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With a desperate flick of her fingers, she released her spell. Felt the tightening of his airways, the crush of his lungs as she squeezed the life from him with the strength of her own sorcery.
He stumbled against the stairs, his face blanched white, shock and a new fear flickering in the dark hollows of his empty eyes.
She didn’t give him time to adjust. But hammered him again and again. Each successive draw of her magic enough to keep him off-kilter with no way to defend himself against the onslaught.
His sword fell from a numb hand. Clattered and bounced across the floor.
Blood ribboned its way down her arm. Dripped from sticky fingers. Her whole body throbbed with every beat of her heart, but she willed the pain away. Ignored the black spots narrowing her vision. The dizziness sapping her strength. She needed to end this fight. Before he had time to regroup. React.
And that’s when he struck.
Cam used the explosion of a dropped tray of glasses to make good his escape. Mrs. Kennett-Holmes followed the laughter and jibes, craning her neck to find the source of the accident. And before she turned back, he’d vanished.
To his right, Aunt Sylvie sat in company with a group of dowagers, their tongues and fans going a mile a minute. From the room behind him, his uncle’s booming voice sounded. No help in that direction.
The
gardens were his last best hope.
He threaded his way onto the terrace. Down the stone steps onto the lawn.
Couples strolled the paths. Knots of men and women enjoying a respite from overheated rooms inside. One such couple looked unnervingly familiar, the behemoth dressed to kill in full military regalia arm in arm with a slip of a girl, her glossy curls gleaming silver-blond in the guttering torches. What the hell was Euna doing alone with Brodie? And more importantly, what the hell was Brodie thinking separating Euna from the respectability of her chaperones?
The idea that sprang to mind, he dismissed immediately. Brodie liked it easy. Entanglements with married women who knew the rules of the game were one thing. Playing with the emotions of the uninitiated was something else. And foster brother or no, Cam would tear Brodie’s head from his shoulders if he dared try his tricks with Euna.
“The party is that way,” he growled, coming up behind them.
“Cameron.” Euna started with a guilty flush, while Brodie remained unfazed by Cam’s surly arrival. “The captain came with me to get some air.”
Brodie offered the smile of the innocent. “Euna was being pestered by the usual bunch of Bond Street beaux the Abercrombies rely on to fill out these drab affairs.”
“And you just happened to be there to play knight-errant.”
Amusement lit his eyes. “I admit I had my own angle.”
Cam nodded, a slow burn forming in his chest. Clawing its way up his throat. He couldn’t believe it. Brodie wouldn’t be low enough to seduce Euna—someone as close as a sister to him? Would he? But then he and Brodie had had few chances to connect in the last years. War had split them apart. Tossed them into different regiments. Different circumstances. The time apart had changed Cam. Mayhap Brodie had altered as well. And not for the good.
Cam faced off against him. A convenient outlet for a rage he’d been unable to vent. Menace formed his stance. Fury fired his gaze. “You bloody great bastard.”
Euna paled and stepped back, her mouth a perfect O of astonishment.
Brodie’s eyes widened. “Ye dinna think…ye can’t imagine…” He laughed. Clouted him on the shoulder. “Hell, Cam. Euna’s like my own sister. Save your fireworks for someone else. I’m not the enemy.”
Brodie stating it like that made Cam feel foolish, though uncertainty hovered in the corners of Brodie’s gaze as he defended himself. A startled surprise that had nothing to do with Cam’s sneaking up on them. His white-hot boil lowered to a simmer, though he wasn’t willing to let go of all his anger. It felt good. Better than the desperate need dogging him for weeks. “So then, why are you out here?”
“I’ve been telling ye. Euna’s been plagued by sycophants. The sharks smell fresh Sinclair blood in the water.”
“And you just happened to be the one to swoop in and rescue her?”
A guilty flush stole up Brodie’s neck, his gaze hard with an unspoken message.
“Well, MacKay?” Cam pushed, ignoring Brodie’s attempt to dodge the question.
Brodie shrugged. “Fine. If ye must know, I was avoiding a certain lady of my acquaintance. She’s been a bit”—he searched for the word—“persistent in her attentions.”
Cam’s anger rushed out of him with a whoosh of spent breath. Of course. Leave it to Brodie to avoid an embarrassing scene with an old lover. Though London must be littered with such by this time. If he weren’t careful, he’d be spending all his days hiding from such “persistent” acquaintances.
“Why didn’t Morgan come with you tonight, Cam?” Euna asked, the clumsy attempt at changing the subject welcome to everybody.
