Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Preparing for his aunt’s arrival took more energy during the day than he wanted to admit. The woman was meticulous in everything that she liked or disliked, and she didn’t care if anyone knew her opinion. His servants worked tirelessly, day and night, to make sure every single room was exactly as his aunt would expect them to be. And if they weren’t, then they redid the entire decor.

Of course, that made hiding for the next couple of nights even more difficult. But he managed.

Luther changed the locks on the basement door himself, making sure they were still new and difficult to lock pick. He also watched his back every time he went into the basement, just in case a certain thief followed him to the ballroom where she would only get herself in even more trouble. The last thing he needed was for her to realize the truth.

Being a murderous, bloodthirsty noble was better than what he actually was. He didn’t even like to name himself, let alone another person.

He did what he had to do. Luther kept himself scarce. He hid for two full nights and during the day; he informed the servants he was not to be bothered. Luther kept himself busy and away from the tempting young woman who haunted the halls.

Everywhere he went, he could smell her. Even now, as he strode down the hallway toward the kitchens. Her scent of cinnamon and clove and apples filled his nose until he could think of nothing else. She’d touched a painting here, traced her fingers over the lines of fabric that draped over a chair. Why had she been so fascinated with this painting? It wasn’t even of a person and yet she’d touched it.

Oh, and she’d paused here. Her scent was stronger, and it filled his lungs like burning whiskey. Why here? He looked around the halls but couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. Just a hallway leading toward a kitchen. Nothing more, nothing less.

The beast inside him lifted its head and inhaled deeply. Ah, there was his answer. A servant had walked out of the door to his right. Perhaps she’d paused to ask the young maid a question. Or was it a butler? He didn’t know his own staff very well, and the mere thought of her asking a question of another man made his heart race. If she had questions, she could ask him. It was his damn house.

Those were foolish thoughts. She was a guest in his house, yes, but he’d trapped her here with a deal that she hadn’t really wanted to partake in. He was the monster, still, and she was the unsuspecting victim.

Damn it, he needed to get his head on straight or he’d lose it.

She was just a woman. A thief who had fallen through his ceiling and captured his attention more than any other woman he’d ever met in his life. Damn it. No, that wasn’t how he felt about her.

That line of thought had to end. He could do this. He could ignore her scent that lingered on everything and keep walking forward.

Luther put one foot in front of the other and charged to the kitchens, where he could hopefully have his breakfast in peace. He had another month of normalcy now, after all, and that was worth celebrating with a very sticky, very sweet pastry from his wonderful chef.

He rounded a corner a little too fast and struck a hard wall. Or a statue, perhaps, that someone had moved to clean? Either way, he bounced off it and hit the opposite wall hard enough that all the breath whooshed out of his lungs. Luther slid down onto his backside, dazed and confused at how he’d ended up on the floor.

“What the hell?” he muttered, pressing a hand to his chest before looking up.

Fire burned in front of his gaze. No, wait. Not fire. Curls that coiled in front of him like the licks of a flame, but they were attached to a very mortal head and a very mortal body. She wore a man’s shirt and trousers, yet again, although this time they weren’t black. The white shirt looked rather lovely on her, even though it wasn’t really meant to flatter a female form.

Luna crossed her arms over her chest and glared down at him. “You should watch where you’re going. What if you’d run into one of your tiny little maids? They’d be flattened, Luther. Flattened.”

His jaw loosened, then hung free as he stared at the angry woman. Even like this, she was stunning. Hauntingly beautiful like a ghost, he couldn’t get her out of his damned head.

Was she scolding him for careening around the corner? She should. Anyone should do that when he was clearly endangering himself and others walking around like that. Luther wasn’t a small man by any means, and abnormally strong considering the beast inside his chest.

“I—I— “ he stammered, trying very hard to sound like he actually knew English.

Luna rolled her eyes and held out her hand for him to take. “Just get up, would you? The servants are going to see you on the floor and think I hit you.”

“You did hit me.”

“No, you hit me,” she corrected while grabbing the hand he didn’t offer. “For some reason, you keep ending up in positions that make me question your sanity, Earl of Dead Man’s Crossing. Would you stand up already? I’m not going to pick you up.”

She could if she wanted to. He had no question that she could lean down, heave him over her shoulder, and march down the hall with him. That knowledge should have made him uncomfortable, but it was rather thrilling instead. He’d never met a woman who could physically lift him.

Oh god. Was he staring at her again?

Shit. Shit, he had to do something, or she’d think he was a complete idiot. But he was looking at some goddess who stepped out of a damn war and what man could have held onto his sanity?

He cleared his throat again and helped her haul him to his feet. “Right. Here we go. Thank you for helping, I just... I don’t know what happened.”

“Well, when two immoveable objects hit each other, one usually gives before the other.” She released his hand, but he watched as her fingers tucked into the fabric of her shirt. As though she wanted to preserve the warmth, or press it against her side.

What would happen if he put his hand where she’d touched? If he allowed himself to feel whether her waist would be tiny and thin, or roped with muscle like the rest of her?

And goodness, he realized that this close he could count all the freckles that dusted her nose. It would take a long time, of course. She had hundreds. But he had the fleeting thought that counting her freckles would be exceedingly better than counting all the stars in the sky.

“Where were you going with such purpose?” she asked, her voice cutting through his daydreaming.

He snapped out of his stupor like a man emerging out of frozen water. With a gasp, he pointed behind her and stammered, “To the kitchens.”

He was a dolt. Luther wanted to smack himself for acting like this around a woman of little means. He had been in the presence of a princess in his lifetime, and he hadn’t stammered like this. What was it about this woman that made his entire schooling leak out of his ears?

