Page 49 of All My Broken Dreams

He laughed. “The kittens are growing like weeds. Another week or so and I’ll have to find homes for the lot. The mother will go to a shelter. I’d take her in but no animals in this building.”

“We don’t have to avoid each other,” Robbie said. “I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be here. I have to stick around for this trust fund business–no idea what it’s about but the solicitor said there might be papers to sign. Once that’s done, I’ll be going home.”

“You’re the one with the busy schedule, running off to town with the elite crowd for shopping trips. I heard about the outing from Casey. See? I told you your life was about to change. You’re in thick with the mucky-mucks.”

She inhaled his scent. “I don’t like the change so far. Penelope has a chip on her shoulder. Millicent seems nice … but they aren’t quite real if you know what I mean.”

“Do you think that could ever happen to you? That you could lose who you are now?”

“And become like one of them? If I had their money and looks, maybe. They were born to another life, Deacon. What are they called–the originals? I can’t even imagine having that kind of pedigree. I’m a commoner.”

Robbie took Deacon’s hand. It was warm and broad and strong. “You have the hands of a laborer but you’re one of them too. I saw your family name etched in one of the beams in the dining hall. Your family is an original. Did it change you?”

He laughed and she liked the way the sound rumbled deep within his chest. “All it’s done is to make me too proud. I’m easily provoked. I’ve been accused of having a quick temper.”

She remembered Casey’s description of a violent Deacon, and the scene in the alley when he pummeled her attackers. There was a side to him that she felt simmering near the surface, like there was a pin that, if pulled, would detonate.

Robbie shivered and pushed the image away.

“We won’t change, Deacon. No matter what happens, we two will remain as we are now.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

He left her asleep, tucked in her own bed. Thinking about what she had said as he climbed the stairs to his flat. It would be nice if it were true and they would remain the same, but the one fact that Deacon had lived with his whole life was that change was going to happen.

He waited until he was inside his room and the door was locked to make the call.

“I am keeping away from her,” he argued with the voice on the other end. “I stayed away for two weeks, roaming the fucking streets of Edinburgh to avoid her. I don’t answer to you, you twerp. Put Alastair on if you don’t like what I have to say.”

A few seconds later:

“She was questioning Harry’s part in the man’s death. I talked her around. I think she’s satisfied now with that version. She’s going home as soon as she signs some papers. She doesn’t know she’s the beneficiary.”

“And that’s all?” Alastair’s prodding didn’t imply his nephew was holding back a deeper reason for his interest in Robbie, but Deacon felt uncomfortable all the same.

“That’s all. If it’s suspicion you’re after avoiding, she’s going to get bloody suspicious if I keep ghosting her,” he said angrily. “This surveillance ends as soon as those papers are signed. I won’t be a party to this. If she wants to run with your crowd, she’s welcome to it; I’ll not stand in her way. But I won’t turn my back on her either. If she asks, I’ll act as her friend.”

“Will you now? What the hell has gotten into you, boy?”

“You heard me. Don’t make me choose between the two of you, uncle.”

He hung up, shaking. That was the first time in over a decade that Deacon had put a superior in his place. Bash a man’s face in, he could handle that without turning a hair, but assert himself with words? Unheard of. God knows what Alastair was making of it. Likely thought him doolally.

Whatever he felt about it, Lord Manderville wouldn’t test the limits of his nephew’s temper. His uncle was a hard man but he respected the boy he’d raised to be as hard as him.

Deacon stepped into a hot shower, thinking of Robbie’s head on his shoulder.

???

The chapel at Locksley Hall was one of the original buildings, dating back to 1300. The stonework, stained glass and ornate carved pews made the occasion of Harry Listowel’s funeral an almost stately affair.

Working against this was the absolute dead ass cold. Central heating must be considered a luxury that would take away from the experience of suffering. Robbie had trouble grieving when all she could think about was how fucking cold she was. She giggled through her tears. Harry would love that.

Every pew was full. The priest spoke about Harry’s young life and how well-loved he was, and when the service was over, Robbie believed every word of it. Harrywaswell-loved. He was accomplished and he had so much promise. So much to live for.

Then why, oh why, did he pitch himself out of a tower window?

She would have to go to the Isle of Arran to see it for herself. She needed to see where he died and where he was found, and learn why he wasn’t found sooner. She needed it for herself and for her mother. Sarah’s criticism still rang in her ears.

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