Xenia had no way of knowing if Ethan’s sister meant anything by referring to the novel about a forbidden romance between a gentleman and his servant. Seeing no polite way to refuse, however, she went and sat. As Ethan’s family did her the courtesy of not gawking at her, she tried to return the favor. It wasn’t easy. Seeing the Blackwood clan together was akin to looking into the sun: they were a physically dazzling bunch.
Xenia saw that Ethan and Lady Gigi had inherited their looks from their mama, Lady Pandora Harrington, who occupied the chaise across the coffee table. Although she must be in her fifties, the Marchioness of Blackwood’s glamorous beauty was ageless. Her upswept raven curls were lustrous and rich, the few streaks of silver adding dramatic flair. Her tip-tilted eyes were a familiar stormy violet-blue, and her delicate features had a few lines to honor the passage of time. She wore a smart cerulean carriage dress which accentuated her voluptuous figure.
Standing behind her chair was the marquess, Lord Marcus Harrington, who’d obviously passed his looks to his eldest son and heir, Lord James, the Earl of Manderly. The men shared the same bronze-colored hair, grey-blue eyes, and brawny build. The Marquess of Blackwood’s hawkish countenance was pleasantly weathered, and he had the kind of upright bearing that Xenia associated with military men.
Sprawled in an adjacent chair was Lord Owen Harrington. He combined his parents’ traits, having his father’s blade of a nose, his mama’s full mouth, and eyes that appeared to range from grey-blue to grey-violet, depending on the light. Yet he also possessed characteristics entirely his own. His skin was darker, tanned from exposure to a strong sun. His gaunt face held shadows that looked as if they’d been inked on by exhaustion. Although his build appeared naturally rawboned, he was nonetheless too thin. The same height as Ethan, Lord Owen probably weighed three stone less.
The frequency with which he ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair suggested this was a nervous habit. He was fidgety in general. The reason for Lord Owen’s agitated state was obvious to Xenia: his eyes kept darting to Ethan who, on the other hand, assiduously avoided the other’s gaze. Because she knew Ethan, she knew that he was not unaffected—quite the opposite. Despite his indolent stance by the fireplace, he was struggling to maintain his composure, and his earlier words came back to her.
“I cannot be angry at Owen. But I cannotnotbe angry at him either.”
She wished with all her heart that she could ease Ethan’s torment. Even though she did not know Lord Owen, she felt a welling of compassion for him too. He seemed to mirror Ethan’s emotions, but he was far worse at hiding his pain. A cloud of dark energy seemed to surround him, letting out lightning flashes of anger and shame.
If it hurt Xenia to witness the tension between the brothers, she couldn’t imagine how it felt for their family members. What she did know was that there was no shortage of love in the room. It was there in the way Lord Blackwood kept a proprietary hand on his wife’s shoulder, as if he craved a physical connection with her and this small gesture was what propriety allowed him. The way she looked up at him, with the adoration of a newlywed despite their years of marriage. The way they both looked at their children, with pride and anxiety and fierce protectiveness.
Seeing the familial closeness reminded Xenia of her old longings. There’d been a time when she yearned for her mama’s love and approval. She could have endured Mama’s beatings and tongue-lashings…but Papa’s murder had been the last straw. That horrific act had made her realize that her mother was a monster from whom she wantednothing.
Yet even good and loving parents had their crosses to bear. Despite their wealth and power, the marquess and marchioness could not change what had happened to Lord Owen in the war. Or what happened between Lord Owen and Ethan afterward. Or the losses Ethan had sustained while trying to help his brother. The ongoing tension between the Blackwoods’ sons yanked and thrashed like a fish caught on a hook, straining the bonds between all the family members who were simply trying to hold on.
Standing by the fire, Ethan felt none of its warmth. Cold rage spilled through his veins, triggered by his brother’s presence. He didn’t know what Owen was doing here—why their parents had thought having them in the same room together was a good idea after the last time. In that instance, Owen had been drunk while the rest of the family, as usual, made excuses for his behavior. Resentment had swelled in Ethan, overwhelming his self-control. Before he knew it, he’d dragged Owen out of his chair, throwing him against a wall.
“You’re a selfish wastrel,”he’d roared in his brother’s face.“Destroy yourself, if you must, but have the courtesy of not taking the rest of the family along with you. I’ve already lost everything because of you. Isn’t that bloody enough?”
“I didn’t ask for your help or anyone else’s,”Owen had shouted back.“You should have left me alone!”
Seeing red, Ethan had thrown the first punch. Owen had fought back, and it had taken Papa and James to break them apart. Mama’s weeping echoed in Ethan’s head now as he surveyed his younger brother. At least Owen didn’t appear soused. Conflict twisted Ethan’s gut as he realized that his brother looked like shite…like he wasn’t eating or sleeping properly. Was Owen still up to his old vices? Was he drinking, gambling, and whoring?
What Owen does is none of your damned business. Because of him, you lost your ability to play and perform. How much more are you willing to sacrifice?
His chest heaved, and he instinctively looked at his hands…his uncovered hands. After exposing his scars to Xenia, he’d worn the gloves less and less and now rarely did so when he was at home. Gigi hadn’t commented upon this change, but he knew that she’d noticed and the rest of his family noticed too. He saw the hope in his parents’ and James’s expressions. And he saw Owen looking at his damaged hand while pretending not to.
Ethan didn’t know how he felt about any of that.
He looked over at Xenia. The understanding in her eyes felt as soothing as her balm. In truth, he’d maneuvered her into staying for two reasons. The first was that she was an important part of his life, and he wanted her and his family to meet. The second reason was purely selfish: with her by his side, he felt calmer and better able to deal with his brother. She had liked that he’d protected her, but what she didn’t realize was that, in her own way, she protected him too. From his temper and tendency to brood on the past.
“So.” As usual, James took charge, breaking the awkward silence. “The rumors of the ghost are proving more than rumors, then?”
Ethan held on to his patience. “There is no bloody ghost.”
“But Gigi wrote us a letter informing us of a curse. That is why we came with such haste, dearest.” Mama gazed at him, her brow pleating. “Gigi wrote about slaughtered chickens, a piano covered with bloody fingerprints, and a sighting of a specter in chains. And now your gazebo went up in flames? Clearly,somethingis going on.”
Despite her ladylike appearance, Mama had a spine of steel. She’d been a loving and indulgent mother, but she was no pushover. Ethan and his siblings had discovered this the hard way.
“The sighting was not verified,” Ethan replied. “A former cook was the only one who supposedly saw the ghost. At any rate, I am taking care of the matter. There is no need for interference on your part.” He narrowed his eyes at Gigi. “Or anyone else’s.”
“Don’t glower at your sister, dear,” Mama said. “She was only trying to help.”
“Iwasonly trying to help.” Gigi nodded righteously. “As you haven’t made inroads into finding the culprit, it wouldn’t hurt for you to accept assistance, would it? There’s no need to be stubborn.”
“I am not being stubborn,” Ethan retorted.
Unfortunately, he was, and he didn’t know why. Perhaps it had to do with the time immediately following his injury, when his family’s desire to help him had felt too much like pity. Perhaps it was his pride and desire to show them that, despite his altered condition, he was still his own man and could handle his affairs.
“Perhaps your family could help review possible suspects?”
The suggestion came from Xenia, of all people. All gazes swung in her direction, including Ethan’s. He didn’t hide his annoyance, but she only raised her brows as if to say,If you didn’t want my participation, then you oughtn’t have plunked me in the middle of your family gathering.
He supposed she had a point.
