Page 72 of The Temptation of Roan Island

“Think of the people who will be displaced,” I mutter under my breath.

“The Ressmussens!” Mr. Pinkerton snaps his fingers and points at me. “That’s how I know you.”

A chill drags up my spine like a fingernail.

“You worked for them in New Caldon.” He chuckles as his eyes move up and down, taking me in as if he can see every inch under the table. “If only Martin could see you now. He told me how you threw yourself at him, then tried to trap him with a pregnancy.”

Mrs. Stevens gasps, leaning away from me as if I’m contagious.

Shemaiah has gone very stiff beside me. His lips pinched closed, eyes nearly all the way black with violence. I squeeze his arm, not wanting him to make a scene or reveal what he really is.

“Martin always suspected it was a ruse,” Mr. Pinkerton goes on. “Seems he was right since there’s no child with you now.”

A low growl rumbles from Shemaiah, his fangs peeking ever so slightly from between his lips.

“Don’t,” I whisper only to him. Nothing Mr. Pinkerton is saying is new to me. I’ve been accused of all of this before. I can handle it. But I wouldn’t forgive myself if Shemaiah revealed what he is and put himself or his family in danger. “Please, Maiah.”

Mr. Pinkerton turns his attention to Shemaiah with a scowl. “Is that how she got you?”

The rest of the table gapes at him, but no one comes to my defense. What defense is there to make? They don’t know me, and clearly they trust Mr. Pinkerton, however unfounded his accusations might be. It’s all just another reminder that I don’t belong in this world where people scheme and plot and assume everyone else does the same. A world that divides everything into the haves and the have-nots.

Shemaiah takes a deep breath with his eyes closed. When he opens them again, they’re no longer black, but the look he’s giving Mr. Pinkerton is no less deadly. He leans across the table. “Apologize to my wife. Now.”

Mr. Pinkerton laughs coldly. “Believe me, you don’t know your wife as well as you think. She’s a a gold-digger, a slut, and you⁠—”

Before any of us can blink, Shemaiah’s on his feet, his fist around the man’s cravat, and he’s dragged Mr. Pinkerton half across the table. Dishes clatter as Mr. Pinkerton yells. “Unhand me.”

“I know every detail of my wife’s history, and I assure you, you’re in the wrong.” Shemaiah tugs a little harder, the material tightening around Mr. Pinkerton’s throat. “Apologize.”

Mr. Pinkerton scoffs. “She must have quite the cu⁠—”

Shemaiah slams the man’s head on the table, cracking a plate on his temple. The sound thunders in the now silent dining room. “I’m only going to say this one more time, and I want you to think very carefully about what you do next. I am Shemaiah Roan. This is Pippa Roan. The full force of my power, my influence, and my family name is hers. If you speak disrespectfully of her again, it won’t be an apology I’ll be taking from you. It’ll be your head.”

Mrs. Stevens gasps. Her quiet, waifish husband pales.

“Now, now, I’m sure this is all just a misunderstanding.” Captain Day stands, waving his hands as if to cool a fire.

I’m speechless. No one has ever defended me like this. I never thought anyone would.

“Apologize.” Shemaiah slowly enunciates every syllable.

Mr. Pinkerton coughs and sputters. “Forgive me, Mrs. Roan.”

I’m not sure the words are sincere, but the fear in his voice definitely is.

Shemaiah tosses Mr. Pinkerton away as if he weighs nothing.

“Gentleman. Mrs. Stevens.” He straightens his jacket, then offers me his hand and helps me to my feet. “If you’ll excuse us, I’m ready to retire for the evening.” He presses a kiss to the back of my hand. His touch is fire and ice. Desire and fear. Not of him, but of what he is, what he can do, and what he was about to do for me. All in defense of me.

I shiver, and Shemaiah offers me his jacket as we walk away from the table. Even though it’s only a short walk back to the room, I take it.

“Is there somewhere we can talk?” I ask, not ready to go back yet.

“You mean other than our room?”

“Um… yes.” Shemaiah said he knows my history, and he does know the vague outline of it. But tonight made me realize how little he really knows. He was honest and vulnerable with me about Vivienne. But I’ve still been holding a part of my story back. He deserves to know before we decide where this is going.

“Are you afraid of heights?” he asks. I shake my head, and he smiles. “I know the perfect place, then.”