She’d dreamed oftouch.
Of fingers trailing over her collarbone. Of dark eyes watching her from the shadows, daring her to run. Ofgreed, not for coin or power—but for her. His hands, his mouth, hisvoice. It wasn’t the sort of dream a sensible woman allowed to linger past dawn. And certainly not one she let bloom while surrounded by marchionesses and countesses!
But even now, the memory pressed deep against her skin.
For the love of wax . . .
If she was going to dream about a man, why him? Why not someone safe, distant, and utterly uninvolved with landlords and missing merchants and an unfortunate urge toseehim again? Because Maxen Fury—no matter how dangerous, no matter how maddening—had cracked something in her the moment he’d stepped into her shop.She’dfeltit, damn him. As if the air had changed texture. As if her body recognized something before her mind could put words to it. Still couldn’t put words to it.
She didn’t need that kind of peril in her life.
Not again.
This little shop, wherever it may be located, here or in Wales or anywhere else, was her sanctuary because it was first carved in her heart. Every candle she molded was a small declaration:I am here. I have survived. You cannot find me. You cannot strip me of this life.
“Well, no matter,” Holly piped up. “It doesn’t matter where you are from, only where you go from here.”
“Exactly!” The countess grinned.
“Agreed,” Miss Sharpe said softly, as if sensing Calliope’s sudden storm. “And I do hope you’ll consider the idea of working together. But you must feel no pressure to do so. I know what it’s like to build something new from the bones of a former life.”
A lump rose in Calliope’s throat. These weren’t empty niceties. Miss Sharpe meant every word. Holly and the countess nodded enthusiastically. “Thank you.”
The women beamed at her and were soon debating whether mint made for a better morning or evening scent.
Calliope watched them, her fingers curling slightly at her sides. For all her moments of cynicism, for all the shadows she’d left behind, she still wanted connection.
Still wanted totrust.
But this was also what petrified her. If her dreams were any indication... her instincts couldn’t be trusted. Not when they’d already wrapped themselves around Maxen Fury like roots seeking life in barren earth. Which was precisely why she needed to cut them out before they grew any deeper. For if they took root in him, she feared they’d be the death of her.
*
Maxen stepped intotheir dungeon, his gaze falling on Rollings, dirty, bedraggled, and tied to a chair in the center of the room. There was nothing spectacular about the man. Nor anything diabolical. But then, those were the kind that a man had to be most cautious of.
They were the kind most prone to betray.
Many overlooked them. Many dismissed them. And those men? The men like Rollings? They listened. They observed. They made calculated moves.
And he’d slipped past Maxen’s notice.
Another failure.
Drake, who’d finally showed face again, stepped up beside him. Silent.
Rollings lifted his head sluggishly. His right eye was swollen shut, and a trail of blood had dripped off the side of his face and spread along the edge of his collar. Maxen didn’t speak immediately, simply crossed the room to a table with water and two cups.
“I didn’t betray you,” Rollings croaked.
Maxen poured a measure of water into a cup, the whisper of leather stretching across his hands with the movements, placed it on the table, then leaned against it, arms crossed.
The older man swallowed, eyes flicking toward the cup before back at Maxen, and expressed again, “I did not betray you.”
“No? Then you simply lost the shipping ledger that would expose our routes, and several of our warehouses, by accident?”
The man’s eyes flew wide. “How did you—”
“Reliable sources, Rollings. Much more reliable than you. Why didn’t you inform us of the missing ledger?”
