She could feel his tension in each muscle of his arm though. He wanted to physically put things to rights, pound a few skulls. She could understand the sentiment. But . . . “We’ll get it sorted, Caz. Bring to justice whoever killed Johnnie. But it won’t bring him back.”
“I know.” His fingers caught hers and squeezed, but it wasn’t her he was looking at. His gaze was toward Old Grimsby. “But if we can stop it from happening again . . .”
Her brows knit. “What do you mean?”
He sighed. “Perry and the Grimsby boys—well, Nick and Joseph, anyway. They’ve been chasing after whatever Johnnie was involved in.”
Mabena’s breath tangled in her throat. She had hoped they’d given that up by now, after they’d caught them at it on Teän. “Did you warn them off?”
“I’ve tried, but what could I say? I told them Johnnie slipped, like everyone else was saying. But Perry must have known he was up to something. And you know boys—the more you make something seem forbidden, the more determined they are.” He shook his head. “I won’t have any more of them getting hurt. I can’t.”
She touched a hand to his chest, over his heart. His shirt was still damp from the race, but she hardly cared. All that mattered was this man who put on such a front of disdain used it to cover a heart bigger than all the islands put together. “You’re a good man, Casek Wearne.”
His gaze flashed back to hers, and a grin winked out. “I’ve been telling you that all your life, Mabena Moon.”
“Well, it may be I believe you now.” She returned the grin and curled her hand into his shirt, using it to give him a tug off the path. The flowering trellis didn’t exactly hide them completely from any prying eyes peering out neighboring windows, but it would obscure them a bit, anyway. She stretched up on her toes.
It was all the invitation Casek needed. His arms came around her, hauling her up the remaining few inches until her feet dangled and her laugh at it was cut off by his lips claiming hers.
It shouldn’t make her soul take wing even now, should it? Johnnie Rosedew was dead, likely murdered, and the man responsible was after Beth . . . or Libby. Her cousins’ grandmother was still abed, Tas-gwyn had been clobbered as surely as she herself had been, and more lads could be in danger. There was nothing light about this situation. Nothing all that hopeful, even.
But for all that was wrong, this was right. The way her blood trumpeted through her veins, making a glorious symphony of noise in her ears. The way she fit inside the circle of his arms, making her feel as protected as a bird nested in the rocks, yet still as free as one gliding on the wind. The way her heart skipped and jumped and raced.
She pulled away with a little groan, pushing him back a step even though she kept her fingers curled into his shirt. “You need to go.”
“Soon.” He kissed her again first, bending down this time to accomplish it. “I’ve a lot of years to make up for.”
She laughed. And convinced her fingers to let go of the cotton. “And we’ve years in which to do the making up. The future’s ours, dearovim.”
If only it were pure joy in his eyes at that, untainted by all this. “I hope so, my love.” He nodded toward the house. “You’ll have to be the voice of reason with that lot. I don’t trust those dandies to sort things out, not as far as I can throw them.”
Her lips twitched—first because neither Sheridan nor Telford were dandies by any definition other than an islander’s, and second at the image of him giving them a nice, friendly toss. “How far do you think that is, exactly?”
He chuckled. “If they don’t watch themselves, we may find out.” He pressed his lips to hers once more, softly. “I’ll find you after school. Are you here tonight, or back to St. Mary’s?”
It had been ages since anyone asked her questions like that—questions that at once granted her the right to decide for herself how she’d fill her days and yet asked to be a part of them. “Here. Libby wants to be close to Mamm-wynn. We’d originally planned to go back just for a bit this afternoon, to get the Wednesday delivery, but with Beth back, I don’t think we need to. Which is fine with me. We brought enough clothes to last us a week.” Including evening wear for Libby, much to the lady’s dismay—but with two lords in residence and Beth back, dinners would be a formal affair again at the Tremayne house. They’d had two lads carry their bags from the Mermaid to her parents’ when they landed.
“Good. I’ll feel better with you close. And don’t let those idiots do anything stupid while I’m at work.”
She smiled her promise. “I’m flattered you think me capable of stopping them.”
He laughed and stepped back to the gate, opened it. “I think you’re capable of anything, dearover.” With a wink, he stepped to the street. “Tonight?”
“I’ll be either here or at my parents’.”
He nodded, lifted his hand, and strode away.
Mabena stood there watching him until he disappeared, arms wrapped around herself even though she was far from cold in the summer morning air. Just . . . savoring. Feeling. Holding it all in.
“Mind telling me how that happened?”
Mabena smiled at Beth’s voice, turning her head but otherwise not moving. “You vanish for over a month and you miss a few things, cousin.” It was a relief, though, to see her back here where she belonged. Strolling toward her with the front garden as a perfect backdrop to her pretty dress, her pretty face. Mabena sighed. “Where have you been? All this time?”
Beth gestured to the southwest. “One of the abandoned cottages on Samson, mostly.”
Mabena frowned. “Where your grandmother and Tas-gwyn went to find you? But—how could she have known? Her eyesight isn’t so good that she could have spotted you.”
“No one would spot me.” But Beth frowned. “What do you mean, that she knew?”
She told her briefly about the scare the other day, with the grandparents having vanished, and what Libby and Oliver had told her about finding them. Then added, “It isn’t the only odd thing she’d done lately either. She’s the one who sent Oliver to St. Mary’s the day after we arrived to see where you were.”
Beth folded her arms over her chest, her gaze distant. “The veil’s slipping.”
“What?”
But Beth shook her head, and her eyes refocused on Mabena’s face. “Just something she used to say. About her own grandmother. I’m going to go and sit with her for a while. Coming in?”
“I’d better.” She sent a look in the general direction of the library. “I have a feeling the gentlemen aren’t coming to any helpful conclusions—and Libby’s probably about ready to curl up on the floor with her cat and howl in frustration.”
An echo of a smile touched Beth’s lips. “She’s not what I expected. From your letters.”
“No?” What had she written that was wrong? She tried to send her mind back over all the words, but they were a muddle in her mind, confused with the pain she was determined to ignore. She opted for a grin to deflect that truth. “Your brother certainly likes her.”