Tarnished Knight - By Bec McMaster Page 0,27

voice lowered in warning. “Or else.”

And that was for him.

Esme scraped the last of the tears from her face. “There’s nothing to sort out,” she said sadly. “I can’t do it anymore, Blade. I can’t.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “There’s no point in dreaming of something I can’t have.”

Blade stilled, staring down at her. “Give it some time, luv. Things might change now ‘e’s got an inklin’ o’ your mind.”

Esme drew back and wiped her eyes, exhaustion bruising her fine features. “I shouldn’t see why. He made his intentions clear.”

“Funny thing… intentions. Maybe ‘e didn’t understand yours?” Blade drew back. “You comin’ inside?”

She shook her head, dark hair gleaming. “Not yet. I don’t want anybody to see I’ve been crying.”

Blade stared at her for a long moment. Finally he nodded. “I’ll see you in the mornin’ then. Just… Don’t ‘ate me, luv.”

“Hate you for what?” Esme frowned.

Blade took several steps back, toward the door. “Interferin’.”

“How did you--” She froze then and Rip knew that she’d realized they weren’t alone. Shoulders stiffening, she turned with a horrified look on her face, eyes darting through the shadows of the yard as she searched for him.

Blade took the chance to disappear into the house. Coward. Rip’s fists flexed as Esme looked for him, the metal one creaking as the joints tightened.

Esme’s head tilted toward him as if she heard it, her breath catching.

“John?” she whispered.

No chance to fade away as he dealt with the sudden confusion that left him almost breathless. Rip stepped out of the shadows, sliding his hands into his pockets. Instantly her eyes lit on him and they stared at each other across the yard, the silence thick and heavy. He couldn’t breathe, all of a sudden. She looked so beautiful, even with the track of tears down her face. And frightened and confused.

He didn’t know what to say.

Esme’s gaze darted toward the door as if in betrayal. Slowly she looked back at him, her shoulders stiffening with hurt pride. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Before you come out,” he replied quietly.

Her chin quivered. “You heard it all?”

He nodded.

“Mercy,” she whispered, taking an unconscious step toward the kitchen.

Rip leaped forward and grabbed her arm. “Don’t,” he said roughly, the pad of his thumb stroking the soft wool of her sleeve. “You and I need to talk.”

Esme’s gaze dropped to his hand but she was too exhausted to fight him. Without looking at him, she nodded. “Where?” A whisper.

Rip looked across the yard at the old stables Blade used as a storehouse. “This way,” he murmured, his hand sliding into hers as he dragged her toward it.

***

Blade swung through the kitchen door with a platter of mince pies and a fist clenched around the neck of a bottle of blud-wein. He looked entirely too pleased with himself. Honoria took the platter from him and passed it to Lena with a swift instruction to offer them around.

“What are you up to?” she murmured, as her husband rested his hip on the edge of an armchair and tugged the cork free of the thick green glass with a wet plonk.

Blade winked at her, his smile warming her all the way through. She never grew tired of that smile. “Meddlin’,” he said, sliding an arm around her waist and tugging her against his body as he set the wine aside.

Honoria looped her arms around his neck. “Where’s Esme?” She realized who else was notably missing. “And Rip? What have you done? You told her you wouldn’t say anything to him.”

“Didn’t.” Blade’s grin widened further. “That don’t mean I ain’t allowed to let ‘er say as much as she wants when I know ‘e’s listenin’.”

“You didn’t!”

Blade dragged her closer. “Consider it me little present to Esme. She’ll thank me once it’s done.”

“She won’t be thanking you now.”

“True.” Blade grinned and kissed her lips. “Now, why don’t you take me upstairs and give me my present.”

Honoria gave in. The man was a devil and he knew it. “I didn’t buy you a single thing,” she declared.

“That’s all right,” he purred. “We’ll think o’ somethin’.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Light flickered to life as Rip struck a lucifer and crouched low, sliding the match into the lantern so the wick caught. The shadows lengthened and danced back as he focused with frightful intensity on the flame, the acrid scent of phosphorus in the air.

Esme looked around, shivering a little. It wasn’t as cold in here as outside, but she couldn’t stop the faint tremor down her spine. Dread