To Ian, Townsend epitomized the worst of his class. He had no profession and didn’t seem to want one, either—from everything Ian had observed, he was content to while away his days, sleep until noon, and live off his brother for the rest of his life. He was flippant, idle.
Townsend was the prime example of a younger son from an upper-class family with a certain amount of wealth, drifting through life on charm and other people’s affection and an aversion to effort.
It wasn’t that Ian disliked Townsend, exactly. But to someone like Ian, who’d worked for everything he had, who’d never been handed a thing in his life, Townsend was a creature he couldn’t contemplate and cared even less to know.
And maybe Ian should have felt guiltier about what he’d said the night before, but he didn’t. Ian was perfectly content to ignore Townsend and go about his work and be ignored in return, but Townsend wouldn’t let him. He was always making jests and being so damn nice, no matter how many indifferent replies he received in return.
If Ian was vainer, he might have thought Townsend was attracted to him, but he’d seen the man with one of the tenant families once, and it was the same with them—he was smooth, attentive, kind. It probably added to his self-importance, having people like him.
Ian would be a fool to think he was special.
He opened the door with a little too much force, but at least he kept his expression bland.
“Mr. Cameron, good morning!”
Georgina, not her brother, stood in front of him, and if she was nearly as amiable as her older sibling, for some reason, it didn’t grate on him quite as much.
“I never had a chance to ask you how you’re settling in.”
“Very well.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie.
Ian was used to being alone. He preferred things that way. His work kept him occupied, and through the course of a day he might speak to Lord Arden or the tenants, but that was more routine than friendship.
Staying at Llynmore, living with other people…it was something of an adjustment.
At least he had his own room, though.
“A castle takes a little getting used to after living in a cottage,” he added.
She smiled. “Llynmore takes some getting used to after anything, I think, but we’ve all fallen in love with it.”
“All of ye?” he asked, before he could stop himself. He should have thought it through more before he spoke. Words were powerful. They could be revealing, unintentionally, and he wasn’t always easy with them. He usually spoke with more care.
“All of us? Who do you mean?”
“Your brother…seems like he would prefer the city.”
Georgina only smiled kindly. “Robert does like the city, but he’s quite at home here, too. And the whisky isn’t good in the Lowlands.”
“No, it isna.” Ian felt the smallest smirk curling his lips. It wasn’t the Lowlanders’ fault they couldn’t produce good whisky with the kind of taxation and regulations that England enforced, but still, he was proud of the Highlands.
“You two have something in common, then.”
Something in common with Townsend? The idea was both startling and unwelcome. Ian preferred to think of the ways they were different, not the ways they were the same.
“He took the ferry to Skye not long ago and brought some back with him. Which, now that I think about it, might not technically be legal”—though she didn’t seem too concerned about the legality of the matter. Most people weren’t, when it came to Highland whisky—“I’m sure he would be happy to share it.”
Drinking with Townsend sounded like an all-around bad idea.
“Aye,” he said noncommittally.
“I’ll leave you to your work,” she finally said. “Let us know if you need anything.”
When Georgina had left, he leaned against the shut door, uneasy about the conversation they’d just had but not sure exactly why.
He didn’t think he’d be able to focus on quarry numbers, so he decided to distract himself by going to the library. Annabel had said he was welcome to the books any time he wanted. This usually wasn’t an offer he made use of, but she’d mentioned, in passing, a new volume on astronomy.
It took him a while to locate the book, picking his way through several titles before he found it. When he left, volume in hand, Robert Townsend was stepping across the threshold.
They nearly collided.
He should have been prepared.
He wasn’t.
Somehow he never was, when it came to Townsend.
Ian looked up into dark eyes. The light spilling into the room was murky, muted. Instead of making Townsend look wan, it cast intriguing shadows across his face. His jaw seemed harder, his eyes deeper and more mysterious.
Ian felt his breath hitch.
Townsend, apparently unaware of the effect their closeness had on Ian, flicked his gaze toward the book. “What are you reading?”
No greeting. He spoke like they were friends, even though Ian had never met someone he was less likely to be friends with, and he bristled at the familiarity. But then, when Townsend’s words finally registered, a trill of panic shot through him.
It was an overreaction, but Ian loved very few things, and the things he did love, he kept close to his heart, guarded almost jealously.
The stars were one of them.
His grip on the book tightened, and he tilted it so Townsend couldn’t see the title. “That’s none of your concern.”
Townsend faltered only a little, only for a beat of silence. “No, it’s not,” he said with an easy smile. “Anyway, I imagine I’d rather not know…”
Ian tensed, ready for an insult, or something condescending.
But he finished with, “I suspect you read agricultural books for your work. It would probably be over my head.”
What?
Ian had no idea if he should take that comment seriously. It was self-deprecating. Too self-deprecating. Ian suspected he was being toyed with.
No one could possibly be as kind as Robert Townsend pretended to be.
He was aggravated, suddenly. More with himself than anything else. It didn’t matter if Townsend’s friendliness was an act or not. Ian shouldn’t care either way.
“You’re right,” he said. “It probably would be over your head.”
An instant of hesitation, subtle, but there. Triumph sang through his veins. And if some part of him felt guilty, he shoved it aside. Even on the small chance that Townsend’s comment was genuine, it was his own fault, for trying too hard, for not realizing he was a nuisance.
Then Townsend smiled, a slight thing, with only one side of his mouth tilted. Ian’s eyes followed the curve. “Are you trying to hurt my feelings, Cameron?”
Townsend sounded amused, and whatever tinge of guilt Ian might have felt vanished completely in a wash of hot shame. It was a misstep. All his cool politeness undone with a pointed remark.
Townsend had to know now that Ian had been lying…annoyance wasn’t the same as complete indifference. And Ian had a feeling his annoyance with Townsend wouldn’t be quite so barbed if his pulse didn’t surge every time the other man glanced toward him.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Townsend said, slipping past Ian, so close their shoulders brushed, so close Ian caught a hint of clean soap and skin. “I need to select some books that aren’t above my reading capability.”
There was no real anger behind his voice, only amusement, and it made Ian feel very, very small. Like he’d made a fool of himself with that one thoughtless comment. He shouldn’t have said anything at all.
Without another word, he left Townsend in the library, his shoulder still warm where they’d brushed against each other. A part of him was tempted to look back, but he didn’t. Instead he forged ahead, listening to the patter of rain against the castle windows.
He’d made a mistake coming here, he realized. He couldn’t continue feigning indifference when he was around Townsend all the time, and even irritation was too big a thing to reveal, especially when it was shot through with lust for the last person Ian should let himself be attracted to.
As soon as the rain let up, he’d begin work on his cottage. He needed to move out of the castle…and away from Robert Townsend…as soon as humanly possible.
…