The Duke's Broken Angel

“But my job...” I said.

“I can take care of you.”

“No,” I whispered and ripped my eyes from his. This man couldn’t take care of himself, that’s why I was here, right?

“I want to,” he said, trailing a fingertip below my ear. “I have enough inheritance to last both of our lifetimes.”

“Keir...” I licked my lips. My throat was suddenly parched.

“If you’re not ready, I won't force you. Too hard.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a grin. “Now get over here. Let me warm you up.”

He wrapped me in his arms. My brain galloped into overdrive. I should stop him, but he was so safe and warm. I knew we were crossing into dangerous territory but I couldn't pull away. I gave in and snuggled deep into the crook of his arm and rested my head against his chest. I inhaled him and sighed.

“My Cricket.” He stroked my hair with a heavy hand and rested his chin on top of my head. I wrapped an arm around his waist and shut my eyes tightly. I didn’t know how long I would be here, how long until Keir was sick of his broken peasant girl, but until then I would live for these moments. Safe and sound in his arms.

“There's a shooting star,” he said, fingertips trailing along my bare wrist.

I’d already wished my wish.

SEVEN

Keir

I woke Monday morning as clear-headed as I’d felt in a long time.

That was thanks to Cricket. She’d been stocking the fridge full of the fanciest food the local market could buy. Fresh organic vegetables and meat and dairy, and then she filled the house with the smells of my childhood with a private chef. She was talented. She made braised meats and hearty stews and served me fresh fruit and homemade pastries for dessert. She even had me helping as she kneaded bread dough.

Cricket kept me too busy to think about drinking, when I wasn’t running away on her. I freely admitted that she scared the hell outta me her first week here. I’d kept on going to the clubhouse because that’s what I did, but she was finally getting me to slow down enough to see that no one had ever taken care of me like she did.

No one cared to ask what I thought.

No one cared about the quality of food I put in my body.

No one cared before Cricket.

As a fresh pot of coffee brewed in the kitchen, I walked out of the front doors and down the garden pathway to the mailbox. The morning sun on my skin made me feel alive, not shying away from it like a vampire with a hangover.

I opened the box, yanking out the stack of mail that I often left for days on end. I didn’t have bills, there was nothing that came for me at this address since I’d been hunkering down here and healing the last few years. The only mail that came to Hopewell was junk mail. I filtered through it, shuffling through all the stuff to throw away when I came across a formal letter addressed to Annastacia Vashinko.

I flipped the letter in my hands, zeroing in on the return address. The Royal Hospital of Copenhagen.

I stepped into the house, eager to share morning coffee with her when I realized the glue on the back of her envelope hadn’t been properly sealed.

Without thinking, I tossed the rest of the mail on the counter and opened hers.

I unfolded the paper and read the first line.

Rage pummeled my veins.

The coffee maker bubbled until the grounds burned and still I didn’t care. I only cared about one thing.

She was leaving.

I crumpled her letter in my hands and threw it across the room before shoving yesterday’s t-shirt over my head and bursting out of the front doors.

I needed air. I needed to get my head around some things. I needed to know why the fuck she was leaving me without even saying a word. We’d had such a good weekend—it’d been a great first date, hadn’t it? Or was she only playing me like I’d played so many others before her?

“Fuck,” I hissed as I stomped down the lane toward the clubhouse. It wouldn't be open yet, no one would be there, only me and the horses to lose myself for a while.

Mist clung to the grass as I walked the mile to the club. Birds singing and darting in the tree branches made me want to go back to bed. By the time I’d passed the clubhouse and reached the stables, I’d calmed down enough to think my way through things.

Maybe she was exploring her options, or maybe she just fucking hated me.

When I reached the first stall, one of the horses poked his head out of the open-air window and watched me approach.

I grabbed a brush, prepared to brush every goodman horse in this stable down if that’s what it took to calm down enough to think straight.