I glanced at the clock on my nightstand, which read close to midnight.
Where did a man go at this hour, in weather that made the roads treacherous in daylight, let alone at night? The nearest village was miles away and barely more than a collection of stone cottages and a pub that would have closed hours ago.
I considered looking for another vehicle, which was absurd—I was recovering from a concussion, didn’t know the roads, and Kiernan’s comings and goings were none of my business. He was entitled to leave his own home as he pleased, at whatever hour suited him.
I stood at the window for too long, wondering. Eventually, I returned to bed, but sleep remained elusive. I lay in the darkness, trying to construct logical explanations for his departure.
An emergency, perhaps—a tenant in trouble on some distant corner of the estate, livestock in distress, estatebusiness that couldn’t wait until morning. Or perhaps duty had called him away. Had Typhon summoned him for a mission on behalf of Unit 23? We were all on leave, but it could be canceled. Missions didn’t respect schedules.
I tossed and turned as my innate curiosity kept my mind reeling.
Hours later, I heard the crunch of gravel through the rain’s dying patter. Headlights swept across my ceiling, cutting bright arcs through the darkness. I waited, listening to a car door open and close.
It was zero four hundred now, which meant Kiernan would’ve had time for a round trip to Inverness, long enough for a meeting or a rendezvous or a task that required the cover of darkness, long enough for a hundred possibilities, each more intriguing than the last.
“He left around midnight,”I said in a hushed tone to Ophelia over breakfast the next morning. Millie had cleared away our plates, and we sat alone in the dining room with cooling cups of tea. “He drove off into the storm and didn’t return until nearly dawn.”
“I wonder where he went,” she murmured as she tapped her lower lip with her index finger.
“I assure you that the possibilities one conjures in the middle of the night are virtually endless,” I said with a wink that made her smile.
Her mood shifted quickly, though. “He’s hiding something,” she said at last.
I nodded. We’d be here nine more days, and the question was no longer whether Kiernan Lockhart had secrets. Certainly, the locked rooms and midnight drives pointed to a life I doubted had much to do with his duty to the Crown. The question was what those secrets were, and whether they posed any danger to the two people staying under his roof.
4
KIERNAN
Iwoke shortly after I’d drifted off, with the taste of a dream lingering on my tongue.
The images scattered as I reached for them—dark hair spread across white sheets, a man’s groan, two bodies intertwined while I lurked in the shadows. I pressed the heels of my hands to my sockets until the fragments dissolved.
They were here. In my home. Sleeping in the guest wing I’d offered like a fool who believed he could handle the proximity.
During the Labyrinth mission, I’d studied them, planning how I might eventually have them. Now, they were here, and the only plan I had was avoidance. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
I got up and crossed to the window, staring out at the land that had always given me peace. Today, it didn’t.
After dressing, I made my way downstairs.
“You’re up early, my lord,” said Millie, who was already in the great hall.
“Estate business.” The lie came easily. “I’ll be in my library most of the day. Please let our guests know I send my apologies.”
She dipped her chin and returned to her work without pressing, but her eyes lingered for a moment too long. She’d obviously noticed the shadows under my eyes and the tension I carried. Millie had witnessed me at my worst. She wouldn’t ask, but she’d watch.
In the room that was my refuge, I sat behind the desk my father had used and his father before him, surrounded by ledgers and correspondence that demanded attention. I stared at the pages without reading a word, but it didn’t matter. This was manageable.
Theywere not. But Oliver would recover, they would leave, and I’d return to the solitude that kept everyone safe. A few weeks of distance, and I’d stop imagining her laugh at my dinner table. Stop picturing him in my bed. Stop craving them with a ferocity that bordered on obsession.
I almost believed it.
As hard as I tried to focus on the columns of numbers, my mind continued circling to them.
Ophelia’s beauty wasn’t what had drawn me to her initially. It was her mind—the way she’d analyzedintelligence with an acuity that impressed even Typhon and her quiet competence that never demanded recognition. During our mission, I’d observed her adapting to every shifting variable without complaint, solving problems before others noticed they existed.
Oliver was no less compelling. His wit was a weapon he wielded with skill, but underneath the charm was kindness. I’d seen it in how he treated Millie, asking about her grandchildren as if he actually cared, and in how he deferred to Ophelia without ever diminishing himself. He’d thanked me for the room, the meals, and the hospitality, with an earnestness that couldn’t be anything but authentic.
