Jess and I stayed out of it.
After all, male bickering was a sport I had no business in understanding, just like Sully and Cal would never appreciate the silent looks Jess and I indulged in that could hold entire conversations and normally ended in knowing nods or conspiratorial giggles.
“We’re going to England,” Sully said, “to visit a friend.”
Cal’s questions fired back, and Sully answered good-naturedly, “I’m taking my wife and going to a ball, if you must know. A masquerade.”
While Sully nodded and listened to whatever Cal regaled, I skimmed the email on his screen.
From [email protected]
Subject: An invitation
Hello, Sullivan,
My wife and I are hosting a masquerade this weekend and would like to extend an invitation. I’m aware it’s short notice, and I’m also aware this is not your scene. However, I’m still waiting to meet the new Mrs Sinclair, and I think it’s high time we catch up in person instead of online, don’t you?
Nila already has a gown in mind that would be perfect for Eleanor, and you are welcome to stay in any of our guest suites at Hawksridge Hall for however long you see fit.
Be a pleasure to host you.
Think about it.
The masquerade starts at 19:00 on Saturday.
Jethro
Sully laughed. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll stay in touch. See ya.” He hung up and squeezed me close. “So? Fancy going to a dance?”
“Where?”
“In an ancient castle where a bunch of scandalous events and history happened.”
I smiled as Pika and Skittles fluttered from my shoulder to the bird feeder outside, chasing away the flock of resident sparrows and a cheeky squirrel. “Is it haunted?”
“Quite possibly.” He nipped the side of my breast, pressing a kiss over the sting of his teeth. “But don’t worry, I’ll be there to protect you.”
I wrapped my arm around his shoulders. “My hero.”
“Been called many things, but never that.” Sully grinned, showing the fine lines of happiness around his eyes and the etching of handsome weathering that only made him more distinguished. “I’ve been meaning to introduce you two. This way, we go, we play, we stay the night, and then we fly home.”
“Okay.” I nodded.
“You sure?” His blue eyes searched mine.
“Sounds fun.”
“Okay then.” Unwinding his arm from around my hips, he ducked to pluck the letter L from the floor where Pika had torn it off and clipped it back onto the keyboard. With swift, strong fingers, he confirmed our attendance.
We agreed to travel to England for a masquerade, hosted in a stuffy ancient castle in a drizzly cold country that was as far from our open-air island existence as possible.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited to dance with my tuxedoed husband and enjoy meeting one of his oldest friends, but...I would miss Goddess Isles. I’d miss Pika and Skittles. I’d miss our utopia.
My gaze fell on the apothecary cabinet, and an idea sprang to mind.
And suddenly, I didn’t feel quite so homesick.
Because I had a plan.
An extra little something that I would pack in my suitcase to ensure we had a way to escape if we needed to.Chapter Four
“WHAT DO I CALL him?” Eleanor asked, her voice pitched with nerves. “Do I bow? What about his wife? Do I curtsy?”
“They aren’t royalty, Jinx.” I watched the English countryside streak past as we drove from the airport to Buckinghamshire. “At least, I don’t think they are.”
I’d never actually checked.
When I received that first email from a resident psychiatrist at an English hospital we donated to, claiming to have a teenage boy with behavioural issues that were amplified depending on who was in the room with him, I’d agreed to personally find a mix of drugs to help.
Originally, I’d wondered if he was schizophrenic, but after professional curiosity led to me phoning the teenager in question and ending up having a conversation that made my scientific brain race with a quest to understand, I realised Jethro’s condition was far more interesting than schizophrenia.
I hadn’t long been in charge of Sinclair and Sinclair Group—barely out of my teens myself—so I took a personal interest in Jethro’s case, purely because beneath his shields and snarls, I heard what I saw in all trapped animals: the cry for help and the broken faith not to believe in hope.
When we’d spoken, he’d originally been stiff and aristocratically cold, yet the more we talked, the more he relaxed to the point he was analysing himself, just as I was, instead of having his hackles up about his ‘disease’.
It was never a disease.
Not in the physical sense, at least. Jethro Hawk had an affliction that I suffered with to a much lesser degree. The same reason I’d begun my hunt and rampage against all animal testers and abusers.
A reason that I was able to shut off and buy women for my own means. And a reason that drove Jethro into a dark, miserable place where he almost killed the very woman he fell in love with.