Her Reformed Rake (Wicked Husbands #3)(70)

“Bloody fucking hell, Bast. Is this about your American tart?”

His head felt as if it may explode. “She. Is. Not. A. Tart,” he bit out.

“Oh, Christ.” Griffin studied him in his signature, penetrating manner that had made far more worthy opponents than Sebastian tremble in fear. “Never say you fancy yourself… in love with the chit.”

He spat the word “love” as though it were a dirty word, something to revile, a bitter taste he couldn’t wait to remove from his tongue.

Heat climbed his throat. Good God. He didn’t flush, and yet… how else to explain the warmth searing his flesh, reaching to even his cheeks? He cleared his throat. “The chit is my wife.”

Griffin’s lips thinned. “Have you forgotten the circumstances that made her your wife?”

“No, goddamn it,” he growled.

Of course he hadn’t forgotten. How could he, when the deceit he’d perpetrated swallowed him whole each time he thought of it? He had spent his entire adult life as a spy, lying to everyone around him. Manipulating, dissembling, using, donning whatever name and disguise he required in the moment. But for the first time, the credo by which he’d lived—anything in the name of the League—no longer sufficed.

“I saw any number of cheeky wenches in the tavern below. You could have your pick of the lot for the night, if that’s what ails you.” Griffin’s gaze was steadfast, unrelenting.

Damn him. “I don’t want to tup a whore,” he bit out. “I’m married to her, by God. I owe her my fidelity, if nothing else.”

“Fuck.” Griffin shook his head. “I told Carlisle it shouldn’t be you, but he was adamant you were the man for the task. He doesn’t know you the way I do. You’re too bloody softhearted for it, and now she’s managed to cozen you into thinking she’s not the deceptive bitch she truly is.”

Sebastian didn’t think. Indeed, his brain seemed to take leave of the rest of his body, for it was almost as if the two were disconnected as his fist swung wildly, finding rigid purchase in his best friend’s jaw for the second time in as many weeks. He watched as Griffin’s head snapped back, almost from a dream. A bloody nightmare.

But Griffin had pushed him too far, and this… he would not be insulted. Wouldn’t allow his loyalty to be called into question, not by anyone and especially not by the man he considered a brother. The way he’d spoken of Daisy, disparaging her, as if she were a siren who’d bewitched him, and as if any other woman might easily take her place. It was not to be borne.

Griffin was a seasoned fighter, and he was cold as ice. Always. So the fist meeting Sebastian’s jaw a scant few seconds later was no surprise, though the burst of pain and stars marring his vision took him aback for half a second. There. He supposed they were even this time around.

“Have you no word on her?” he asked ruefully, rubbing the place where his friend’s right hook had connected with his face.

“Fucking hell,” Griffin snarled, staring at him as though he were a stranger.

“Who watches her?” Sebastian pressed, undeterred in his quest for some word of Daisy, however small and insignificant. By God, he missed her, and with a desperation that was utterly humiliating. “Surely someone, if not you. Is she safe, at least?”

Leaving her had been difficult enough, but leaving her behind knowing that her bastard of a father was within the same city, still capable of reaching her and hurting her… that was a different kind of torture. The sort of torture that none of his training could have prepared him for.

“She’s safe.” Griffin’s lip curled into a sneer. “What’s next, Bast? You’re going to secret her away to the country and start getting brats on her? Men like us aren’t meant for that life. We’re bound to put the League first.”

Sebastian met his gaze, unflinching. His friend wasn’t wrong, not about any of it, and he was being torn apart from the inside out, stretched in two opposing directions. Love versus loyalty, duty against want. “I’m putting the League first or I wouldn’t be here, damn it.”

Griffin’s expression became dazed. “This isn’t like you.”

No, it wasn’t. But he’d never been in love before. “Maybe you don’t know me,” he said evenly.

Because the truth of it was that he’d begun to realize not even he had known himself. The man he’d believed himself to be had been an island in a vast ocean, accountable to no one, untouchable and unbreakable. The man he thought he was would never have fallen in love with a slip of an American girl who was stronger than anyone he’d ever met. He was not himself without her, and she was the part of him that had been missing all along. With Daisy, he was whole.

“I’m beginning to think I don’t,” Griffin said, sounding weary. “But we’ve a duty to uphold and a mission to carry out.”

Yes, they bloody well did.





15th April, 1881





Your Grace,

Over a month has passed without word. I find myself fearing for your wellbeing. None of the staff knows of your whereabouts or the reason for your abrupt departure. Indeed, it is quite as if you have disappeared. If your absence is due to me, perhaps you could be kind enough to inform me so that I may make amends.