Though she was clearly unimpressed with his actions, Luna glanced in the direction he pointed. “Huh. Well, if you don’t mind me joining you, I could go for something to eat as well. Your servants have been rather stingy with food, I’ll admit.”

“They what?” His cheeks turned bright red. “Tell me the names of the servants who mistreated you, madam, and I will make sure they are punished for it. No guest in this house should go hungry on my watch.”

Her eyes widened with every word. “That seems a little harsh, don’t you think? I’m sure they provided what they deemed the normal amount of food for a young woman, but I am obviously larger than most.”

“You should get whatever food you want.”

Luna smiled, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. “I eat as much as any man, Luther. I don’t think most servants consider that.”

Well, she had him stumped, but that didn’t mean he liked it. She shouldn’t be hungry in his house, not when there was plenty of food to eat.

“Right, well, we’re putting an end to that, then.” He walked past her and it took every ounce of his strength not to grab her hand in his again. Just to tug her toward the kitchens, of course. No other reason at all.

He led the way into the heart of his manor. The beating lifeblood of this building. The kitchens. And all of that was run by an elderly woman named Magda, who was quite possibly the most wonderful woman he’d ever met.

She stood at the head of a very long wood topped island. Magda wore her normal white handkerchief over her hair and plenty of aprons around her plump waist. She popped her hands on her hips and glared at the long row of ovens and stoves that lined the opposite wall. Thankfully, none of them were going just yet. Luther always thought it was unbearably warm in the kitchen when Magda got going.

“Hello!” Luther called out. He stepped to the side so that the cook could see Luna. “We have a hungry guest, Magda. I thought you’d like to know.”

Ah, but the old woman saw through his games. She tsked and glared at him, although the heavy smile lines on her face ruined any threat she’d meant to send his way. “We both know why you’re here, Luther. For goodness sakes.”

Luna looked between the two of them, her brow arched in curiosity. “Now I want to know why he’s here, because I really thought he wanted to feed me.”

“Oh, he wants to feed you, darling, but he also wants to feed himself. The man is impossible to keep satisfied! He’s like a bottomless pit.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a wooden spoon, then pointed to a basket near her on the table. “Your hunt is complete, my lord. Feast to your heart’s content. I left extra out for you this time.”

“You’re an angel,” Luther replied. He raced to the end of the island and grabbed onto her waist, just to make sure he could land the very loud kiss on her cheek. “Heaven sent.”

“They’re just pastries, Luther.” Magda giggled though, like she was a young girl again. And in many ways, she always would be.

The cook had been there for him through the most difficult times of his life. She’d always been the kind hearted woman he ran to whenever anything went wrong. And though she knew very little about the reality of his life or the family secret he had to hide, she was always there with open arms. Warm. Smelling like cookies. She was the grandmother he’d never had but had always wanted.

And she made the best pastries in all of London because she dipped them in honey and sugar after she baked them.

He snagged a few of those perfect pastries and stuffed them into his mouth. They were damned good, and his stomach rumbled in happiness. Or perhaps hunger because he intended to eat quite a few more of these delicious, sugary treats.

He froze in place the moment he realized Luna was staring at him. Her eyes were a little too wide and her jaw had definitely loosened as though it were ready to drop open at any moment. Was he acting like an animal?

Yes. Although, that wasn’t unusual for him, so he supposed that was... expected.

Clearing his throat, he reached for a napkin on the table and wiped at his mouth. “Sorry.”

“I guess you really like those pastries, huh?” she asked.

He didn’t know how to reply. How did one say that yes, of course, he loved the pastries, but he forgot sometimes that he was in a human skin? The beast inside him loved to eat and devour. That was the sole purpose of the beast, it seemed. Hunger and rage and desire. All the emotions that a good man, a nobleman, didn’t feel. And yet, he felt them all as though each emotion were a singular monster living within him. Each with its own voice whispering in his ear.

Luna looked at the pastries, then glanced at Magda. “Honey cakes?”

“Indeed.” His chef blushed, her expression pleased that someone knew what she’d cooked up. “They were a specialty in my village, and when I came to London, I was so surprised no one had them on the table all the time.”

Something about Luna softened. Her shoulders curved in, her brow eased from its usual tense scrunch. And Luther desired to know why she reacted like that to simple pastries.

Sure, he always smiled when he saw them. But that was because he knew he would devour at least six of them and then pass out in a sugar coma within the next hour or so. Luther had very few moments in his life he didn’t feel guilty for, and these cakes were one of them.

But Luna looked at them, almost as though she’d seen a ghost.

“We used to make them in my village too,” she murmured. “I remember my mother staying up all night readying them for Samhain.”

Magda flinched. “We don’t say those words too loudly here, girl. No need to upset anyone with the old ways.”

“Ah yes, they always get so upset with the reminder.” Luna shook her head and smiled. “The Church warned me of that once they got their hands on me. Pagan terminology isn’t to be tolerated. That’s how it always is, I suppose.”

Pagan terms? The Church?

Luther looked between the two women as though one of them might give him the answers he sought. But they just stared at each other with knowing looks, like they shared a past that he couldn’t understand.

“Ladies?” he asked, clearing his throat loudly. “Can I ask for clarification on what you two are talking about?”

They both replied at the same time. “No.”

“Ah.” He picked up three more pastries and backed his way out of the room. “Then I’ll just... Leave you to it, then.”

Luther popped another pastry in his mouth as he wandered down the hall. Just who had he brought into his home?