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“He didn’t do his research, apparently. However, I have removed myself far from my brother, so his lack of investigation is forgivable.” His head tilted to the side. “Though you should give me his name so I make sure to never hire the man myself.”
She shuffled a step backward, her hand lifting in front of her to block the manor from view. “No—no. This is a joke. You don’t know these people and by the number of carriages waiting and the slew of lit torches out here, there is obviously a grand event taking place tonight.”
“A ball. A gala to raise funds for an orphanage, to be exact.”
Torrie’s look darted to him, her brow furrowed. “What? How do you know that?”
Roe’s head angled to the brightly lit windows lining the front of the main hall. “He’s my brother and he always throws the gala during the full moon at this time of year. I didn’t think on it until the carriage pulled up here and the place was lit to the hilt.”
“But…”
“Come.” He set his hand on the small of her back, prodding her forward. “We’ll go around to the back entrance to the ballroom. There is a tall set of stairs leading up from the garden to it, so we’ll be able to slip in. Logan likes to hover about that entrance during these things.”
Her head shook as her feet started to move. “I know you said it, but let me repeat it. Logan is a duke? Your brother is the Duke of Culland?”
Roe stifled a chuckle. He couldn’t fault her for her shock. He lived his life far, far away from his brother and the world he was encased in.
“He is.”
She nodded to herself, her look going forward, confusion still thick in her eyes.
They rounded the southern outside corner of the hall, strolling along a herringbone-paved trail that lined the side of the building.
Her face jerked to him. “You must think me a ninny—forgive me. It is just that I have always thought of you in one way, and then on the ship, I’ve come to think of you in a very different way. And neither of those people I thought you were had a fig to do with your brother being a duke.”
“I think I’m still exactly who you think I am, Tor.” His right cheek pulled back in a half smile. “My existence is kept quiet—on my accord, mostly, seeing as how I was in prison for so long. I don’t want Logan’s life tainted with the mess of mine.”
“But your life isn’t a mess, Roe. Not now. You are as far from a mess as I’ve ever known a man.”
“I’m not sure if your opinion of me is heartening or frightening to hear.”
“How could it frighten you?”
He shrugged. “Expectations can be hard to bear. Especially for me.”
A smile curled her full lips. “It should hearten you. Only that.”
They paused at the base of the wide marble staircase that led up to the ballroom from the impeccably manicured gardens behind them. The warm glow of the interior spilled down the steps through the row of eight French doors, the din of the crush inside floating into the night air through the middle two open doors.
Roe searched the people walking about, headdresses with brightly colored plumes wagging through the air, the pomade in the hair of the gentlemen catching the flickers of light. To the right. There. Logan’s tall frame appeared just on the other side of the doors at the end of the row.
Always protecting the back entrance. He’d been doing it since he was six. His brother never changed.
Roe pointed. “There he is, the dark-haired one on the end.”
Torrie followed his finger. “He’s tall. He’s the only one that I can see the shoulders of from this angle.” She looked to Roe. “Is he taller than you?”
His nose wrinkled, his lips pursing. “Slightly. If that.” His hand moved from the small of her back and he grabbed her hand. “Let’s get this done with.”
There was resistance in her hand, in her steps as they moved up the stairs, but he tugged her along. They couldn’t just sneak into Culland Hall. Logan would have guards positioned throughout the house at an event like this and Roe wasn’t looking for him and Torrie to be misidentified as vagrants and tossed out onto the gravel.
They reached the top of the stairs and Roe tugged Torrie through the door just to the left of Logan.
His attention focused the other direction, Logan nodded to the man he was talking to, then set the glass of port he held to his lips as he turned slightly, his eyes on the crush of people in his ballroom.
“You showed.” His brother’s voice—the voice he’d known his whole life, the voice that had guided him through childhood even when he resisted it, the voice he’d measured himself against since he was old enough to walk—slipped low below the buzz of the guests.
Of course Logan had seen him before he slipped into the ballroom. Hell, Logan had probably known the moment Roe had stepped down from the carriage.
