She slid her lemonade onto the workbench and moved toward the door, an easy smile on her lips for whichever neighbor she’d find in the drizzly evening.
The smile froze and then exploded into a laugh as she opened the door and the light fell on the man outside. Not a neighbor. Rory!
“Hello, luv.” He stepped inside, as if he’d been here a hundred times before. Darting a glance over her shoulder, he leaned over to drop a kiss onto her lips. But then he pulled her toward the door still standing open.
She laughed again and tugged at him to stay put. “Where are you going? Come in! I’ll introduce you to—”
“Not yet.” He darted a glance past her again, and she finally gathered her wits enough to note that the smile on his face wasn’t half as joyful as her own felt. “Just step outside with me for a moment, will you?”
For a moment? She let him tug her out into the dusk, but a thousand questions were vying for a place on her tongue. When had he arrived in the islands—and why was he only just now showing up on Tresco? All the locals would have been inside by now, not out in their boats this close to dark. Which surely meant that he intended to stay here tonight. Why wasn’t he eager for an introduction to her parents, so that they could invite him to bunk with Ainsley?
Oh, wouldn’t he be surprised to learn that his cousin was here too?
Once he had her outside, he dropped her hand, which left her fingers feeling oddly cold and uncertain. With his newly free one, he took his cap off and combed the thick waves she’d run her own fingers through a few short weeks ago. Tucked the cap into his pocket and made a show of surveying the house. “So, this is home, aye?”
The drizzle had tapered off, leaving more mist than rain in the air. She smiled at his twilight-draped form. “It is. I always thought I’d see your home before you saw mine, given how far this is from everything. I’m eager to show you about, though. And where are you staying? We could squeeze you in here, I’m sure, with, of all people—”
“Slow down, Nara.” Rory gave her a grin, but it was absent his usual cheer. “I didn’t come for a tour.”
Confusion twisted with dread and knit a shroud over her heart. This wasn’t how their reunion was supposed to go, not this time. Not after the words they’d spoken, the kisses, the things she’d given him—and given up for him. He was supposed to sweep her into his arms, proclaim how much he’d missed her. He was supposed to march straight up to her father and ask for her hand.
He was supposed to make everything right.
She kept her smile in place, though her throat went tight. “Of course not. But you came, which is what matters, and you’ll need a place to stay, won’t you? Your cousin—”
“You’ve met him, then?” Now his eyes flashed, and he reached for her hand again. But it wasn’t love or desire in his eyes—not for her anyway. “I imagined you would, given how small the islands are. What’s he been about? How well have you got to know him? Do you think you can get information from him?”
“I . . . what?” Her fingers went limp in his. She’d thought it would be a surprise for him that Ainsley was here. But he’d known it all along. Known it and . . . what? What exactly was he asking of her? “Rory?”
Now he put back on his usual smile, full of charm. He sidled closer to her. “Don’t look at me like that, luv. This is what you’ve always wanted from me, isn’t it? To leave our positions so we can be together? Well, that requires cash. And I found a way to get some.”
The windfall. He’d hinted as much back at Cliffenwelle. She’d thought he meant an unexpected inheritance, or that his paternal uncle had decided to retire and turn the shop over to him. Suddenly here, now, with a very different backdrop and her own weeks having been spent in pursuit of a pirate hoard, she had a very bad feeling that she’d assumed incorrectly.
“No.” It was a plea, not just a word. “Rory, please tell me you didn’t somehow get tangled up with the Scofields.”
“Well you needn’t blame me. It’s saintly Ainsley’s fault.” He chuckled as he said it and cast a glance around their back garden. “Do you know where he’s staying? I’d better avoid him. He won’t be too keen on me having leveraged our relation.”
She tugged her fingers free of his so she could reach up and press them to the sudden headache pounding in her temple. “You didn’t. You wouldn’t sell out your own cousin.”
He pursed his lips. “That’s an ugly way of putting it.”
“Rory? What are you doing here?” Ainsley’s voice, sounding from the kitchen doorway, made her jump half out of her skin. Though her own response was nothing compared to Rory’s. He jumped, too, and a terrible look crashed over his face. He moved to the side, spun her to face his cousin, and then held her there with hands on her shoulders.
Putting her in between them. Using her as a shield.
Which was ridiculous, on the one hand—Ainsley would never raise a hand to anyone. But on the other hand, the absurdity didn’t matter at all. Rory was supposed to be her hero, setting the world to rights. He was supposed to be as gallant as he was handsome, honorable, worthy of the love she’d given him.
Instead, he was cowering behind her.
“Guess that answers the question of where he’s staying,” he muttered, punctuating it with a curse. “Didn’t think you’d have got quite that close to him, luv.”
She stiffened under his heavy hands. “His employer is staying next door. My parents work for them, so they offered him a room.”
He sucked in a breath. “Your mum and dad work for the Tremaynes? Blimey, how did I not realize that?”
How indeed? She’d mentioned it often enough over the years. Had he paid no attention?
Or . . . wait, had she ever said their name? Or had she done as she always did and called them Mrs. T and Mamm-wynn T and Beth and Ollie, just that?
His hands on her shoulders softened a bit, massaging instead of just holding her down. His voice was low and soft, undoubtedly meant to reach only her ears and not his cousin’s. “Well now, that’s perfect. You’ll be able to help more than I dared to hope.” Louder he said, “Good to see you, Henry. And you’ve met my girl, clearly.”
His girl. A few weeks ago, she’d thrilled when she’d heard him call her that to another servant. Somehow, it felt very different now, with all this ugliness spilling out. And with Henry Ainsley staring them down.
“I asked you what you were doing here, Rory. Though I suspect I know, given that ‘ugly way of putting it.’”
There was something odd about his tone. Something she’d never heard in it before—a coolness, a reserve. Strange, because she would have told anyone who asked that Ainsley was always on the cool, reserved side. But his normal voice sounded downright tropical in comparison to his current one.
“Good to see you, too, cousin.” Rory chuckled and slid one of his hands down her back, resting it on her waist. No less an anchor but somehow more possessive. And not in a way she particularly liked. “Actually, I owe you quite a lot of thanks. If you weren’t such a stick-in-the-mud, I’d never have had this golden opportunity land in my lap.”