“I thought it best we talk quietly,” he whispered.
Her eyes widened before she dropped her hand and her brows lowered. “By the beard of Zeus, you scared away two years of my life. You could have fallen. Have you no brains?” The last word ended in what could only be called a hiss.
It took him a moment to answer before understanding set in. She had been afraid for him. “There was no need to worry. I’ve been walking these balconies since I was half a score. It’s always been the easiest way for causing mischief for my sister.”
She eyed him doubtfully, her hand swinging back and forth. “You crossed these balconies to cause mischief? You must understand that is difficult to imagine.”
He smirked as memories flooded his mind. “I was quite good at it, actually. Ask Rose about the time she found a frog in her bed or when her favorite dress had a mysterious, purple stain in the middle.”
“You did that by jumping balconies to slip into her room? Why not use the inside corridor?”
He loved that she pictured and analyzed his story so quickly. “I did it at night, while she slept.”
Once more, her eyes widened. “Do you mean to say that shewoke upwith the frog in her bed?”
He grinned. “At least it wasn’t a dead frog.”
She squealed but quickly covered her mouth, still giggling behind her hands.
“Mother was sorely disappointed in me, but I think my father was rather proud.”
She dropped her hand and gave him a stern look, or tried to. “What a terrible brother you were.”
“Yes, I was. But to be fair, Rose was just as terrible as I…and still is. Though no one would ever know.” The sudden thought that she might have to lose her mischievous nature once married sobered him, leaving behind a sadness he didn’t quite understand.
“It sounds like you much enjoyed playing pranks on each other. Do you not anymore?”
“No. We must become proper adults.”
She wriggled her nose as a smile lifted her lips. “Rose hasn’t, at least not in private.”
That was true. He didn’t have to think long on when he’d stopped. It was when Belinda had passed. There just hadn’t seemed a point to it, or anything else, for that matter.
“Does she not call you anything besidesbrother? I never hear her call you by your name.”
The question brought his good humor back. “Ah, yes, as for that, she does not like my name, especially my title. She says it sounds like I’m in charge of a forest filled with rabbits. When she was just a child, she named me ‘the King of Bunnies.’”
“Oh, I do like that. Would you mind terribly if I—”
“Absolutely not.” He made his quiet voice as stern as he could.
She sighed. “Alas, if not that, then I must find another name to call you, at least when talking to Rose. I will now never be able to sayLord Harewoodwithout thinking of all those cute bunnies.”
Her comment reminded him of her penchant for creating images in her head, and he groaned. “Then I must insist on approving said name.”
“That is acceptable. I shall endeavor to create a number from which you can choose.”
That she would go to the trouble, not only of giving him a nickname, but also of allowing him to decide with her, filled a small void in his heart he hadn’t realized had been there. “I would enjoy that.”
Even in the darkness, it was easy to see at such close proximity that her eyes lit with pleasure as she spoke. “This then is something else that will make you happy. I do believe we arefinding quite a number of things, and this one is the first that is not about winning.”
Her observation struck him. Was winning truly his only happiness? If he succeeded in helping Belinda’s school gain a good reputation, it wouldn’t be winning, would it? No, it would be succeeding in keeping her name on a pedestal, where it belonged. That very thought brought him back to the reason he had jumped the balconies. “There is something else that makes me happy, and that is your success here at Sunnydale. You have done very well to curb your conversation, yet here you are on your balcony in the middle of the night when you should be abed.”
She glanced behind him as if someone would overhear. “I’m troubled. My thoughts are a muddle.”
It was smart to be cautious. Anyone could step out onto their balcony and find them together and then all their efforts would have been in vain. If he remembered correctly, her muddle was a tangle of yarn dropped into a puddle, which did sound serious. “If you would like me to assist you in untangling your thoughts, I suggest we move into your room to discuss what is causing such a ruckus in your head.”
“That would hardly be proper.” Her more formal tone change reminded him of his sister’s regular switches in character.
