Page 89 of The Silversmith

“Is she?” Gemma hissed. “Is she really?”

Gavin turned slowly, lip curled with disdain. “What are you implying, Tremaine?”

“Do you think I can’t tell what a man wants?” she sneered, hands on her hips. “You want to keep her for yourself.”

A lifted eyebrow and devilish smirk appeared as he said, “Perhaps I’ve underestimated your intuition, after all.”

“You bastard!” She scowled, shoving at him, trying to rile him up. It didn’t work. “You want to ruin her for your own pleasure. Get her to let her guard down and manipulate her. So you can fuck the young queen and say you did!”

Anger stewed in my belly at both of them. At Gavin, for not denying it. Laughing to antagonize her. At Gemma, for speaking of me like I was some mindless puppet who would let him take without my permission. For thinking he really would.

“You even have the gall to laugh about it.” She threw her fists into his chest. But he stood, an immovable stone wall, and answered her anger with an unbothered stare. “Why haven’t you done it already?” She shoved him again, egging him on to a fight she would lose. Her free hand tightened on the handle of her blade like she was going to wield it. “Do you or don’t you want to bed her before Elias Winterton?”

But Gemma couldn’t catch him off guard. Her blade got no farther than the air in front of her face before he stopped her with a steel grip and a mean, acerbic scowl.

“You have no fucking idea.”

I stumbled back two steps from the sink, fists and stomach clenched.

He hadn’t done a very good job at hiding his interest in me. Though I assumed being sheltered and naïve were mostly to blame whenever I wondered if he wanted me. He showered me with attention and care, and I couldn’t help but be drawn to him.

Gemma burst through the door to the hallway outside the kitchen, leaving it wide open in her wake. She stopped, her caramel eyes pleading, when she saw me standing there.

“I need more time,” I told her. “It’s my choice.”

With a bitter scowl, she uttered, “It’s a stupid choice,” and stormed off.

Maybe it was, but I trusted my gut regardless.

Still, my chest sunk into my stomach as I watched her go. I was quickly learning that I couldn’t please everyone. Accepting this reality didn’t soothe the ache of knowing how Gemma and I were leaving things.

Heavy footsteps drew my attention toward the kitchen door, followed by a cold rush of leather and sweet cedar blown in from the winter wind.

Gavin stopped when he saw me. I sized him up—his intimidating form, dark hair pulled back with a leather strap. The way his long sleeves were rolled up around his thick arms, revealing those tattoos.

I couldn’t help but look at him and wonder what it would be like to be on the receiving end of his desire.

His face hardened when he saw me. He glanced at the open window, then back at me, then the floor. Nostrils flaring, he asked, “How much did you hear?”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. “Enough.”

“Enough to what, Ella?” Panic laced his voice.

“It doesn’t matter.” It was an effort to keep my tone steady. “I trust you.”

That was true. For better or worse, I trusted him.

He took two steps forward, just into the kitchen. I retreated to give him room. He winced at my withdrawal.

“I will not touch you, Aryella. What she said…” He ran his hand over his face and huffed out a breath. “You are safe with me.”

I knew that. Too well. I craved his closeness like a drug and loathed his self-control.

Afraid of the resentful note in my voice, I merely nodded.

“It’s very late.” His deep voice turned gravelly. “If you’re finished here, you should get some rest.” Avoiding my gaze, he backed into the hallway. “We’ll leave tomorrow for Brinnea.”

“Will you talk to her?” I rushed out. “I know you don’t feel the need to prove yourself to anyone, but anything I say… she won’t listen. She thinks I’m helpless.” My eyes burned. “But I don’t want to leave her like this, with her angry.”