27. Distractions

DISTRACTIONS

A fter passing the reins to his groom with a curt nod, Malum crossed the street beside Melanie, silent except for the steady clip of her shoes against the cobblestones. She moved more tentatively than usual, but still, he caught the faint hesitation as she approached her mother’s door.

At the top, she paused. Turned. Her eyes met his, serious yet searching, as though she wanted to ask him something but didn’t quite know how. The glance was fleeting, but it landed with more weight than it should have.

He thought of what he could say. Reassuring her, perhaps. But this wasn’t the time. And with the sense that he was losing control, he instead gave a short nod.

The moment stretched taut as she lingered a second longer, her eyes full of questions he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—answer. Then she turned, slipping inside, and the door clicked shut behind her.

And as he strode back toward Preston Hall, he did his best to shed these… emotional distractions.

He was feeling… off. Out of sorts in a way he couldn’t quite name.

That moment by the lake gnawed at him. And then, the encounter with Crossings and Northwoods—Malum clenched his jaw just thinking of it.

He should have steered clear of them entirely, driven on without so much as a glance.

Recalling the taunt about his father… Malum’s jaw tightened.

Crossings’ words had been deliberate, probing at wounds Malum kept buried deep, wounds tied to a man he had no desire to emulate. It was a past he refused to repeat.

He didn’t need a reminder of his dead father’s dealings—his complicity in ruin, in corruption. Nor did he need to recall how those dealings had driven the only person Malum cared for away…

Malum would see to it that justice was served—on his terms.

Yes, he’d faced Crossings before, but this… this was different. He’d been caught off guard. He didn’t care for the sensation. Not one bit.

The man’s interest in Melanie had gone beyond casual observation, and too late, Malum realized that anything would have been better than allowing Crossings near her.

There had been something deliberate in his attention, something calculated. Malum could feel it in his gut. Was the man simply toying with his fiancée as part of their long-standing feud, or was there more to it? With Crossings, Malum knew, things could always get darker…

His thoughts churned. He’d foolishly believed he could keep Melanie on the fringes of his life, untouched by its shadows. In hindsight, he saw the arrogance in that assumption.

By bringing Melanie into his orbit, he’d possibly exposed her to dangers she hadn’t chosen. And now, with Crossings circling, Malum was going to have to find a way to shield her.

Yet even with the risks glaring back at him, he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret it.

Her.

And that… that was the most troubling realization of all.

Stepping through the door of Preston Hall, Malum’s thoughts shifted to the following evening. He’d agreed to attend Standish’s formal dinner. It would be one of those tonnish affairs, of course, the sort he’d avoided for far longer than was socially acceptable.

He could already picture it: the excessive courses of meticulously arranged food served on glittering crystal plates, accompanied by conversation so dull it could make even brandy seem unappealing. Still, he hoped dinner with Melanie’s family might prove slightly more tolerable, perhaps even interesting.

Afterward, there’d be brandy with Helton and Standish, both of whom would undoubtedly have opinions about today’s run-in with Crossings. And later still…

His mind drifted to Melanie. Perhaps he could slip away, find her in the garden, where things always seemed simpler, quieter.

The idea of resetting their course held a certain appeal—returning to the safer, more comfortable footing they’d had before the lake, followed by that charged confrontation with Crossings and Northwoods. It was what any rational man would do. What he should do.

And yet…

He couldn’t ignore how she’d affected him during their drive along the Row, the way her laughter had slipped past his defenses, or the subtle press of her arm against his, igniting something sharper, deeper. By the time he’d had her alone in the forest, his restraint had all but crumbled. He’d practically mauled her.

Although, she hadn’t pulled away. No, she’d leaned in, her fingers tangling in his hair, her breaths almost ragged.

And now, even in the familiarity of Preston Hall, he couldn’t shake her presence. The memory of her scent—a subtle hint of roses in her hair, and something clean, lemony—clung to him, teasing his senses but just out of reach. It left him wanting, restless in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. Wanting more. Wanting her.

If he could push aside his baser instincts, perhaps they could fall into something resembling camaraderie again. Friendship, even. That would be best, wouldn’t it? Safer. Smarter. His body, of course, wasn’t entirely on board with the plan, but he wasn’t ruled by such impulses.

Usually.

He wondered, briefly, if whisking her away from the party might be deemed acceptable—as an engaged couple. Not that he particularly cared about propriety if it didn’t suit him. The idea lingered, but for now, he needed to refocus.

Rather than retreat to his study, however, he found himself climbing the stairs toward the nursery.

Inside, he dismissed the nursemaid with a nod. The room was calm, and Ernest lay wide-eyed in his cradle, babbling and grunting nonsensically, his tiny fists flailing with all the authority he could muster.

With a sigh, Malum lifted the baby carefully into his arms, and then settled into the rocking chair. The tiny weight of Ernest was startling, as always, impossibly small. He held him close, letting the child’s quiet breaths ease the tension that had followed him home.

“There we are, Ernest,” he murmured, more to himself than to the child. “Not causing trouble, are you?” Innocent eyes blinked up at him, staring at Malum as if he might find the secrets of the universe there.

Malum sighed again. Not my son, he reminded himself, though the thought carried less weight than it should have. Ernest had no one else now, save for him, and though Malum couldn’t have expected this particular twist in his life, he felt a reluctant duty…

And still, he couldn’t keep his thoughts from drifting back to Melanie.

He wanted her. He hadn’t been able to fully admit it to himself before, but he could deny it no longer, not after today. Of course, she was beautiful, without acting like she knew it.

Malum had known hundreds of beautiful women, and yet he’d never allowed them to be a part of his life like this, to affect his decisions, to wedge her image in his mind.

He stroked Ernest’s back thoughtfully.

She’d gotten under his skin in more ways than he could count. With her quiet resolve, her loyalty to her family, and with a surprising strength of character that showed through more and more.

But her good character was a weakness in itself—an Achilles’ heel that left her blissfully unaware of evil hiding behind apparent gentility.

Ernest’s tiny hand reached up, brushing against Malum’s chin, and he felt his jaw unclench. Perhaps it was Ernest’s helplessness, or perhaps the quiet, unguarded peace of the nursery, but in the past week, Malum had found an odd comfort in this simple act of holding him.

The door creaked open as the nursemaid returned, and with a final glance down at Ernest, Malum carefully handed him back. He straightened and brushed a hand over his coat as he prepared to leave. He had reports to review, letters to write. But for now, he found himself steadied, oddly enough, by the smallest charge in his care.

But that peace didn’t last long.

Just as Malum settled at his desk, his butler intruded, extending a folded missive on a silver tray.

“A message for you, Your Grace.”

Malum took it, scanning the brief note. Of course. Trouble at the Domus .

He welcomed the distraction.