Page 23 of The Swindler’s Daughter

We let the subject drop, speaking instead of how different things were now that Sir James and Princess Marilee were gone.

“I know you’re bored,” Hunter said to Emeline with a knowing glint in his eye.

“I am not bored,” she countered.

“Ha!” I couldn’t help but say. “You are the very definition of bored. It’s all you can do to prevent yourself from making new and exciting dishes for our absent master and mistress to try.”

“Ugh,” she groaned, throwing her head back. “Fine. It’s true. I very much miss Marilee and her enthusiasm for all my efforts.”

“I appreciate your efforts,” Hunter said, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

Though her mouth curved, she fought the smile. “It’s not the same. Her Highness has such a wide and varied taste in food, and new dishes excite her every time. Cooking for her is so gratifying.” Her sigh was a lament.

“I’ll have to be more effusive in the future,” I said. “Next meal, I will be sure to be in raptures over everything.”

She scoffed. “Don’t bother. I know you’d just be humoring me.” She stood and picked up her empty bowl. “Or would mocking be a more appropriate word?” she asked with a challenging lift of her brow.

“What? I would never mock. I love your cooking. You know that.” It was true. I did. Perhaps I didn’t appreciate the varied flavors, but the quality of Emeline’s food and the reliability of it was something I appreciated very much indeed.

Emeline’s reliability in all things was something I appreciated. She was the sister I’d never had, and I would never be able to thank her enough for the joy she brought my brother.

6

I left the kitchens with my large basket over my arm, surprised when I turned and found Rowan leaning against the outer wall of the kitchen. He immediately pushed himself upright when he saw me and a nervous flutter leapt in my stomach. I hadn’t seen him since we’d spoken of Isabel three days ago.

“Are you heading to the village?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered, suspicious and confused by his abrupt appearance. I had expected him to avoid me after our last conversation. It couldn’t have been comfortable for him, knowing that I knew his secret.

“I’ll join you,” he said.

“Why?”

He gave a careless shrug. “Why not?”

His demeanor was different today. He was neither the arrogant flirt nor the vulnerable husband in mourning. He was something in between, and I didn’t know how to react to this version of Rowan. So I didn’t argue with him or agree with his self-invitation. I just started walking, not offering any objection when he fell into step beside me.

“Were you waiting for me to leave?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“You’re lucky you caught me. I usually go early in the morning.”

“I know.”

I looked up at him, surprised. “You know?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes. You’re usually gone by now.”

I pulled back in surprise. “How do you know that?”

His eyes cut over to me for only a moment before turning ahead once more. “I’ve made a habit of familiarizing myself with everyone’s routines.”

How strange. “Why?”

He lifted a shoulder, seeming a little uncomfortable. “Curiosity. Vigilance. A need to control my environment. Call it what you will.”

Honestly, I didn’t know what to call it, except perhaps—“Disconcerting,” I murmured. “So then why were you waiting for me if you expected me to be gone?”