He wasn’t prepared for this.
“No.” His gaze drifted back to Lady Rosilee, still strolling with Stagbourne, grinning at something he’d said. The tension in Blake’s chest grew tighter. “I won’t believe it.”
“I don’t blame you, though it’s the truth.”
“Then you should have visited my dark castle if you were that curious.”
“I didn’t want to take the chance of that being my last resting place.”
Christ, were all the Furys this snippy?
“You’re glaring hard enough to burn a hole through the man,” Reaper remarked. “If you’re so concerned about him, perhaps you should do something about it.”
Blake’s glare snapped back to his half-brother. “And you think you know what I should do?”
Reaper chuckled again, folding his arms across his chest. “Just an observation. It seems rather obvious you have more than a guardian’s concern for the lady.”
“She’s my responsibility.” Just responsibility. He’d given her his word. He needed to stand by it.
“Mm.” Reaper drawled. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
Blake’s pulse quickened, his fingers itching to put his half-brother in his place. “What would you know about responsibility?”
“More than you think.” Reaper’s gaze darkened, the jovial tone fading for a moment. “Like I said, I didn’t come here to challenge you, Crane. Believe it or not, I’m not your enemy. But if Baston is involved, we both know things are about to get complicated.”
“I thought you met him in a tavern.”
“I did,” Reaper said. “Saint, however, had some rather ill-fated dealings with him in Brighton.”
“Did he lose a wager too?”
“He’s not one for cards.”
“You should take a page from his book. Foolish.”
“What can I say, I live on the reckless side of town.”
Of that, Blake was sure.
“Nevertheless, while I might not complete Baston’s task, doesn’t mean that tomorrow someone else won’t.”
A warning.
He didn’t bother responding. He stalked away from his half-brother, his eyes locked on Lady Rosilee, his mind set on one thing: she was not slipping through his fingers. Not tonight. Not ever.
Chapter Eleven
Rosilee couldn’t explainthe emotion tightening in her chest. Well,someemotion tightened her chest, and the rest was rushing through her blood and heating her whole body. Her gaze flicked between the duke and the earl, the undercurrent between them unmistakable. She couldn’t quite call it tension, but neither could she not.
Rather . . . it felt more like . . .
A stand-off.
She wasn’t used to being the object of a man’s attention, let alone two men at once. It was a rather novel feeling, this sense of standing at the center of something unfolding—something she didn’t quite know how to settle.
“I’m not very good at dancing,” Rosilee said quickly before either man could make another challenging remark. She looked between them, hoping her awkward admission that she had already made to the earl might ease whatever was brewing in the duke.
The duke spared her a glance, his green eyes flashing, before he returned his gaze to Stagbourne. “I believe yourdanceis over. I do not want any gossip to form that might hurt Rosilee.”
