Page 5 of The Secrets of Roan Island

“You said you were only one Mr. Roan. How many of you are there?” I ask, moving quicker to catch up after dawdling near one of the carved doorways.

He glances back, eyes cast in a strange glow from the gas lights. “A few of us.”

Legs tired from the trek up to the house and climbing the gate, I stumble on the thick carpet, but Jafeth catches me before I tumble to the floor. His smile is a little too eager, a little too flawless.

“You’ll meet all of us tonight,” he says, letting me go. “At dinner.”

“That sounds pleasant.” I rub my arm where Jafeth touched me and frown, shivering as we continue down the dark corridor.

4

Ruby

Ihold my hands out to the fire in the dining room, begging for its warmth. This house feels even colder than outside. Jafeth has barely finished introducing his brother Shemaiah when he exclaims, “There he is.”

I turn expecting to meet the father, only to watch as a younger man strides into the room. Not Hammish Roan, I’m sure. This man is stunning in a way that feels too perfect, much like Jafeth and Shemaiah, but where their looks didn’t affect me physically, this man’s countenance stops my breath and constricts my lungs. Like the others, he wears a formal suit that fits his tall form perfectly. His dark hair is styled, but not slick like many men prefer to wear it in the colony. It looks silky smooth, combed away from his face so it falls in soft waves to one side, a dark lock skimming his forehead. His eyes are dark, his lashes thick, his brows slashes that might appear severe but aren’t. The severity of his features is in the harshness of the linesof his face: the sharp, wide cheeks, the defined jaw, the serious line of his mouth.

When our eyes catch, he stops, faltering mid-step. His gaze bores into mine with an intensity that makes my heart race. His expression is hard, yielding nothing, demanding everything. I’m a fly caught in a trap. Small, in the face of a force much larger.

The bodice of my dress suddenly feels like it’s two sizes too small. The capped lace sleeves, which seemed elegant moments ago, now feel flimsy and fragile as his gaze slides slowly from my pinned up hair to my delicate slippers. A shiver skates across my skin.

“Why is she wearing Zarah’s dress?” he asks, low and lethal.

“Forgive me. It was laid out on my bed for dinner. I didn’t think–”

Jafeth cuts me off with a laugh. “This is Noah. Our eldest brother.”

“Oh.” I curtsy. “Hello, Mr. Roan.” I extend my hand.

Noah Roan stares at my gloved fingers like they’re poisonous vipers and doesn’t return the courtesy. Heat flares in my cheeks.

“Noah,” Jafeth says, cutting a hand through the air from his brother to me. “Miss Rose.”

Still, the man stands unmoving, though now his gaze has returned to my face. I retract my hand, untouched, and grasp it with my other in front of my body, depressing the full skirt under them.

“He doesn’t exude the ease and friendliness the rest of us do, right, Shemaiah?”

Shemaiah leans against the window, looking absently at the storm outside, but he huffs a sound of agreement at Jafeth’s comment and adds, “Absolutely awkward at the best of times.”

When my focus swings back to Noah, he’s still staring at me with an expression I can’t decipher. He swallows, then clears his throat.

“I’m sorry. I spend so much time… working that I forget how to be polite.” At last, he extends his hand. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Professor Rose.”

I unclasp my hands and take hold of his. “Ruby is fine.”

“Ruby.” He holds my gaze as he slowly lifts my hand and plants a featherlight kiss on the silk covering my skin. His eyes close as he lingers, the warmth of his lips burning through my glove.

Electric sparks light my nerves from my hand to somewhere deep in my core. My heart skips inside my chest as his thumb slides over the inside of my wrist, hesitating at my pulse point. His eyes fly open, and he releases me, stepping back so quickly it makes me dizzy.

“Good, you’re all here,” a voice says from somewhere behind me. I turn to see a gentleman of indefinite age standing at the head of the table. I’m not sure when he entered, and it unnerves me that I didn’t notice. “Allow me to introduce myself, Miss Rose, I am Hammish Roan. I see you’ve met my sons. It’s a pleasure to have you in my home. Come, let’s eat.” He holds a hand out to the seat to his right.

Noah immediately storms to the long table set for five, saying nothing.

Feeling off balance by the broody Roan brother, I grab hold of a shallow breath. Then another, willing my pulse back into place.

“Shall we,” Jafeth asks. His hand comes to rest at the small of my back, a bold touch that feels oppressive, so different from Noah’s which still burns against my wrist.

I take the seat Jafeth pulls out for me, to the right of Mr. Roan and beside Noah. Rather than glance at him, even thoughI want to, I study the table as the men take their seats. The table is dressed in a black cloth and set with five opulent settings, making it clear no one else will be joining us. I recall, then, that Hammish Roan is a widower, his wife having died tragically, though the details are obscured by rumor and time.

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