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Aidan couldn’t help the laughter in his voice. “Who told you that? No, forget it. Don’t answer. Should I worry you’ll sneak your way into her affections while my back is turned?”
“Not likely. Her father may mistrust you, but he hates me.”
“Owe him money, do you?”
Jack grinned. “A bit overextended when it comes to the gentleman, but nothing worrisome. You know me. Just when things look blackest—”
“If you could distill that luck of yours.”
Jack offered him a bland look of innocence. Poured himself another drink, stretching his legs out in front of him, examining the toes of his boots. Apparently this was to be a prolonged visit.
Aidan gave up good manners and shucked off his shirt. Tossed it on a nearby chair.
Jack’s gaze took in the swathe of bandages, tracked the route of Smith and Neddie’s fists across Aidan’s multicolored chest and arms before traveling up to meet the gleam of challenge in his eyes.
He braced himself against Jack’s forthright, familial stare. A harbinger of trouble.
“Is this all worth”—Jack waved the bottle in the direction of Aidan’s bound ribs—“being beaten within an inch of your life?”
Aidan reached over and removed it before its contents ended on his carpet. At least they’d turned from the subject of his marriage situation. “You have to ask?”
“Aye, I do. It’s been six years, Aidan. Six long years. What can it possibly matter now? Let the past bury its dead.”
Aidan’s hand fisted around the neck of the bottle at Jack’s familiar recital. “And Brendan? Is he dead? Or living? How about Sabrina moldering away in a damned convent? She barely returns my letters. We’ve all been ground between the millstones of not knowing. But that ends with the discovery of Father’s diary. This”—he waved a hand over his bandages—“is the clearest sign the diary holds more than the sum of Father’s days. I want to know what he hid in there that’s important enough to warrant hired assassins.”
“I, uh—” His cousin wore a cringing, expectant look as if he might be shoring himself up. Aidan waited. “Have you thought about speaking to the Amhas-draoi?” Jack asked anxiously.
“Is that what you came in here for?”
“Hear me out. It’s clear there’s more to the diary than a collection of old family anecdotes. Can you trust your wards and a few measly spells to protect it? And you?”
Aidan drew himself up. “I think so.”
“The Amhas-draoi may know more about the diary than you guess.”
Aidan took a fortifying swig from Jack’s bottle. Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Even if they did, do you think they’d share it with me? Not bloody likely. I’m on my own and prefer it that way.”
“And if those thugs return to finish the job? Or the man who hired them? What then?”
“I’ll handle it, but don’t expect me to grovel for help from the very people who destroyed my family. It’s not going to happen.”
“More hope than expect.” Jack sighed his resignation. “Then if you’re resolved to keep at it, just—be careful, Aidan. I know you. You throw caution to the winds. Especially when you’ve got the bit between your teeth. Just look before you leap in Miss O’Connell’s case.”
Aidan cocked a quizzical brow at the odd coupling of so many clichés. “You think she set me up?”
Jack rubbed a speculative hand over his chin. “I think we don’t know anything about her. I think you caught her in an attempted burglary. I think she was also the reason you were almost murdered by a gang of cutthroats. What I think is the woman is trouble.”
Just when he thought he’d put the disastrous night behind him, Jack dredged it all back up. She was trouble all right. Trouble he’d wanted to experience firsthand, damn it. “Give me credit for having a little sense. I’m keeping the diary locked away. Not even Cat knows where. That should keep it safe.”
Jack wouldn’t be placated. “Should, but we don’t know what kind of abilities she holds beside this talent for language. She might be able to breach a ward. Ensorcell us with a spell—” He ground down at Aidan’s look of skepticism. Reached over to retrieve his claret. Took his own fortifying swig. “Fine, she won’t, but who is she? Where does she come from? You have to admit she piques a person’s interest.”
Oh, Aidan would definitely admit that. Though “piqued” didn’t seem to cover the realm of feelings she provoked in him. Insane, reckless feelings that would only lead to trouble on too many levels to contemplate. “There’s definitely something that doesn’t add up about her, but that only heightens her allure. I mean—” He cleared his throat as he bent to pull off a boot.
Jack’s amusement rang clear through the claret haze. “Careful, Aidan. Your lust is showing.”
Aidan stiffened, a hand still holding the boot he’d pulled off, tempted to heave it at Jack’s head. The fool probably wouldn’t even feel it, as much alcohol as he’d pumped into himself.
Putting down glass and bottle, Jack stood to shaky feet. “Piece of advice.”
