Tarnished Knight - By Bec McMaster Page 0,26

heel and tugged his coat tight, burying his hand in its warm folds as he leaned against the shadowed arch of the doorway. The cold was almost biting, but it helped to clear his head. Somehow he had to put this right. Make sure he understood what was going on in her mind. Blade had only muddied the waters, suggesting that perhaps there was more to it than Rip suspected. Making him hope there was more.

Rip needed to talk to her, but with everyone underfoot, managing to get her alone was a lesson in frustration.

The door to the kitchen opened, heat and laughter spilling out. Rip froze, sinking deeper into the shadows as the very object of his confusion stepped out into the yard, her boots crunching on the snow and her hands tucked up under her armpits. Her thick black hair was knotted at her nape, the dark wings of her brows drawn into an intense frown. Those translucent green eyes were distant however. Blind to the world around her.

Witchy eyes. The first time they’d met his she’d put a spell on him, like a punch to the chest.

Now was his chance. Rip rocked onto the balls of his feet then froze as another pair of boots crunched into the slush. Blade shut the kitchen door behind him, the rectangle of light Esme stood in vanishing. With his enhanced vision however, Rip could see them perfectly.

And hear them.

Blade had to know he was there. Rip barely dared breathe.

“What’s wrong?” Blade asked.

“Nothing,” Esme replied.

Rip eased back into the shadows of the overhang as silence settled over the yard. After a moment Blade sighed. “Course it ain’t. Don’t think I’m a fool, Esme. Or blind. Any ‘alf-wit could see you’re upset and people is startin’ to ask why.”

The angry swish of her skirts. “What have you told them?”

“Same as you’ve told me. Nothin’.”

More silence. Rip pressed his back into the bricks, straining to watch and hear.

“’ave you told ‘im?” Blade muttered. “Bout ‘ow you bin feelin’? Because I could--”

“Don’t you dare say a word to him,” Esme gasped. “You promised you wouldn’t. Let me deal with this.”

Rip frowned.

“Runnin’ away ain’t dealin’ with it, Es.”

“I’m not running away.” Esme’s shoulders slumped, a look of pain flickering over her face. “John doesn’t want me.”

Rip froze. Him. They were talking about him.

A slash of light from the kitchen window cut across Blade’s face and his tawny eyebrows arched. “’E don’t want you? ‘E told you that?” Even from this distance the words were incredulous.

“He said he couldn’t… Not with me.” The words were a choked whisper. “The other day I kissed him and he shoved me away as though… as though--” Her face screwed up. “And tonight…He virtually told me I should have married someone else.”

“Aw, ‘ell.” Blade stepped forward and dragged her into his arms as she started crying. “Don’t cry, luv.” He looked up suddenly, light gleaming off his eyes as they cut directly into the shadows where Rip was watching. “Sure there’s got to be a reason for it. Man’d be a fool not to see what’s right beneath ‘is nose.”

Rip’s blood seemed to slow through his veins. The sight of her crying was like a knife to the chest… but he couldn’t have moved toward her if he tried.

Esme wanted him? Not as a friend or a master, but as a lover? The world seemed to skew on its axis, words and conversations between them taking on new meaning. Why the hell hadn’t she told him?

“He doesn’t want my blood,” she sobbed. “He told me he never had any intention of taking me as a thrall.”

“Thought you wanted more’n to be his thrall?” Blade asked.

“I do… I did…” she faltered. “I’m not a young girl anymore, Blade. I’ve buried a husband and forced myself back to my feet after his mother threw me into the streets.” Head lowering, she whispered, “I forgot what it was to hope, to dream. I should have known better. Dreams don’t exist. Not here.”

Blade sighed and kissed her hair with rough affection as she drew her face away from his shoulder and rubbed the wetness from her cheeks. “Don’t lose that, Esme. Of all o’ us, I ought be the one who knows what it’s like to lose ‘ope, but I found it again.” He gave her one last squeeze. “You’ll sort matters with Rip. But you tell ‘im from me that he ought to treat you right. Do the right thing by you.” His