A small scoff. “Did you train the poor animal like a dog?”
Drake chuckled again, immediately regretting it as pain once more knifed through him. “Something like that.” He gripped the rail nailed into the wall that directed the path downward, careful with his steps, careful to hide how every descent jarred his wound. Reach his supplies, patch himself up, and pretend he wasn’t one breath from dropping. That was the plan. Simple. Manageable. Bloody necessary.
“Your brothers will come soon?”
He sighed at the concern in her voice. “They don’t know about this place.”
She paused before saying with a hint of disbelief, “I find that rather odd.”
“Why? Because we’re brothers?”
“Not that. Rather, you seem extraordinarily close and bonded.”
They were. “That doesn’t mean a man doesn’t deserve some privacy. Even as close as we are, we all have our little secrets.”
He stepped into his.
Behind him, Violet stopped short. “Anotherdungeon? Just how many do you have?”
He smiled at her tone, which landed somewhere between incredulous and resigned. “Enough.”
“That’s not a number.”
“No,” he agreed. “It isn’t.” She opened her mouth, closed it, and shook her head. “It seems an odd fascination to have.”
Fascination... He supposed that was a good enough word. “Never thought about it all that much. But it seems that way,does it not?” His “fascination” probably formed after years of spending time dreaming about tossing his father in one.
Drake swept a gaze over the familiar space. His iron-barred chamber filled with locked-away treasures. Crates of old French cognac and other valuables stacked in one corner, while a chest filled with pirates’ loot sat in another. Ming vases lined like trophies. Against the wall on the far end, he had placed a sofa and cot for nights hidden down here, whether it be from his brothers or, like now, his enemies. His hoarding of valuables—he couldn’t say what that was for.
“I suppose it’s something to be admired,” she murmured. “Is thatgold?”
He followed her pointed finger to his pirates’ loot. “What do you think, little flame?”
“I think you robbed the Crown.”
“Nothing so dramatic.” He reached into his boot and tugged the thin leather cord free, a small iron key dangling from its end. The motion nearly stole his breath. He clenched his teeth until the wave passed, straightened and fit the key into the lock. Metal clicked, echoing faintly.
She stepped up beside him. “That looks like a painting by Gainsborough.”
Drake quickly glanced at the portrait of a woman in blue. “That’s what the man who handed it over claimed.”
“Handed it over?” she asked, astonished.
“A repayment of debt.”
“Honestly, I do not even want to know.”
Drake crossed over to the desk littered with maps and ledgers, setting the candle on the surface and wrenching the drawer open. “You know your painters.”
Her pause was almost palpable before she cleared her throat. “I pay attention.”
Deception was not this flower’s strong suit.
“You know,” she added. “Normal people store things in cupboards and such.”
“Are these mere things?”
“I suppose not.”
