Tarnished Knight - By Bec McMaster Page 0,22

empty. No sign of Rip. Blade had returned hours ago with Meggie’s mother, Annie, and a murderous look on his face. He’d snapped an order at Will to get out and help Rip search for the Slashers, then he’d bellowed for Honoria to get her medicine kit together and vanished into his rooms with the two women.

After spending most of the afternoon in Esme’s lap, Meggie had recently gone up with Lena to sit with her mother as she recovered. There was no point in Esme being there as well. Her skills lay in another area and she sought her own comfort in baking tonight as the shadows lengthened and Rip still hadn’t returned.

Latching the door, she sighed under her breath and returned to the stove. The fresh scent of cinnamon buns steamed in the air and Esme stared past them. She’d always worried about Rip when he was out on patrol, but it had been worse ever since the vampire attacked him. Before that he’d seemed so large, so full of life that it seemed as though nothing should best him.

When Blade brought him home, covered in blood and slowly drowning on all the fluid in his lungs, she’d nearly been undone. She’d buried one husband – she didn’t wish to bury another man that she cared for. Once was enough.

It didn’t matter if things were strained between them. Didn’t matter if he saw her as nothing more than a friend.

A sharp rap at the door made her gasp. Looking up, Esme saw Will peering through the glass, and behind him the thick leather jerkin that she knew belonged to Rip.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she said, opening the door to the pair of them. Her gaze darted past Will, raking over Rip’s large body. He was covered in blood, one sleeve of his shirt torn.

“Blood ain’t his,” Will assured her, stepping past.

“Did you find them?” Esme asked, unable to take his reassurance at face value. But indeed, the blood looked more like spatters, not as though it dripped from him anywhere.

“Nothin’.” Rip wore a scowl fierce enough to make a grown man quake. As he stepped past her, he paused, looking down. Their eyes met and Esme’s breath caught on all the things she suddenly wanted to blurt. She couldn’t stop herself from reaching out, touching him, just to make sure he was truly there. The backs of her fingers brushed his chest and Rip sucked in a sharp breath, a hint of red burnishing his cheekbones. He looked up and she followed his gaze to where Will arched a brow.

Then she smelt him. The scent was ripe enough to make her nose wrinkle.

The spell was broken.

“Aye,” he muttered. “I stink. Goin’ up to wash. Sorry ‘bout the blood. I’ll throw the shirt out so you don’t got to wash it.”

And with that he shouldered past, leaving her alone with Will.

Esme’s mouth worked but nothing came out. Drat the man. She’d spent the past three hours wearing a rut in the floor with worry and he could barely speak to her. A bite of guilt edged down her spine. Her own fault. She was the one who’d decreed they couldn’t be friends, at least until she’d recovered from the pain of unrequited feelings.

But what kind of friend did that make her?

Will shrugged. “He were upset we couldn’t track the man. Let him be. He’s in a dark mood tonight.”

Esme nodded, staring at the staircase Rip had ascended. She’d never had it in her to be cold for long and even now guilt stirred her to run after him.

The hurt gleaming in his eyes… The sense of failure she’d seen there. He’d take this loss to the enemy upon himself, for that was the type of man he was.

Perhaps she could put aside her hurt feelings and simply try to be a friend?

Esme took a deep breath. Her first instinct was to stay here, but that was cowardice more than anything. “There’s stew in the oven if you’re hungry,” she said, patting Will’s arm. “I have something to do.”

The look in his eyes told her he wasn’t fooled. Esme untied her apron and tossed it on the table, then hurried after Rip.

Esme knew where she’d find him. Blade had his own private wash-chambers, but the rest of them made do with a communal bathhouse. The water was piped in from the boiler-pack behind the kitchens, sinfully hot, and the tub was large enough for two.

She could hear the taps running as