Page 60 of His Until Christmas

I should be able to spot him with no trouble from even halfway up these battlements if he smiles as brilliantly as I glimpsed before all of his brightness winked out. Because that’s what I noticed and now can’t ignore—Jack went from animated to stock-still in an instant. From delighted to dim. All that inner glow I first noticed under mistletoe, then spent three years wishing I could see daily, was instantly smothered.

At least I think that’s what I spied while cameras flashed, which is why I’m on high alert, as if I have Heligan blood in my veins instead of Trelawney. It prompts me to take more steps up to the top of the battlements, where I head straight for the high-power binoculars Arthur uses to watch the seas around his island.

I adjust their focus to search the beach stretching out beside the castle, then I search the harbour again, because Heligans don’t have a monopoly on protecting what they value.

I’ll be first in line to shove whoever made Jack unhappy into the harbour.

Only I must have been mistaken about what I thought I witnessed from a distance.

There isn’t anyone on tonight’s guest list who Jack wasn’t looking forward to parting from their money. Apart from Smallbone, that is, who Rex made wait over a year for this dinner, only Smallbone’s bluster doesn’t scare Jack. If anything, he enjoys the challenge of extracting more cash from him each time he calls to bitch about Rex. But I can’t forget Jack’s smile not only fading but snuffing out like a candle, so I search even harder, which Arthur must notice.

He heads my way while giving big-city moneymakers a tour of his home, guests I’m pretty sure he’d rather push into the harbour as well when one complains the castle is smaller than he expected.

“And yet it was more than big enough to defend the entirety of England’s south coast from armadas in the 1500s.” Arthur chuffs, “Size isn’t everything. Don’t ever mistake stature for an indicator of strength.”

He’s discussing castle architecture but might as well describe who I’m still on the hunt for, and someone small but incredibly strong is who the duke mentions once he sends his guests back downstairs to join the party.

“How did Jack get on with that awful salesman?”

“Salesman?” I only half-listen, binoculars aimed at the yacht that carried guests here before mooring alongside other vessels. “What salesman?”

Arthur harrumphs loud enough that I stop my search to face him.

“That godawful Juno fellow.” He quickly adds, “Not your Juno.”

“Valentin? He wasn’t ever mine. Or on the guest list.” On reflection, I can’t help thinking he only ever hung around our safe harbour project for so long to avoid his own stormy waters, a suspicion Arthur confirms.

“I meant his father.” Arthur tilts his head in the same direction I last pointed the binoculars, his voice dropping even though there’s no way anyone could overhear this. “I know Jack invited Juno senior, hoping for a speedboat donation, but I can’t say I’d want anything from a man who picked on someone smaller, like he did when he got here.”

“He picked on Jack?” I bristle even though doing so is redundant—like this castle, Jack is more than strong enough to fight his own battles. If anything, he’s more likely to go into battle first for anyone being bullied.

Arthur confirms that too. “No. Not Jack.” He points down at the harbour. “That’swho Juno senior bawled out.”

I don’t need binoculars for who comes into focus the moment I follow the direction of his pointing finger. I’d know that knife-sharp jawline anywhere.

Valentin.

I can’t look away from that familiar icy profile as Arthur sniffs. “His father ripped into him for staying on their speedboat. Said invite or no invite, Valentin should gate-crash the party to make business contacts. What was the point of him otherwise? It was time he earned his keep. Can’t imagine talking to a dog, let alone to my own flesh and blood, like he did.”

He sniffs one more time.

“Jack seemed to have it under control. Worked his magic and almost had it all calmed down until that idiot photographer Smallbone brought with him got busy with his camera.” He points again, and this time Idosee Jack.

He’s shadowed.

He’s also trapped between the castle wall, the harbour, and another uninvited guest who must have arrived while I was busy wrapping gifts I now risk crushing in my pocket. You better believe my fist curls at realising who hems in Jack, and who sidesteps to cut off his escape route in what could look like dancemoves if I didn’t know how Jack can glow whenever I spin him to music.

These shadows I see darkening instead?

They get me moving in a hurry.

I took two steps at a time on the way up here. Now I fly down, yet each flight closer to Jack takes forever.

Guests slow me next.

I can’t let them stop me, even if they do have cash I should encourage them to donate. I make excuses instead, and slide past slick bankers. I’m intent on reaching the harbour, which can’t take any more than a minute.

Those sixty seconds last forever.

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