Page 57 of Misadventures with a Duke

Our children…

I jolt to my feet. Violently shake my head. “No. You’ve had too much stress and too little sleep. Just no, Raegan.”

But as I fight to resettle my thoughts and form new plans, I wonder why a world without Bastien De Leon already feels like an awful, foreign place. And how I’ll ever look at this city, or this century, as home, ever again.

Chapter Twelve

Bastien

When the Almighty was molding Maximillian and me, then arrived at the moment to mix patience into the clay, somebody bumped his arm. My brother ended up with the lion’s share of the virtue, while the sprinkling that got into me is usually reserved for long nights on patrol or longer days at court.

I am fairly certain neither of those conditions apply now.

Which means I feel no compunction about casting another long glare at the digital timepiece on the table beside the bed and deciding that Raegan Tavish has used up her reasonable allotment of won’t take me long.

By the time the clock flashes another minute gone by, I have re-donned my breeches. My well of patience is approaching parched.

I march across the room, carefully pull open the door to the hallway, and peer down the corridor.

No sign of her in the mixture of watery light and shadow that leads back to the main entrance of the inn. I also do not hear her, though the place is not at a loss for noise. Every hard surface outside, which is essentially every surface outside, turns into a percussive instrument played with ruthless glee by the steady rain.

For a moment, I give in to something besides impatience. A strange sadness on behalf of the denizens of this metropolis. Many—most?—of them will never know that rain can be an enchanting whisper as well as a raucous din. Across meadows and forests and rivers, storms are the most fascinating symphony of all.

And that is more than enough of that.

Where is she?

I am not rankled for myself. This is an unpredictable town, filled with cutthroats, ride grubs, and other seedy ne’er-do-wells. And Raegan, even in all her wit and wisdom, still looks at many of them as if taking their stink for a nosegay.

What if she is doing just that, this very moment?

In spite of the mortifying thought, I proceed with calm steps. Before rounding the corner into the main receiving room, I pause for a cautious moment.

But still no sight of her.

I grit my teeth. And admit, if only to myself, that perhaps I am nervous for myself too.

But thank fuck, only for half a moment.

“…had too much stress and too little sleep. Just no, Raegan.”

Relief tramples me so soundly that I do not detect the stress in her voice at first. When that finally registers, I do not hesitate about striding across the lobby and into the small room beyond.

“Just no to what, Rayonnement?”

She startles as if my words are ignited gunpowder packs. “Bastien. What the hell are you doing?”

I roll my shoulders back. “Worrying about you.” Relaxing my scowl is not as easy. “Or so I was. Evidently, the effort was a waste.”

Her features vacillate between soft humility and more of that inexplicable tension. The latter takes over her response.

“I told you I’d be back soon. Drue’s on her way with the dumplings and some other provisions we might need.”

“Provisions?” I crowd my brows tighter into each other. “For what?”

“For settling in here, at least for a couple more days. D spotted Logan on hardcore surveillance duty at her place.”

“Mierde.”