Page 154 of Their Master

Smith smiled and the other man climbed into the carriage where Moira was bundled in blankets, having refused to go home while Smith dealt with Charles and Clayton.

“Is it over?” she asked, her eyes a startling green today, her face far too pale.

Smith nodded. “It’s over.”

Selkirk leaned toward Moira. “We’ve not been introduced, ma’am. I’m Selkirk—it’s a pleasure.” He took Moira’s hand and raised it to his lips.

Moira’s eyes flared at the distinguished lord’s courtly gesture and Smith had a sudden, violent, urge to open the door and chuck the peer out of the carriage.

“Moira Dunsmuir,” she said, her voice composed, although her cheeks now had spots of color. “I’ve admired one of your paintings often. Smith keeps it in my favorite sitting room.”

The earl shot Smith a sly look. “He might have another quite soon.”

Smith tried to suppress his greedy excitement at the thought and failed. “I shall look forward to that.”

“On another subject,” Selkirk said, “Do you want to return the contents of Clayton’s strong box, or shall I?”

“I will leave that to you—if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.” Selkirk’s lips twitched and Smith wondered if the man was pondering earning someblackof his own. Well, it wasn’t his concern—they were all the earl’s friends and acquaintances. He could do what he wished with the evidence.

Smith looked at Moira. He, personally, was finished with revenge. For good.

He was also finished with hiding his love. He’d wasted too many years living for the past and he had two excellent reasons—soon to be three—to look to the future.

Smith intended to keep all three close.

Chapter 37

Luke opened his eyes and found two beloved faces looking down on him.

He blinked.

But when he opened his eyes, they were both still there.

Luke smiled. “Well,” he said, the single word almost more than he could manage.

Moira’s eyes widened and she glanced at Smith, who grinned down at him.

Luke had never seen such an open, joyous expression on his master’s face before and it had the unfortunate result of causing his heart to pound, whichhurt.He sucked in a breath and then tried to push himself up.

Hands landed on his shoulders when he whimpered.

“Let us help you,” Moira said, reaching for a pillow while Smith stood, slid his arms carefully around him, and lifted him gently.

Luke stared at their intent, caring faces—togetherandin Smith’s bedroom with him!—as they propped him up and plumped his pillows.

If he was dreaming all this it would kill him.

“Do you remember what happened?” Smith asked.

Luke tried to recall what was causing him such pain, but the last thing memory he had was sitting for Moira while she sketched him.

“You were drawing me,” he said to Moira. “That’s all I remember.”

“You were sketching Luke?” Smith asked Moira.

She shrugged, her cheeks darkening.

---