Page 142 of Their Master

Charles would have gone to see her for no good reason, but at least one bad one: to hurt her in some way because he knew it would hurt Smith.

He snorted at that. How was it that Charles, out of everyone he knew, was the only one to see into Smith’s heart and realize that he’d fallen in love with the damned woman?

Well, he suspected Charles wasn’t the only one who knew how much he cared about Moira. Luke knew how Smith missed her. But only Charles had seen the gut-churning anguish that had simmered within him those few times when he’d mentioned Moira’s name.

Perhaps Charles saw those emotions in Smith because he’d experienced them himself—aboutSmith?

Smith grimaced. Christ. He didn’t like to think of anyone suffering such emotional pain.

Youcan alleviate your pain, while Charles doesn’t have that option, a voice at the back of his mind pointed out.

Smith scowled.And just what does that mean?

You were the one who sent Moira away. Why not let her come back?

Smith grit his teeth against the thought; it was not the first time he’d had to wrestle with it. And it never got any more pleasant—nor did he understand why he couldn’t simply forgive Moira.

Hehatedhow angry he became just thinking about what she’d done to him. And it didn’t matter that she was obviously sorry. Extremely sorry.

Smith’s thoughts churned around and around without ever resolving.

He realized he was cold and noticed that the streets had emptied and the sky was unusually clear, the air crisp.

A glance at his watch told him he’d been walking for almost two hours.

He slipped his watch into his pocket with a guilty grimace—the two guards must think he was mad.

Smith looked up when he paused to cross the street and realized where his feet had led him: this was the cross street that led to Moira’s house.

He hesitated only a moment before turning right instead of left and heading toward the pretty square out in front of her house.

There were stone benches here and there and Smith took one facing the house, vaguely aware that his two guards were standing awkwardly near a lamp post, clearly uncertain of what to do.

As he stared at the house it struck him that it was missing something: guards at the front door.

He could have slapped himself! How had he neglected to provide her with protection? He might have warned Charles off, but in the years to come there would be others who realize that Moira was an excellent way to get back at him.

He would hire men tomorrow—and summon Luke so he could discuss the matter with him and make suitable arrangements.

Luke.

Bloody hell. Smith had run out of the house like a lunatic.

The front door of Moira’s house opened and the man in question stepped out, as if Smith had summoned him with his thoughts.

Beside Luke was Moira and a third person. Smith squinted and then gaped; it was Nora Fanshawe, of all people.

What the devil washisfriend doing there?

Smith snorted at the foolishly possessive thought. There was no reason that Moira and Nora couldn’t be friends. Indeed, the two women chatted with the ease of longtime acquaintances and soon Nora’s carriage came from the mews to pick her up.

Smith stared at Moira as she waved to Nora, Luke standing beside her in a way that seemed to lay claim, even though he wasn’t touching her.

When the carriage disappeared Moira turned to Luke, said something to him that made him laugh—a sound that Smith had never heard the other man make in all the time he’d known him—and then Moira put her hand on Luke’s arm and the two disappeared into the house, shutting the door on this brief, intensely painful, glimpse into their lives.

Smith felt dazed, as if he’d been struck in the head with a brick. She was too bundled up for her stomach to be visible—Luke would never let her step outside in the cold without proper protection—and he wondered if her pregnancy was obvious yet.

She’d been so at ease with Luke, and vice versa. They were very like a married couple, Smith realized.

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