“Welcome, sir,” Mr. Martin said, his expression cordial except for the slight twist of his mouth. His accent held traces of the Golborne backstreet alleys.
Mr. Martin barely looked at Leena and Rami. “Wardsof yours, eh?” His glance landed on Rami a second too long, and Rami stared back with barely disguised hate. “Ah, the sword fighter.”
Rami smirked. “Never yet lost.”
“May your luck endure, son.” If they hadn’t known that it was Mr.Martin who had attempted to kill Rami, Leena would have thought he sounded sincere. He sat at his desk, making a show of adjusting his papers. He turned to St. Silas again. “I do apologize for the lack of reception on your arrival; I must’ve mistaken the time.”
In contrast to Mr. Martin’s high-handed mannerisms, St. Silas—who moments before had been seething for a fight—was now perfectly at ease.
“Was my letter not precise enough?” A warning lurked beneath St. Silas’s airy demeanor.
“Of course it was. But it was the fault of my new secretary, who is not so well trained. I will certainly make my displeasure known.” Mr. Martin squinted at him.
St. Silas leaned back casually, looking around the opulent room, then gave a low whistle. “Mr. Martin, youhavecome a long way. I take pride in being the one to have brought you here. I wouldhatefor my own secretary to make a similar mistake and release information on my clients that would better be kept secret.”
Mr. Martin paled. “I am sure, sir, you would employ nothing but excellence.”
What possible secret did St. Silas have over this tradesman? Leena knew without a doubt that such a secret would be life-destroying, and she itched to uncoverit.
Just then, a knock sounded on the door. Without waiting for admittance, the door swung open and a ginger-haired man sauntered in. His fine breeding was evident in his bearing and his low bow.
Leena jolted. Sheknewhim.
It was Lord Kilworth. The servants of Lord Hargreaves’s estate used to call himthe Hunter,for more reasons than just his proclivity for collecting animal trophies. She remembered with ferocity the sobs of the scullery maid who’d been a victim of his wandering hands.
Mr. Martin made the introductions with a tight frown. “Lord Kilworth, this is Mr. St. Silas, Miss Al-Sayer, and…er…Mr. Al-Sayer.”
His Lordship’s gaze instantly landed on Leena, his perusal lingering moments too long on her corseted bodice. Leena knew that look. It was the way certain Morish men viewed Algaraan women—imagining submissive, pliant bodies; desert-brown skin against pale; an exotic adventure to be experienced then discarded.
She met his gaze with frank disgust, and her obvious refusal seemed only to stir him more.
She heard St. Silas slowly rise from his reclined position, deliberately stepping closer to her, a hardness erasing his previous carelessness.
“My ward,” he said, a coldness to his eyes.
“Yes,” Lord Kilworth said with a raise of his brows. “I had to see the…er—wardsof the infamous Saint of Silence for myself.”
Lord Kilworth’s eyes flickered over them, their features so out of place, so foreign, in the magnificence of Weavingshaw. What must they think, Leena wondered, of the Saint of Silence bringing Algaraans to this gathering of Morish nobility?
Rami stood staring out the window, but something about Kilworth drew his attention. “I’ve seen you at the Black Coats’ games,” he said. “You hunt, don’t you? I heard you once telling tale of a boar you’d shot.”
Kilworth’s pale lips tightened at Rami’s casual address. “Aye, boy, I’m a keen hunter.” His eyes fell to Rami’s missing arm.
Rather than be provoked, Rami turned back to the window, already losing interest in the conversation.
Leena had been momentarily distracted with shooting her brother warning glares:Do not draw the wrath of the aristos.But a conversation had been happening in the interim, and when she refocused she managed to catch only the tail end ofit.
“…shown toseparatequarters.” Mr. Martin’s expressive glance fell on her and St. Silas.
“Have a care,” St. Silas said softly.
Mr. Martin flushed. “As the owner of this fine house, I intend to keep its reputation pristine. You must forgive my caution.”
St. Silas’s smile was barbed. “Your owning the house alone is a scandal, Martin.”
“Sir, I would like to remind you—”
Lord Kilworth barked out a laugh. “The Saint has a secret over you, doesn’t he?”
