Page 39 of Stroke of Shadows

“I’ll get back to you soon.” Mr Halkins shook Angel’s hand, not bothering to acknowledge Harper any further before he left.

Harper immediately turned to Angel, eyeing him curiously. “Who was that?”

“Since when were you allowed to ask questions?” Angel’s tone hardened. “Now, why are you here? You know you’re not supposed to be on the lower levels.”

“I met Mr Black this morning. Is there a reason he was allowed to roam around the house?” She had to play it carefully, test how much he knew.

“My house,” Angel snapped. “You live there because I let you.”

Harper bit the inside of her cheek. “Of course,” she replied, knowing not to push him. “I’m sorry, it’s just—”

“Do you really think I’d put you in any danger?” He sat back at the table, shuffling the papers scattered there into a neat pile.

Harper blinked. “No, of course not.”

“Then you shouldn’t question my integrity. Mr Black’s been assigned to Wyatt, and I’ll hear no more about it.”

Harper pursed her lips, knowing she shouldn’t speak, but unease twisted her stomach into knots. If Sythe told Wyatt anything, any privacy she’d earned would be removed.

He was a risk, and she needed him gone. “It’s just—”

“That’s enough!” Angel snapped, his expression morphing with impatience. “I don’t want to hear any more of it.”

Harper swallowed, her throat dry. She couldn’t explain why she didn’t like Sythe without him being curious why.

Angel’s expression softened slightly. “You know I don’t like to shout at you, but you bring this on yourself. Now, while you’re here you may as well update me on the latest painting. How’s the search been for the Kelleigh piece?”

That unease twisted into a storm. “I’ve been tracking the receipts, and I think it resides in America under a private collector.”

“The painting’s important Harper, you've been searching for far too long with little progress.” Angel’s calm demeanour cracked. “You’ve never taken this long.”

“I would have the name, but Wyatt’s been persistent with me finding his artefact.”

“Since when does your cousin take precedence over me?” His anger prickled her. “Do not disappoint me on this, Harp. You’ve already failed with the Pilkinson painting. Don’t make this a habit, otherwise, Mr Halkins may not believe you’re a good match for his son.”

Her blood iced. “Match as in marriage? How could you—”

She didn’t see him stand, nor did she see him raise his arm back before she felt the slap of his open palm against her cheek.

“I’d like to remind you of your position in this family,” he angrily whispered, his fingers soothing over the sharp sting. “You know I don’t like hurting you, but you know better than to speak back to me.”

Harper barely held back her flinch. “I’m sorry.”

“One day, you’ll understand the sacrifices I make to protect this family.”

He cupped the same cheek he’d slapped, the pain now a dull ache. He was always careful not to leave a mark, and if he did, she always found new makeup in her bedroom.

“You shouldn’t have come down here. You know this isn’t the place for a woman. It’s why I prefer you back at the house.” He gestured to Charles. “Please escort my niece home.”

Before she could respond, he’d stepped around her, exiting into the main room.

Harper paused, Charles impatient beside her. “I’ll meet you at the car.”

He grunted. “Miss—”

“I won’t be a moment. I’d like to speak with my uncle privately.” She made sure her voice didn’t falter, giving him no other option. She could see it in the way his nostrils flared, his eyes narrowing that he wanted to disagree, but he didn’t say anything as he slipped past.

Harper took a second to collect herself, her hand shaking as it touched her sore skin. It was hot beneath her fingertips, but she knew the redness wouldn’t last.

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