A lie. A bloody great one. He had more memories than he knew what to do with. He spent half his life trying not to think about them. He’d rebuilt himself by burying the past as deep as he could shove it. Digging it up meant weakness, and weakness had no place in the man he’d become.
She searched his face as if she could see everything he was hiding, and damn it if he didn’t feel his toes curl inside his boots.
Very gently, she then placed the book back onto the shelf.
“Good day to you, Mr. Mungo.” Eliza Downing dropped into a curtsey and then walked around him, skirts brushing lightly against his leg, and left the shop without a backward glance.
“Mungo,” he muttered, staring after her like an idiot.
Then, without thinking, because thinking would have stopped him, he reached for the book she’d put back on the shelf and took it to the counter.
George Nicholson’s sister—he really needed to remember her name—wrapped it neatly and then handed it to him. Mungo stuffed it down the back of his trousers, tugging his jacket down over it and buttoning it tightly.
“Whoever you’ve purchased that for,” she said with a soft, knowing smile, “I know they’ll love it.”
He simply nodded. Then, with the weight of the book pressing into his spine, Mungo left the shop with tension still riding him.
Looking up and down the road and not in the direction of Appleblossoms, where Miss Downing would no doubt be, he saw a carriage turning into Crabbett Close. A man sat inside, looking out the window.
The shock of recognition hit Mungo hard. He started moving again as it rolled past.
Surely that wasn’t who he thought it was? It had been many years since they’d seen each other—it couldn’t be, could it?
“Why are we running?” Leo pulled up alongside him. “What’s the emergency?”
“Go away,” Mungo growled. His heart was pounding, and not just from the exercise and cold air he was sucking in.
“Mungo. What the hell is going on?” Leo demanded. “Alex said you’ve been behaving oddly.”
He watched the carriage as it slowed outside number 11.Christ.
“I think my brother is in that carriage.” He pointed at the vehicle.
“You’ve got a brother?”
“I do, aye.” Mungo kept his eyes on the carriage. “I’ve told you about my niece. Where did you think she came from?”
“Oh, right. I forgot about that momentarily,” Leo wheezed from beside him.
“Aren’t you nobles meant to be educated?” Mungoneedled the man so he didn’t have to think about what he would do if that really was his brother.
A burst of laughter had them turning to the rotunda, where people were clearly having fun. Mungo thought seriously about heading in that direction instead of straight ahead.
“Insulting me is not distracting me from the fact that your brother has called.”
He slowed to a walk, not eager now to find out if Calder was inside that carriage.
“You make it sound like it’s something I want. Like it’s one of those silly morning calls that usually take place in the afternoon. Such is the stupidity of society and its pointless rules.”
“When did you last see your brother?” Leo asked, cutting through Mungo’s attempts to avoid the fact that the sibling he’d not seen since he’d left Scotland many years ago was likely about to step out of that carriage.
Just then, the door swung wide, and a black boot appeared, followed by a man.
“Well?” Leo demanded.
Mungo ignored him and kept walking to number 11 Crabbett Close just as his brother reached the front door and knocked.
He climbed the steps and stood behind him.
