouth curved into a humorless smile as he took in her defiant stance. But there was something in his gaze that made the skin of her scalp prickle once again, an interest that she had no intention of encouraging.
“Very well, Miss Turner,” her landlord conceded.
She didn’t look at him again. Couldn’t look at him. If she did, she might never look away. Which was utterly absurd, and wholly perturbing. So the man was handsome with his dark look and piercing scar. And she could not allow her curiosity to be piqued by him.
Ever!
Mr. Peregrine gave a small chuckle, inclining his head. “Of course. I didn’t mean to upturn your morning.” He collected his purchase and, with a final tip of his head, strode out the door.
Her landlord, however, waited a fraction of a moment before following suit. She lifted her gaze. He stopped in the doorway and glanced over his shoulder, their eyes locking. “Remember what I said. Be careful who you trust. And call me Maxen, Calliope.”
Then he vanished, leaving her to blink after him.
Calliope pressed her palm to her heart.
The sense of unease didn’t leave with him but sprouted into a nagging feeling that her life was no longer as safe and predictable as she’d dreamed. She’d come to Brighton for peace, to escape the shadows of her past and start fresh. But there seemed to be beasts of a different nature lurking here.
Could she escape them, too?
*
Maxen’s eyes narrowed on the back of Deveraux Peregrine’s head. The name scraped against his teeth every time he heard it. Pomp without merit. A man who had never built a damn thing in his life. Only took. And took. And took.
He stepped up to Peregrine so that they were out of sight of his tenant’s shop. What had possessed him to make that last statement, he couldn’t say. Only that hearing “Mr. Fury” from her lips made him sound like an old man.
“I shouldn’t have to remind you to stay off my land,” Maxen growled in annoyance.
Peregrine turned, that insufferable smirk already in place. “Brighton doesn’t belong to you, Fury.”
“Not to me alone, no.”
“Ah.” Peregrine’s gaze swept over him. “Your brothers.”
There was something about that look. The way he said brothers. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like the whisper of threat beneath it. What was this fool up to now?
“I admit,” Peregrine continued, “your property expansion is impressive, but it’s hardly that impressive.”
“It’s far greater than you can imagine.”
Much greater.