“I own this place. And you are not Mr. Jameson. And you are not one of the foundlings. And you are not”—he snapped that single syllable in two between his teeth—“my sister.”
Nico meant well, but there was no hiding now.
Jane ducked under his arm. “Good morning, Victor. I see you’ve met Sir Nicholas Bowen.”
Oh dear. Her brother seemed ready to explode. His face careened from red to ghost white and back again, settling in a splotchy place between the two. He looked so much like their father—honey-blond hair, liquid brown eyes, a thin slash of a mouth—but she’d never seen that expression on her father’s face.
Nico bowed. “It’s… interesting to meet you, your grace. I’ve heard a little about you but know you best from your”—his gaze swept over the hallway floor and ceiling and staircase behind her brother—“charitable contributions to the house.” Meaning, his failure to contribute charitably to this house past the superficial improvements made by his glamours.
Her brother stood on the stairs with one foot on the landing, and he finished that half step now. “What were you doing in my sister’s room?” His voice cold as ice. It didn’t even seem to fog the cold air hanging over everything.
“I was just leaving,” Nico said. “Your sister needed help with her… window. It wasn’t locking. And since I’m an alchemist, I am the best man for the job. Interesting, though…” He studied his fingernails. “The locks look perfectly new. But the mechanism is eaten right through. Wonder how that could have happened…” He lifted his gaze slowly up to her brother, eyelids heavy, one brow lifted.
They would fight. Didn’t know how she knew it, but she did. Her brother had never, as far as she knew, thrown a fistat another soul, but Nico, oh yes, he would brawl with the best of them. And if anyone could irritate her brother into a bare-knuckle argument, it would be Sir Nicholas Bowen.
She stepped between the men. Some of her confidence from last night remained humming along her skin. She was not entirely powerless. She could control this situation.
“You should not be in an unmarried woman’s room without a chaperone!” her brother bellowed.
He’d wake up the children. She placed a palm to his chest and said the only thing she could think of saying to soothe his sense of propriety. “We are engaged to be married, Victor.”
Her brother blinked, his head slowly tilting to the side. Then his eyes narrowed as they focused entirely on her. “I do not remember giving you my permission to marry this man.”
She stood as tall as she could, which was much too short sandwiched between two tall men. “I gave myself permission.”
Victor’s gaze shot to Nico. “You’re an alchemist.”
Nico nodded.
“From Bristol? Do you run a large forge?”
“From Bristol with a shop in London. No forge at all. At the moment.”
“What kind of shop?”
“A modest one. It’s been closed for two years.”
The duke sneered. “You think you can support a duke’s daughter?”
“I know I can. I love her.”
Oh. Jane wrapped her hands together at her heart. Nico’s words made something shivering there feel as if it would never be cold again.
“I’ve five other men with deeper pockets than you,” her brother drawled, “ready to marry my sister. Your love of her means nothing.”
“I beg to differ!” Jane lifted her chin.
He scowled, and that made him look very muchnotlike their father. “Jane, get back into your room.”
“No.”
He pretended not to hear her. “And Sir Nicholas, leave. Now.”
“I’d rather not.” Nico crossed his arms over his chest and stepped closer to Jane. “Not unless she comes with me.”
A horrible scandal if she did that. But she would do it. Nico was her future, and she trusted him. She’d walk right into the unknown at his side.
Victor regarded them together, his jaw working hard, then his mouth flung open, and he yelled, “Kringle!”
