Cresthaven was a grand old place, the name as original as the dynasty that currently sat on the throne. It lacked some of the more modern amenities and popular Egyptian and East Asian influence in décor, hailing back to a more medieval aesthetic that evoked the gothic feel of Barcelona. Heavy tapestries did little to muffle the sounds of their footsteps on the marble floors, nor the creaks of the ancient grand staircase.
The opulence was undeniable, however, in the crystal tinkling beneath the gas lamps, and the expensive statuary lining the halls.
“These windows over the garden trellis should be locked, as the structure could be easily climbed,” he noted aloud. He’d watched his brother do that very thing, and sneak into Mercy Goode’s bedroom to have his way with her.
“The washroom skylights should be secured, as well.” He pointed at the doors, doing his best not to think of any sort of sex happening in this house, lest his body stir.
Never. Not. Ever.
“How did you know those were the washrooms?” she queried, moving to secure the window latches.
Shit. He couldn’t very well say that he noted the tenants of the house carried lamps in the night to visit this very spot, only to return to their rooms. “Erm, many of my employers have been in this borough; the layouts are often the same in these houses.”
“Oh, of course, I never thought of that.” She accepted his answer with blithe naiveté, and part of him hated that someday, learning the truth about him would teach her to be more cynical. To distrust and to suspect.
Innocence never lasted long in his world. He hated that it would dilute hers as well.
Her life, though, was a worthy trade.
“Here’s your room.” She opened a door and stepped aside, giving him a wide berth.
“My room?” He peered into what was, even to him, a palatial accommodation done in masculine shades of green and bronze. “Shouldn’t I bed down in the servants’ quarters?”
“The servants’ quarters are all occupied, I’m afraid, and they’re also very far away from my chamber, which is just there.” She motioned to the next door over. “Seeing as how the interloper made it into the house, I… I’d rather you were close by.”
Gabriel was not a man prone to panic, but it rose within him now. There would only be a wall between them.
This was a perilous fiction. He could— he should— confess everything right now.
I’m Gabriel Sauvageau living as Gareth Severand. You’ve seen my ruined face. You’ve been terrified of me before. Having me beneath your roof might prove more dangerous than if I left you alone.
Because I am a violent man, and other violent men want me to remain dead.
They’d try to tear you apart just to make me watch.
And then you’d meet the real me.
The one drenched in blood.
No, best he stayed a dead man. A distant memory. Someone she could say a polite fare-thee-well to when the time came. He could slip back into the lonely shadows, leaving her in the light where she belonged.
The fact that her family— that her own twin— hadn’t confided the Severand names to her made it clear that they also wanted their sister protected from the truth. At least for now.
Christ, this was complicated.
Something she’d just said permeated the maelstrom of his thoughts. “Wait… you have a full servants’ quarters? A full staff, only for you?”
“Well…” Her lips twisted in adorable chagrin. “I couldn’t let any of them go, could I? Not when I could afford to keep them. It’s not their fault Cresthaven emptied out rather quickly. First Nora, then Pru, Mercy, and my parents… The staff rely on me for income. Should I put out the second cook who is raising her grandchildren? Or perhaps Heather, one of our upstairs maids, a widow who cares for her ailing father? Or Mrs. Winterton, who was once my governess, but is recently orphaned and destitute. Why, she pays for the schooling of her younger sister. I’d be a monster to let her go.”
“But have they anything to do?” he queried.
“Certainly.” Her eyes shifted as she searched her thoughts for an answer. “I mean… our silver has never gleamed so brightly, and I challenge you to find a speck of dust.”
Lord, but she was kind.
Her exceedingly gentle heart was what had set her apart from her twin in the first place. Mercy Goode was like a storm, whirling about with a charming and brilliant chaos that endlessly entertained and enchanted his brother.
Gabriel liked the woman, there was certainly no reason not to, but he was tired of chaos. His life had been one hurricane after another. One long and endless battle surrounded by subordinates equally as dangerous and untrustworthy as enemies.
Felicity was a cool and quiet breeze in contrast to her sister’s bluster. The gentle rustle of leaves, the swish of long grass, and the flap of a hummingbird’s wings.
She was the music that one must be still and quiet to hear.
And he appreciated her all the more for it.
Her heart was as large as the black hole swirling in his own chest, and he often wondered what it must be like to care so much. To feel so deeply. To love with such unabashed confidence.
Such trust and grace.
The self-conscious clearing of her throat made Gabriel painfully aware that he’d been contemplating her in silence for much too long.
“Well, here I shall leave you to be settled…” She tucked a stray tousled ringlet behind her ear.
“Miss Goode, I—”
“Would you join me for dinner at half eight? I would like to discuss the particulars of my— our— upcoming schedule for the season. I’m certain you’ll find it exceedingly tedious, but—”
“Yes.” He’d listen to the Iliad read in its original language if only to share a meal with her.
“Excellent. Good afternoon, Mr. Severand.” She held out her hand, though her timid gaze didn’t lift above his vest.
That was twice in one day she’d reached for him.
Holding his breath, he took her hand,
