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as if he ought to know. Which was ridiculous, she hadn’t even told Aidan. Some things she couldn’t speak of.
    “Half sister, actually. She was my half sister.” Lu took a deep breath. “My father would not recognize her as such. She was born on the wrong side of the sheets, as it were.” A pained laugh filled her throat. “Didn’t stop him from bringing her into the house as my servant.”
    “You were very close to her, weren’t you?” he asked gently.
    Eamon’s strong arm pressed against hers, and she let herself lean just a little bit against it. Lu bit her lip. “We were the closest of friends. She died years ago. Scarlet fever.”
    Thankfully, he was silent as she surreptitiously wiped at her tears with gloved fingers.
    “We shall care for you, Lu,” he said quietly. “I promise you that.”
    Lu turned toward him and suddenly there was no air for her to breathe. He was inches away, his gaze roaming over her face, his lips parting softly as though in invitation. And she felt her lids lower, a languid sort of heat stealing over her even as her heartbeat quickened. The most intriguing thin scar marred his upper lip, creating a little raised path along the left corner. Would the imperfection be hard or soft? If one ran one’s tongue along his lip, would one feel the scar?
    A shadow fell over the path before them, and Lu looked up to see Aidan standing there. Instantly, she stood, as if she’d been caught with her hand in the biscuit bin.
    “Aidan.”
    His nod was brief, polite, gutting. “Lady Luella.” He turned his attention to his brother, and his expression hardened. “If I might have a word, Eamon.” It wasn’t a request.
    Too dismayed with his abrupt dismissal of her, Lu stood wordless and aching as Eamon brushed by her with a soft murmur of “Good day.” Aidan glanced back. Wariness lined the corners of his eyes. Something he couldn’t hide, though she could tell he tried. “Lady Luella,” he said again.
    And then he left her. Again.
    * * *
    Eamon followed Aidan to the smithy. If there was one place they’d have privacy, it was here. No one but Aidan dared go to Eamon’s smithy. Far removed from the rest of the outbuildings, it was also isolated enough that any shouting would go unheard. And Eamon knew there’d be shouting. He and his brother needn’t words to communicate; Eamon knew Aidan had found out about the letters.
    They’d both known about the first few letters in which Eamon tried to set Lu in her place. But they had been boys then, arrogant and mischievous. Eamon hadn’t thought he’d fall in love with the girl on the other side of the correspondence. And he hadn’t told Aidan that he’d been continuing to write to her. Lu’s letters were the light in his life that he couldn’t bring himself to extinguish.
    Eamon stopped in the middle of the space and turned. Only to run into Aidan’s fist.
    “Bloody idiot,” Aidan yelled as he swung again, connecting with Eamon’s cheekbone. Eamon saw stars. “Bloody, fool, idiot!”
    Eamon stumbled back. Though he was six inches taller and a good three stone heavier, he’d let Aidan pound on him. Years of pretending to be his brother was a despicable act. Cowardly.
    “Why did you do it?” Aidan shouted. He punched again, and Eamon went to his knees, blood filling his mouth. “Why?”
    “Because I l-lov—” Eamon pressed his busted lips together and glared up at Aidan. “Because you begged me to. ‘I have to answer her. Make her marry me.’ Or do I have that wrong?” If only Eamon had refused.
    Aidan scoffed. “You know precisely what I mean.”
    Eamon looked away.
    “Answer me,” Aidan cried, holding up his fist as if he’d take another swing. He stood over Eamon, panting lightly, his blue eyes blazing, but his arm slowly lowered. “That girl came here to marry me. And it’s as plain as day that she’s in love with you! Or me, or rather you. Bother!” Aidan flung a hand up in disgust.
    Aye, well, Lu might have