Page 132 of The Unlikely Spare
I kill the call, my hands trembling.
“Two minutes were up,” I say roughly as I wind down the window and throw the phone into the grass verge.
Nicholas sits there staring at me, his eyes wide. I stare back into the ice-blue eyes that initially fooled me into thinking they were cold. Now they give nothing away as he scans my face.
I’m not sure what he’s looking for in my expression. I’m not sure what he’s seeing either. My head is a mess of competing emotions. Irish history versus personal loyalty, professional duty colliding with family ties that now feel like chains dragging me toward a darkness I can’t accept.
Plus that poisonous whisper: what if Malachy’s right about what I am to him?
Did Nicholas only see me as a temporary diversion, a working-class novelty to be discarded when I’m no longer convenient? Did he ever feel anything beyond the thrill of breaking rules? Was I just another way to rebel against the life mapped out for him?
Is his anger simply because he doesn’t like to be deceived? Or does it go deeper than that?
Is the distance he’s trying to put between us now just his way of protecting himself, or is it relief that he has an excuse to end whatever this was before it gets too complicated?
I mean, it’s not like he envisioned a future for us, did he?
But it doesn’t matter. I’m not protecting Nicholas because he owes me anything.
I’m protecting him because it’s the right thing to do.
Nicholas suddenly rips his gaze away from mine, swallowing hard. He jerks the steering wheel and pulls out into the traffic.
“So, your brother and his friends want to kidnap me so they can ransom me off, try to get my family to pay, plus bring attention to the historic atrocities committed by the British aristocracy that we all still benefit from.”
“That’s the general idea.” I try to keep my voice even.
“Well, that just sounds like it could be distinctly uncomfortable,” he says in a lazy, arrogant drawl. But I hear the slight tremor underneath, the way he’s using that royal persona like armor. Just like I watched him do with everyone else.
Now I’m back to being everyone else too.
“It probably wouldn’t be a five-star experience,” I manage to reply.
He taps his fingers on the steering wheel, elegant fingers moving in unconscious rhythm. Even dressed like a tourist, he can’t quite hide the grace trained into him since birth. And I can’t help remembering the feel of those fingers in my hair, on my skin.
The drumming stops. He pins me with that stare again.
“So, what if we simply give them what they want?”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Nicholas
My words echo in the car for a moment before Eoin’s expression turns fierce.
“I’m not handing you over to them.” There’s steel in his voice.
My breath catches at the vehemence on his face. The absolute certainty. Daniel sold me out for fifty thousand pounds. Yet here’s Eoin, who has his own brother, his mentor, eight hundred years of his country’s history, all pulling him toward betrayal.
And still, he’s chosen me.
The irony isn’t lost on me. He’s choosing me over everything, and I still can’t let him close to me, due to the fear he’ll hurt me again.
What kind of coward does that make me?
Eoin’s proving himself with every breath, every choice, and I’m still measuring the distance between us like a general planning defensive positions.
For the first time in my life, I understand what it feels like to have someone truly in my corner. Not a performance of loyalty for the cameras or calculating the benefits of association with royalty. Just Eoin, stubborn and steadfast, choosing me over everything else he’s ever known.
