Unraveled (Turner, #3)

Smite gently let Mrs. Blasseur down on her feet. Ash hadn’t seen them enter yet; he was watching the corporal with a hard, fierce look in his eyes.

“This is an insult to the city of Bristol that must be answered with force,” the corporal said.

“On the contrary,” Smite called out. “Force will not be necessary.”

As he spoke, Ash turned to him. A spectrum of emotions played across his brother’s face—fear changed to surprise, followed by a heart-stopping emotion that Smite could put no words to.

It took a few minutes to calm the crowd and to allay their worries. It took another few moments for Mrs. Blasseur to vanish into the holding cells. Ash slowly drifted across the room to him.

“Smite.” Ash reached out and clasped his hand. His brother’s fingers were warm against Smite’s chilled flesh.

“Yes?”

“I had this notion for years that I would need to be the Duke of Parford to make things right for you. I thought—” he choked, then stopped. “Damn you, Smite. I must have aged ten years tonight.”

He grabbed Smite’s shoulder with his free arm and then pulled him into a fierce hug. Smite only stiffened for a second before he hugged him back.

“You know, Ash,” he said, before he could lose his nerve, “I love you.”

Ash pulled back and looked at him quizzically.

“And you will need to be the duke for me,” he said. “I made some rather egregious promises tonight. We’re going to need more constables—and you’re just the man to fund their salaries. Not to mention that we’ll need more magistrates; I’m weary of being the only one here who listens.” Smite gave his brother a tired smile. “Parliament will have to handle that. I’m hoping you’ll help me out.”

Someone else might have blinked an eye at that. But Ash simply shrugged his shoulders. “There,” he said. “You see? I was just saying that I needed to consider more charity.”



IT WAS ALMOST DAWN by the time Smite brought Miranda home—home to the house he’d bought for her. The rooms seemed too quiet to her; the servants, not expecting her to return, were in bed for the evening.

He brought her up to her bedchamber, helped her strip off clothing made sodden and cold. They rubbed each other dry with towels, then slipped into wrappers that should have been warm.

They weren’t.

A fire in the bedchamber upstairs didn’t help. Huddling under the covers brought no warmth. The rain beat against the roof, hard at first, and then more softly. It was only when he drew her to him that Miranda stopped shaking. He pressed his body full-length against hers, and Miranda began to warm.

But even though he stroked her skin, he did not attempt anything so tame as a kiss. It was just warmth they shared: nothing more. He’d not tried anything more since…since that night in the inn. It seemed so long in the past. It was the only time he’d actually spent the night with her.

Through her window, the gray sky tinted first pink, then orange. The rain stopped and the clouds drifted apart, letting through ragged strains of early morning sunlight.

Smite sat up beside her. His gaze focused on some far vista. Just beyond the flotilla of masts on the Floating Harbour she saw a rainbow. It glimmered ephemerally, and then disappeared.

“You know,” Smite said softly beside her, “even in the Bible, there was just that one flood.”

“One seems more than enough.”

He stood. “Mine comes back. It’s a recurrent promise, one that I’ve held to all these years. It wasn’t the flood that drove away every living thing. It was me, afterward.”

She sat very still, but her heart thundered inside her. He turned to her. He seemed so solemn. “I don’t know how to do anything by halves, Miranda.”

He was going to send her away after all. She could scarcely breathe.

“So,” he concluded, “you’re going to have to marry me.”

She choked. “What?”

“Marry me,” he repeated.

She stared at him. He sounded perfectly rational. His hair was disordered, true, and he needed to shave. But there was no outward indication that he’d gone mad.

“You can’t marry me,” she said finally. “I’m your mistress. Nobody in polite society will ever see you again.”

He blinked at her for a few moments, and then drew a deep breath. “That possibility had never occurred to me,” he said stiffly. “In that case, I retract my offer. My overcrowded social calendar must be protected at all costs.”

She stifled a grin.

“Give over, Miranda,” he said. “That’s not a serious objection.”

“You still can’t marry me,” she told him. “There’s no need. We can continue on—”

He set his hand over her lips, stopping her words. “I sent you away once.” His fingers trailed down her cheek. “There are some things that cannot be made right by simple apology. It’s not simply marriage I intend. It’s a promise. I will never be without you again.”