But what would the cost be if she did? What would the cost be if she didn’t?
She wastired. Tired of belonging nowhere. Tired of imagining futures she never dared to reach for. Tired of fearing her longing. The infuriating hound hadn’t even alerted her of his intrusion. Prince seemed as though he had chosen, too.
She lifted her gaze to Maxen’s again. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t pushed. Hadn’t demanded. He’d simply stated and stayed.
Well then, let the tide carry her where it would. He might not be offering certainty, but his assurance was sincere. And perhaps—justperhaps—that was worth any peril.
“What if trouble follows me?” she had to ask. “What then? What if that trouble threatens you and your brothers?”
His gaze didn’t falter. “I’ll handle whatever comes.”
“Without knowing what may come?”
“I don’t need to know.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. To tell the truth, while she was grateful he didn’t press her, she didn’t trust his lack of curiosity. Who wouldn’t want to know? They may be men with darkness and power here in Brighton, but would that beat an earl? A countess? Their titled friends? Hopefully, Duvessa would never discover her whereabouts. But hope was a thinner shield than her coverlet. “I find that hard to believe.”
The corners of his lips twitched again. “Wanting to know and needing to know are two separate things. I don’t need to know. For now.”
Well, she could always flee again when he needed to know and she didn’t wish to tell. “Do you expect me to leave my shop unattended while the ship is tightened?”
He arched a brow. “So that’s what prompted this? My word choice?”
She would never admit to such a thing. “I would have had to move in a few months anyway,” she muttered.
A light scoff. “We can discuss the extension of your lease another day.”
Her ears pricked. Now that was of great interest indeed. Except—he would still be her criminal landlord. Heh. Well, if that allowed her to live her dream, certain allowances might be made. Plus, she loved her shop.
“Are you a good man, Maxen?” The question escaped before she could bite the words back.
His gaze never wavered. “Whatever I am, I’m not good.”
Calliope didn’t entirely believe that. He seemed good enough. Better than her stepmother, for sure. However, she dared not delve deeper than that for the moment. “Well, I appreciate the honesty.”
“We don’t lie about who we are,” he offered plainly. “Even so, we don’t kill, my brothers and I, if that is something you’re worried about.”
“Well,” she muttered, almost on a laugh. “I suppose one must draw the line somewhere.”
He grunted. “I thought it best to be clear.”
She searched his face. “You make it sound so simple. To be clear.”
“It is simple.”
She wasn’t so sure about that. To be clear often times invited trouble, especially, she imagined, for a man such as himself. Regardless, probably foolishly, her heart warmed. “What do you need from me?”
He leaned forward, forearms braced hard against his knees, eyes lit with a dangerous glow. “Stay safe.”
Her lips parted. Stars, what was she meant to say to that? She could tell he meant those two words full-heartedly. “I shall try my best?”
He smiled.
The first smile he had ever given her. Calliope had never been dazzled by a smile before. But his? The tilt caught at the scar on his lip, turning the flaw into something devastating. She hadn’t the faintest idea where to look—his lips, his eyes—the whole of him suddenly, ruinously changed.
“Good.”
She eased her feet off the mattress, the blanket slipping after them. “Did you bribe the manager of the inn to enter my chamber?
