A brow shot up. “How do you know? We’ve never met. In fact, you’ve never met even one of your brothers.”
Blake’s gaze flicked over the man’s scar again. “I still know who’s who.”
“I should feel flattered, then.” The man looked him up and down. “In any event, what areyoudoing here? You never leave your dark castle.”
Blake’s gaze moved to the dance floor, hunting for a vibrant shine of yellow, unable to find her amongst the dancers. His brows drew together, his gaze flicking over the room as a whole. Beads of sweat broke out in the palms of his hands.
Then he found her.
She and that Stagbourne were taking a turn about the room and laughing. A deep scowl broke over his face. Why weren’t they dancing? Damn it, he was glad they weren’t—it would have been torturous to watch—but what on earth were they doing? Not knowing, just wondering, was a form, perhaps a worse form of torture, too.
“Ah, yes, that is the lady you arrived with, is it not?”
Blake stiffened, but he didn’t glance over to his half-brother. “What do you know about her.”
“Not as much as you, I suspect, but enough.”
Blake clenched his jaw. “We have always stayed out of each other’s way. But I will obliterate you if you step into my sphere and mess with what’s mine.”
“Yours?” A low daring chuckle. “It seems rather likeyoursis about to be snatched away.”
His fingers dug into the fabric of his cravat, adjusting it repeatedly as Lady Rosilee laughed again. “Stay out of my business.”
“Oh, keep your calm,” the man drawled. “I have no interest in being obliterated.”
“Just how did you get into this event?” Blake asked annoyed.
“A certain fellow named Baston secured me an invitation and asked to pick up his lady.”
Fury, fast and swift, swept through him. “Touch one hair on her head and—”
“Would I do such a thing?”
“—I will burn down your precious Brighton along with every single one of your properties, before I destroy every one of your equally precious shipping routes. There will be nothing left for you to ever reassemble from the rubble that will be left by me.”
“Dear God, man. I won’t touch a hair on her head.”
“Good.” And not reassuring at all.
“But Baston still plans to.”
“And why are you embroiled with him?”
“I’m not. We ran into each other at a tavern, and he asked me to do a job after I lost a set of hands against him.”
Blake finally looked over to meet Reaper’s gaze, his jaw tightening as he absorbed the information. It was absurd, really, how natural it felt to threaten a brother he’d only just met. “You play games with men like Baston?” His voice was hard, clipped. “That alone tells me you’re a fool.”
Reaper—or whatever this half-brother’s real name was—shrugged with an infuriating nonchalance. “I lost, and he asked me to help him as repayment. I had planned to simply flick him off my sleeve like a speck of dust until I learned, from his incessant prattle, that the lady he wanted was with you.”
Blake cursed. How had the blackguard discovered that? Baston must have more eyes and ears than he thought.
“Rest assured, I’m not here to cross you, Crane.”
“Then whatareyou doing here?”
“Will you believe me if I said I wanted to meet my mysterious half-brother, the duke?”
Blake couldn’t help but feel a cold shiver crawl up his spine at that. This meeting still felt foreign. Unnatural. The idea that they shared blood, the samefather—this man who looked so similar to him yet carried an entirely different energy—was enough to unsettle him.
