Page 14

Hurried footsteps drifted to the room, and Theo’s stare flicked to the doorway. Perry appeared, huffing, cheeks rosy and eyes bright with excitement. “You will never guess what I just learned.”

Theo exchanged a quick glance with Bash. Here we go again. Perry and his gossip.

The door clicked shut behind him, and he leaned against it. He tipped forward conspiratorially. “Guess who hasn’t been sleeping in his chambers.”

Theo frowned. “I’m going to go out on a limb here…and say the Duke.”

“The man works fast,” Bash murmured. “Already found another’s bed to warm. You better strike while the Iron Duke’s hot, or you’ll miss your chance.” He snickered at his poor jest.

Perry’s eyes narrowed at Bash. “We’re coming back to that. But…” He lifted a finger. “Whispers abound about where he’s been sleeping. No one has heard even the slightest hint of where he could be staying. The coachman and grooms have confirmed he’s taken no conveyance and hasn’t requested a mount in the evenings. He’s not spending his nights in the castle. I find it unlikely he’s spending his nights with a tenant when he hasn’t been to Ironcrest in over a decade. And he returns first thing every morning. Cook confirmed he’s been taking his meals in his chambers.”

His eyebrows lifted, his stare bouncing between Theo and Sebastian. “So the question remains: Where is he going at night?”

Theo pursed her lips. That was very odd.

Where on earth was he spending his nights?

7

Rafe

Rafe stirred and blinked slowly. Soft light illuminated the cave. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck from side to side. He winced at the stiffness in his back and neck. Sleeping on rock was not something he was accustomed to. The saddle pad he’d swiped from the stables definitely helped, though. He pushed off his greatcoat and sat up against the back wall. He’d take hard, cold stone over demons.

This small cave was far less suffocating than the chambers in the castle. He was doing better than when he’d first arrived. He could tolerate being in the castle without panic clawing at his throat. But when the sun went down, when he was alone in his chamber, waiting for sleep to claim him… His past claimed him instead.

But not here. He let his head roll back against the stone, and his eyes fell shut. Everything was better here. It was almost like she was still here. The memory of the little girl with the blond plaits and impossibly large brown eyes. She’d saved him more times than he could count growing up. Until one day she’d disappeared.

Here she was again, saving him simply with her memory.

He was hoping a certain trouser-clad woman with untamable brown hair breaking free from its confines would save him much the same way. But now there was a small wrinkle in his plans. He’d thought he was fighting her independence. It was refreshing to be around a woman who said no to him. He chuckled softly. Never would have thought that’d be the case. However, it was one thing for her to refuse on principle. He could work with that, break down that wall. But if she was saying no because there was a different Sinclair she was already bedding…

Rafe ground his teeth. There was no way. His half-brother was…eighteen? He was a pup. A woman like Miss Dawson needed a man. She was much too strong-willed for a lad like that. She’d walk all over him. She needed an adversary. He could see it in her rich brown eyes that sparked fire with every conversation. She wanted a fight, and she wanted to win, but she didn’t want it to come easy.

But Rafe hadn’t missed the familiarity between them. It was more than professional, and Lord Sebastian had been…protective.

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. Lord Sebastian. His half-brother. He was all gold and light to Rafe’s black and darkness. Even so, it was unnervingly like looking in a mirror. His heavy brow. His square jaw. His height. His breadth. Just blond where he was black. Light green where he was grey. And there was a softness, in the smile lines, in the looseness in the man’s shoulders. A softness that Rafe lost a long, long time ago.

Another reason for Rafe to stay far away from the castle. He’d done a remarkable job of avoiding Lord Sebastian and the Duchess. He knew it had been unrealistic to expect to avoid them his entire visit, but that hadn’t meant he hadn’t held out hope.

His protesting stomach echoed through the cave. He pushed to standing, then did his best to stretch while hunched over under the low ceiling. He should sneak back to his chambers, retrieve some sustenance, and then track down his steward. Miss Dawson had a very important contract that needed signing.

* * *

A horse with a gleaming liver chestnut coat cantered in the distance, drawing nearer. The rider rocked in rhythm with her mount, brown hair almost completely loose flying behind her.

Miss Dawson.

Rafe had been informed by Dawson’s clerk—who’d looked very curiously at him—that she’d gone to visit some of the tenants affected by the lost harvest.

Rafe turned his mount and steered the horse in the direction of Miss Dawson. As he neared, their gazes clashed, and she slowed her horse.

“Your Grace,” she murmured, the words nearly lost in the wind.

“I would speak with you on a matter. Are you returning to the castle?”

Rafe’s mount shifted forward and let out a low whinny. Then the steed reached forward and nibbled on Miss Dawson’s boot. Her face split into a grin.

And Rafe was nearly knocked out of his saddle.