“Indeed, though I’m not surprised. That shop has a rather interesting story.”
“Oh?” Her brows lifted in spite of herself.Hopeless, Calliope!
He nodded. “Rumors of buried treasure.”
Heh? Given the owner, such rumors shouldn’t come as any form of shock, she supposed. However, “Treasure in a shop in the middle of Brighton?”
“You don’t believe in pirates, treasures, smugglers, and loot?”
Well . . .
Dark eyes flashed in her mind.
Yes. She did. “It’s not that I don’t believe, but I’ve found keeping to my own business a much more prudent venture.”
He chuckled. “Prudent you say.”
Calliope arched a brow. “Are you not prudent, Mr. Peregrine?”
A low laugh this time. “I don’t believe I possess even an ounce of prudence.”
Calliope found herself returning his grin. “I don’t suppose you do.”
He leaned forward slightly, extending a hand toward Prince, who sniffed it with mild interest before accepting a brief pat. “I adore dogs, but my work doesn’t allow me to keep any.”
“That’s a pity. Dogs are the best companions.”
He agreed with a slight nod. “I travel too much.”
“I see. That must be tiring.” And disruptive, surely. Just look at her and Prince now. Displaced and unsettled. At the same time, she still recalled her thrill on the road between London and Brighton. Shesupposed there were advantages and disadvantages to both staying still and being on the move.
He studied her. “I can’t tell whether you enjoy it or not—traveling?”
She rested a hand over Prince’s body. “I haven’t had much chance to travel in the past, though I doubt I’ll do so in the future either.”
“And here I believed all women liked to travel.”
“I like home.” Though she didn’t have one. Hadn’t had one since her father passed away. Urgh. The word alone was enough for her heart to sink into the soles of her feet.
“Seems to me,” he said softly, “you’ve yet to find one.”
She met Mr. Peregrine’s gaze. “You do not mince words, do you? Is that a Brighton thing?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps it’s simply a man thing.”
She scoffed. “Certainly not agentleman thing.”
“Oh, Miss Turner,”—he flashed his teeth—“I am no gentleman.”
Were it not for his amusement, she might have been alarmed. “I seem to have a knack for attracting rogues.”
She had believed Brighton would be her home. The shop. Her candles. Prince. Morning walks on the beach, though she’d yet to do that. The only significant thing she’d ever accomplished in her life had been escaping her old house. Nothing had gone to plan after that. Was that the grand sum of her life’s accomplishment? Just that one thing? Would she have to live her life always escaping one circumstance after the other?
But when she thought of home, truly thought of the meaning, thefeeling, what flashed before her wasn’t the shop at all.
Hefilled the space.
Maxen Fury.
