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Escape if he were lucky.
He sensed the overwhelming confluence of magics as a deep drone vibrating at the base of his skull, saturating the air, rippling through the ground. Buffeting him in the crosscurrent like flotsam tossed upon a wave. A perfect storm of power to mask him. Better than the best cloaking spell. And enough mingled trails to throw off any determined chaser.
Just as he came abreast of the building, he slid into the adjacent alley, dropping his magics as if shedding a cloak. Instantly the weight lifted from his shoulders, the fog from his mind. From here on, he’d rely on street smarts and cunning learned in the sun-baked markets and winding streets of the Levant, where to hesitate meant the difference between life and death.
His smile widened to a grin.
It still did.
“So you’re going to make an honest woman out of her. You’re a good man, Brendan Douglas. I don’t care what Helena says.”
Brendan shot a sidelong glance at the long-shanked harper reclining with drink and pipe in front of the fire. “I can only imagine what ulterior motive she’s attached to the idea,” Brendan answered, scowling into his coffee. He’d been backed into a corner by Elisabeth, and while a part of him thrilled to the enticing idea, the bits not hard as a rock recoiled in abject terror.
Rogan plunked his brandy upon the table with enough force to rattle the accompanying decanter. “Should I be offering congratulations or condolences?”
Brendan rasped his knuckles over his chin, noting the dirt still crusted beneath his nails. The scrape across his palm where he’d jumped a fence.
A long soak in a hot tub hadn’t been enough to completely erase hints of his afternoon’s adventure, though at least his muscles no longer felt like wet noodles nor did he smell like a sewer. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for his clothes, which a horrified maid had retrieved with a pinched nose and much grumbling.
“Hold off on either for the time being. The shine may not be off her ring before she’s pawning it to pay for my funeral. No doubt what she’s banking on.”
Rogan chuckled, eyes twinkling as if he knew a secret. “I don’t think you need fear that. The two of you circle each other like two wary dogs, but it will only take one of you to unbend for the other to follow.”
“Harper, mage-chaser, and love doctor extraordinaire? Your talents never cease to amaze me.”
“I’m not blind. I can see what you both refuse to. She, out of pride. You, out of fear.”
“Thank you for your expert analysis of the situation. If I’m not dead soon, I may even follow your advice.”
“Dead? Who’s dead?”
Elisabeth stood at the door. Her red hair upswept and backlit by candelight, she seemed spun of fire and starshine. Brendan’s breath caught in his chest, unable to peel his eyes from the seductive slide of fabric over her hips as she walked. The tantalizing curve of her breasts only emphasized by the silken shawl she’d draped over her shoulders.
Both gentlemen stood as she entered.
“No one,” Brendan said. “Rogan and I were merely chatting.”
She’d proposed. He’d accepted. Not the traditional order of things, but then, nothing about their relationship had ever been conventional. They’d grown up together, close as siblings. He’d agreed to their original betrothal out of duty not affection. And barely given a thought to the girl he’d deserted when he fled Amhas-draoi retribution. Like Belfoyle and his broken family, she’d merely been one more lost piece of a past he needed to forget if he’d any chance of survival.
He never could have imagined the frustrating, clinging shadow of his youth would mature into a desirable, alluring woman. Or his own intense reaction to that transformation. It was damned embarrassing was what it was. Lusty urges aside, he needed a wife like he needed a damned hole in the head. Though, at the moment, lust seemed to be winning the battle.
He hastily turned away from her, plunking himself down at the piano. The instrument very adequately hiding his awkward response to her arrival.
Rogan stretched, giving a broad fake yawn. “And we’ve chatted ourselves into a stand-off. I’ll bid the two of you good night.” He winked at Elisabeth as he passed her in the doorway. “I’d not waste a moment, pet. It may be all you get.”
She frowned. “I wish he wouldn’t say things like that. I don’t need him to remind me we’re hanging by a thread.”
Brendan’s hands found their natural way to the keys. The little run of notes a play for time. “You worry too much.”
She entered farther into the room, glancing around as if expecting the buffer of others. Taken aback at their solitude if the slight hesitation was any indication. Still, it didn’t stop her. She strode forward as if charging a cannon, eyes determined, hands gripped at her sides. “And you not enough.”
“One can worry only so long before checking behind every doorway becomes a tiresome habit. I prefer to enjoy the semblance of life left to me. For as long as it’s left to me.”
“Are you saying I shouldn’t be concerned at the current mess my life has become?” she demanded.
“Not at all. If I were you I’d be damned worried. After all, marriage to the Douglas family pariah may not quell gossip as much as it will veer it into new and titillating directions.”
Her expression firmed to stubbornness. Her gaze flickered with something like challenge and she not only stayed but crossed to lean against the piano. He’d give her points for backbone. “A hasty marriage to a confirmed rogue is still a marriage. I may not be wed well, but I’ll be well wed. As I’ve been told more than once, I’m not getting any younger.”
