“He won’t surface until this afternoon.” I frown, remembering Griffin’s weaving gait at the end of the ball, one hand clutching the hip of his date, and the other a bottle of champagne.
“He has dreadful taste in women,” Sandy says, contemplating the dreary weather as the rain almost vertically lashes against the window. Neither of us voices that Holly was the exception to this rule. Thankfully, she had eyes for no one but Sandy. “Speaking of appearances—”
“The boys?” I cut in. “Chrissy has taken them over to Home Farm to see the lambs.” And pick up my sheepskins.
“Nice, but no. I was about to say Van won’t be here for breakfast.”
“Oh?” A tiny knife twists in my stomach. Despite my best efforts, there’s a slight waver in my reply. “Well, one less for Dougal to cater for.” God, I’m a masochist because I mean it.
“He took a car to the airport this morning. Needed back in London, apparently.”
“Idle hands are the devil’s workshop,” I find myself murmuring. I’m not sure how I can be both relieved and disappointed that he’s not here.
Sandy narrows his eyes over the rim of my cup. “It sounds like you know him better than I thought.”
I don’t answer his subtle goad, blinking innocently back at him instead.
“Something tells me his hands weren’t at all idle last night,” he mutters.
“I hope you’re not expecting me to comment.”
He doesn’t know. He couldn’t know. I couldn’t have put Van any farther away from the family quarters. Not without housing him in the damp, medieval-era rooms, which would’ve raised questions. But I suppose there is the argument that I’d put him so far away for some other purpose than moving him out of temptation’s way. Subliminally, I mean.
I watch as Sandy’s blue gaze dips, but before the coffee thief can bring the cup to his lips, he realizes it’s almost empty. And likely cold. “Isla, you know I’m not one to interfere—”
I bark out a laugh. “The great and powerful duke of Dalforth not interfere? Since when?” I’m not complaining. Sandy has always felt his duty strongly. He’s supported me, and in turn, I’ve done what I could for him, helping with the running of the castle from the gift shop to hosting dinners. I’m still helping now, though mainly because it’s a lot for Holland to take on.
“I’ve never interfered in your life, not if I could ever help it. You’re old enough and wise enough to make your own decisions, but you don’t know Van well. He is my best friend, and I think very highly of him, but sometimes I’m not even sure I know him. Yes, he’s smooth and charming and I dare say he has his attractions—”
“Sounds like how someone might describe you, brother dearest.” Crossing my legs, I fold my arms across my chest. “Someone like Holland, say.”
“But he isn’t the man for you, Iz.”
I was aware of it fifteen years ago, and it didn’t stop me from offering him my heart on a platter. Which he treated like dog meat. But I’m not some wide-eyed romantic in need of excitement. So why are we still treading those same old worn boards?
“I’m aware,” I answer eventually.
“Good. I’m pleased to hear it.”
“Although he is very attractive,” I murmur, glancing down to flick the pages of my sketchbook. Why exactly does Sandy think Van is a bad choice? “And divorce is hard.” I sigh. “It can be lonely.” Lies! Tom was rarely around. I don’t miss his presence at all.
The cup clatters against the countertop, my brother’s jaw flexing in frustration. “Then find someone else. Van is dangerous.”
That’s probably part of his appeal, I almost say. Instead, my reply reeks of innocence. “What makes you say that?” Come on, Sandy, be specific. I know Van is dangerous to my heart, and I know he can be violent in his expression and in his desires, but something tells me he’s not just trying to frighten me off. “If he’s your friend, then you must respect him. And as far as being a potential love interest, Van is solvent and respectful. As far as I can tell, I’d be—”
“Asking for trouble involving yourself with him.”
I laugh an unhappy sound. Don’t I know it. I know it now, and I knew it back then. I suppose the more things change, the more they stay the same.
“There are things about him that I can’t tell you, not without breaking his confidence.”
“Which would make you a terrible friend.” God, these two and their moral code and their friendship. I love and detest them both for it.
“I’d rather be a terrible friend than a terrible brother and I would tell you, if I thought they might frighten you off. But with you, I can never tell.”
“I’m not sure that’s very complimentary.”
“You are a paragon.” He quirks a brow. “Except when you’re not. You might fool everyone else, but I know how well you hide your stubborn streak.”