This awoke the lime-green bird, who’d been peacefully sleeping on the rafters above. Ruffling his tail feathers first, he stretched out his head and gave it a good shake. After several struts along a thick beam, he began hollering, “Beast with two backs! Beast with two backs! My tongue in your tail!”
Eoin felt his entire face flame like a furnace. Across from him, Dr. Talbot also turned a very vibrant red. Overhead, Pan produced a gravelly sound that seemed suspiciously akin to laughter.
Yet there was another warmth suffusing Eoin that had nothing to do with embarrassment. Eoin was enjoying himself. Immensely. For once in his life, he felt neither judged noroverlooked. Was this what people called companionship? If so, he rather liked it.
Eoin had just settled in bed to read a pile of gazettes when a knock startled him. His valet had long since gone to bed along with the other staff. The only other sound was the curtains rustling in the summer night’s breeze. Even if a servant was awake, they would scratch softly. Only one person would knock so officiously.
An odd fluttering erupted deep within Eoin as he swung his legs off the feather tick mattress and padded over to the door. That cursed blush—the one that only Hannah and that wretched parrot could inspire—washed over him. Yet even as his body started to kindle, he firmly drew steadying breaths. He shouldn’t get excited. Hannah wasn’t his real mistress. There was no reason for her—
Swounds. It really was Hannah. And she wore naught but a nightgown; even her feet were bare.
Eoin’s hand froze on the knob, and he stood like a wooden sentry. Hannah, however, pushed inside without a hint of embarrassment. As she moved close, he swore he could smell coffee, nutmeg, and vanilla.
She paused only a scant few inches from him. Though Hannah didn’t even brush against him, his skin reacted to her nearness. Brilliant small pricks flared into larger sparks until he feared his breathing would grow uneven. When her warm fingers closed over his, he nearly jumped.
As if from a distance, he registered that she was closing the door. When it snicked shut, they were standing with his bodypractically bracketing hers against the paneled wood. He knew little of embraces and even less about lovers, but he instinctively understood the intimacy inherent in their position. All he needed to do was to dip his head, and their lips would meet. Would she accept his kiss? Would her lips open under his? Would she sigh or perhaps even moan?
“I thought I should pay a visit to your chambers,” Hannah told him blithely, her voice containing none of the strained excitement thundering through him. “It would be rather strange if a mistress did not stop by occasionally, especially since I didn’t the first night. I made sure to tread extra loudly when I passed your uncles’ and aunts’ bedrooms.”
“Oh,” Eoin said as disappointment rushed through him. Although what had he expected? At least his tone sounded as neutral as hers.
“Should we take a seat?” Hannah asked. “On furniture other than the bed. No need to make this awkward.”
“Of course.” Was his voice pitched too high?
Thankfully, Hannah didn’t appear to notice. She was striding in that economical manner of hers over to the heavy wooden chairs in front of the unlit fireplace. Like in his grandfather’s former study, the bedchamber was filled with uncomfortably solid Jacobean pieces that felt more like squat monuments to the late duke’s old-fashioned ways than functional furnishings. Eoin really should redecorate, but he still felt like he didn’t have the authority.
Hannah, though, appeared to have no qualms as she plopped down on one of the thin cushions overlayed with a tapestry of a hare standing on its hind legs. She once again managed to lounge—a true feat since the back was not only straight but carved into a relief of a medieval hunt. Although the art piece was impressive, it was not exactly the most comfortablesurface. There were too many raised hooves and dog noses that viciously poked into one’s ribs.
“Aren’t you going to sit too?” Hannah asked.
“Ah, um, yes.” Eoin slowly lowered himself onto a matching chair. He sat stiffly, careful not to press against any of the designs.
“I suppose we should pass the time talking about our plans.”
Hannah’s efficiency should please him. After all, he rarely indulged in pleasantries. But he found himself wanting to have a simpler, quieter conversation with her. One in which they shared tidbits about themselves—like whether they preferred butter to jam on bread or if they liked foggy days more than sunny ones. Small things that Eoin had never cared to know about another person but now seemed vitally important.
“Yes. Yes, I suppose we should discuss the investigation.” Coward. All Eoin had to do was ask a simple question, and she could decide whether or not to answer. But apparently that was too difficult.
“It is good that the others are investigating, but you and I should—”
Hannah stopped as a round object suddenly sailed through one of the open windows. It crashed against the curtains surrounding his four-poster bed. The missile was hefty enough that it didn’t bounce back but instead pinned the thick material against the feather tick.
“What was that? A rock?” Eoin blurted out as his heart thudded from surprise. Had someone been aiming to hit him? At this late hour, he was always abed, even if not asleep.
Hannah said nothing. Instead, she bolted upright and flew toward the bed. With a battle cry, she snatched up the projectile and whirled around. Her eyes frantically searched for something. When her gaze landed on his filled washbasin, shedashed over and dumped the pomegranate-shaped thing into the porcelain bowl. A thin trail of smoke wafted into the air.
“Was—was that on fire?” Eoin felt even more poleaxed. He’d heard of unattended candles setting bed draperies ablaze and quickly killing the sleeping occupant. If someone had tried to set his aflame, they weren’t just aiming to frighten but to kill him. His limbs felt curiously weak as he slowly pushed himself from his chair.
“Yes,” Hannah said. Even her voice didn’t sound as confident as it usually did. In fact, he may have detected a very faint quiver.
“What was it?” Eoin asked, ignoring how his legs threatened to buckle under his weight. Instead, he forced himself to cross the room.
“A grenade.” Hannah bit out the two words, her tone dark.
Eoin faltered before managing the last few steps. Swallowing, he stared down at the submerged metal ball. The wick sticking out of the cylinder was perilously short. A hairbreadth more and the entire incendiary device might have detonated.
“I’ve read about these types of munitions being used in the Battle of Killiecrankie,” Eoin breathed out as he studied the sphere, “but I’ve never encountered them in real life.”
