Page 59 of Lost In You

A shadow fell across her magazine. She looked up into a dazzling smile and eyes that gleamed black as sin. “Cards, Ellery?” Ruan asked.

Morgan sniffed. “Don’t humor him. He thinks he’s Jack Sharpe and Don Juan rolled into one.” To Ruan, she asked, “Why aren’t you haunting The Cat’s Whiskers? Did the tavernkeep throw you out again?”

“If you must know, yes. But in my defense I had no idea that talented girl was his sister. You’re not generally exchanging family history at a time like that, are you?”

Jamys hit a sour chord. Shook his head. “That’s more than we needed to know.”

“She asked.”

Morgan rolled her eyes while Ellery looked to Conor, hoping for rescue. Instead approval—relief, almost—was all she saw in his gaze. But that didn’t make sense. He’d come to her last night. Staked his claim. Hinted at more.

Had it all been a lie? Just a way to get beneath her skirts?

She flushed. Humiliated at the ease in which she’d surrendered.

“Anyway,” Ruan continued, “can’t a man spend a pleasant evening in the company of the two loveliest ladies west of the Tamar without being accused of debauchery?”

“In your case, no,” Morgan shot back. “Don’t you have a ship waiting for you in Plymouth?”

“The Merrow is being fitted out with new pumps. And Uncle Mikhal asked that I come home to go over some accounts before I ship out. You’re stuck with your big brother, Morgan.” He offered her a sugary smile.

She sighed. “Perfect. Bored and annoyed.”

“Well, if you don’t want my company, mayhap Ellery does.” He held out his hand. “A walk, Miss Reskeen? If you like, I can show you the folly my grandfather had built for Gram.” His voice lowered. “A lover’s tribute.”

Conor rose to his feet, his gaze now sharp as a spear point. “You’re drunk, Ruan.”

Ruan’s teasing good humor vanished. “I’m ashore, Conor. And what I do when I’m on dry ground is my business. Not yours.”

“Ellery isn’t some harbor doxy to be lured into your bed with a sweet word and a walk beneath the stars,” Conor said.

Ruan stiffened, his expression lethal. Beneath the charmer lurked a forbidding powerful Other in his own right. Ellery hadn’t realized he was so—big. “No, she’s not,” he said slowly. “But perhaps it’s you who should remember that, Cousin. Not me.”

Ellery’s face flamed. She threw herself to her feet, cutting off a strangled sob with the back of her hand.

“Bloody hell, Ruan,” Jamys whispered.

She didn’t hear anything after that. She stumbled from the salon, humiliation shriveling her insides, tightening her chest until she couldn’t catch her breath.

She hated men.

“Have you ever wanted something you knew you could never have?”

Conor checked himself at the sound of Ellery’s voice. Someone was with her. He peered through the crack of the bedchamber door. Gram was there. As usual, she’d sensed she was needed.

He should leave, but curiosity held him silent, waiting for his grandmother’s answer.

“For the last ten years,” she said.

Ellery hugged a pillow to her chest, her shoulders slumped against the head of her bed.

“Ten years ago, my husband died,” Gram explained. “I have never stopped missing him, or wishing he were alive and at my side.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, my child. I was aware when he placed his ring on my finger that sorrow would follow in time. But the joy we had while he lived more than offset the pain at his passing. It is better, I think, to experience such love even for a brief time, than pass eternity without.”

Ellery didn’t look convinced, and Conor couldn’t blame her. He’d made a disaster out of this whole thing. “But how do we know the difference?” she asked. “How do we tell what’s love and what’s only an act to get beneath our skirts?”

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