His expression hardened with resolve. “Everything,” he said simply. “I can fix this if you will let me.”
After a few moments she nodded. “I do trust you, but I can’t let you do that. This is not your problem, Lee.”
But it was his problem. It had become his problem the moment she had explained Basil’s peril. There were too many possibilities for who held the noose around Basil’s neck. Too many hands eager to tighten the rope. But whoever it was—they had chosen the wrong family. Leander would not allow them to hurt Sabrina or anyone she loved. He would see the culprit ruined. He would see them beg for mercy before he allowed a single tear to fall from her lashes. Leander would see them brought to their knees for even daring such a thing.
He had to convince her that he could do this for her. That he would do it regardless. Even if she gave him leave to or not. But he did not know how he could convince her. But he could not say all of that. Words felt inadequate. Useless. Instead of words he pulled her into his arms, one hand cupping the back of her head as he crushed his mouth to hers
He could no longer deny the passion inside of him. He was tired of being the gentleman and leaving her alone. He wanted her. He had always wanted her. The moment their lips met, the world shifted.
It was not a gentle kiss. It was years of restraint snapping. It was fury and fear and desire and devotion all colliding at once. Sabella gasped into him, hands curling into his coat as though startled by the force of his hunger—and yet she did not pull away. Instead, she melted against him, returning his kiss with a desperation that stole the breath from his lungs.
He deepened the kiss, tasting every soft sound she made, every shiver, every surrender. God help him, he had tried—tried for far too long—to behave as a gentleman ought. Tried to keep his distance and to pretend the fire between them was mere imagination. But she was pressed against him now, warm and trembling. Her lips were soft and eager beneath his, and all his good intentions shattered.
He was done being noble. He lifted his head only long enough to speak against her lips. “I am tired of pretending I do not want you,” he said hoarsely.
Her breath hitched, her eyes wide and luminous. “Leander…”
He brushed his thumb across her cheek, gentling himself only for her sake. “You may tell me no. You may tell me never again. But I will not deny this any longer. Not this. Not you.”
She swallowed, her fingers still twisted in his coat as though unsure whether to draw him back or push him away. “I should tell you no,” she whispered, her voice unsteady. “The price of allowing you in my life may prove to high.”
He leaned his forehead to hers. “Let it cost me, Sabella. I am not afraid of the price.”
“I am afraid it is me that will pay it,” Her eyes fluttered shut, as if the admission cut deeper than any blade. “I don’t know if I can trust my heart with you again.” she breathed. “And what about Basil? If you involve yourself, you put yourself in danger as well.”
“Then so be it,” he said firmly. “I will not stand by while someone threatens your family. Threatens you. I would walk into any fire for you, Sabella.” He should tell her about his skills now. It might ease some of her worries, but he couldn’t shatter this fragile thread between them.
Her lips parted on a soft, trembling exhale—as though some long-held resistance had finally cracked. He kissed her again—slower this time, reverent, as though he feared she might vanish. Her hands slid up to his shoulders, gripping him with such fierce emotion it nearly undid him.
Whatever happened next—whatever hell he had to walk through—he would face it gladly. He would save her brother. He would hunt down the coward who dared threaten them. And he would not let Sabrina Fairfax go. Not now. Not ever again.
Nine
The stench of the London rookeries clung stubbornly to the thick morning fog, but inside the cavernous warehouse on Whitechapel’s edge, the air held the clean bite of sawdust, new timber, and fresh mortar. Leander Ashby, the Duke of Lionston, stood near the entrance, surveying the progress with a critical eye as a team of carpenters hammered away at the far wall.
The Lion Watch—his men, his creation—was finally taking shape. The renovations would take months, perhaps longer, but for now the heart of the building had been completed: his office. A refuge carved out of chaos.
He strode toward it, boots echoing over uneven floors. As soon as he closed the heavy door behind him, the outside noise dimmed. Mahogany bookshelves lined the walls, gleaming despite the gloom. A deep leather settee sat beneath the shuttered window, and the large desk—solid oak, polished to a mirror sheen—anchored the room like a command post. A man could think in here. A man could plan. Leander had just begun removing his gloves when the door opened without ceremony.
Dashiell Blackwell the Earl of Ravenwood—Dash to the very few who earned the right—entered with his usual lazy confidence, though the sharpness in his golden hazel eyes betrayed purpose. “Your den of righteous mischief is coming along,” Dash remarked, shutting the door behind him. “The new recruits are assembled and will begin preliminary drills this afternoon. Prepare yourself—Viscount Slothington will be arriving within the hour. He assured me he will have a report regarding that issue you asked him to investigate.”
“Consider myself warned.” Leander snorted. “Hell’s teeth. Slothington is going to be punctual?” He shook his head in wonderment. “That alone is cause for suspicion. It must be one hell of a report he has to give me.”
Dash smirked. “Indeed. If he arrives sober, I shall assume the world is ending.” He slid into a chair near Leander’s desk. “I admit to some curiosity regarding this task you sent him on.”
“It is an important one, I assure you.” Leander sank into the chair behind his desk, steepling his fingers. “I need to know what Slothy discovered. There is more at play here than I have told you.” His expression darkened. “I uncovered something… troubling.”
Dash met his gaze with one brow lifting in invitation.
“It concerns Sabrina—and her brother, Lord Whitley,” Leander continued. “Whitley is entangled with a Frenchwoman. Élise. It’s much more than a reckless lord keeping questionable company. This woman appears entirely too interested in his political connections. I cannot say it with any certainty, but she had a look to her. One we both are well familiar with.”
Dash’s gaze sharpened. “And Whitmore—their father—sits at the center of the War Office.”
“Precisely.” Leander leaned forward, voice low and taut. “A woman with Élise’s beauty and cleverness does not attach herself to a rising lord for affection alone. She is playing Whitley, and he is too besotted to notice.” It pained him to witness it and it was even worse considering his feelings for Sabrina. It was a disaster in the making. “Sabrina confirmed that her brother is being blackmailed.”
Dash exhaled a slow breath. “Which means the Lion Watch may have stepped into something we are not fully set up to handle… If she seeks information?—”
“We must learn what that Frenchwoman is after,” Leander finished. “And before she acquires it or before Whitmore realizes his son has been compromised. The earl will not be pleased with that bit of information.”
