The Secrets of Roan Island

9. Ruby

9

Ruby

“ A nd that, Miss Rose, was how Noah earned the nickname Lord Professor,” Jafeth says, finishing a story that had me laughing about their boyhood adventures.

“And does Lord Professor still command everyone with his intellect, then?” My gaze shifts to where Noah sits fingering the stem of his goblet of wine. He frowns at Jafeth, clearly annoyed by the story, but when he meets my gaze, his scowl eases by a degree or two. My heart skips at having the full attention of the enigmatic man.

“Come now, Lord Professor,” I say quietly, leaning toward him. “Would it hurt you to laugh at yourself?”

“Exceedingly,” he replies and takes another sip of wine, perhaps to hide that he’s fighting a grin.

Though less eventful than last night, dinner has been a surprisingly enjoyable endeavor. Perhaps because Hammish Roan is absent.

Jafeth took it upon himself to entertain us all with stories. Shemaiah added a few details, even blessing us with an almost smile or two. I laughed until my stomach ached.

The only thing clouding the evening is Noah, stoic as a statue, his dark eyes measuring Jafeth as if waiting for a break in the routine. It gives me the unnerving sense that Jafeth’s humor is too intentional, like a magician’s misdirection. I’ve been in the company of men too long to not be aware of tricks. I’m just not sure, in this case, what the trick is.

The footman sets down the final course, a crystal bowl filled with cold berries and sweet cream garnished with a sprig of mint. “How is it you have berries at this time of year?”

“Probably the same way we have jasmine,” Noah says, then grabs his dessert spoon.

I can’t help but watch his mouth as he eats, the sweet cream sticking to his spoon, his tongue sliding along the metal’s smooth surface to slick it clean. My core tightens and I squeeze my thighs together, imagining his tongue between them, licking me clean. Before I can look away, Noah’s gaze flicks up, catching me staring.

Cheeks heating, I hastily sip my water.

The moment dessert is finished, Noah stands. “I’ll escort you back to your rooms.”

Disappointed I’m unable to think of a reason to remain, I say, “I take it you’re off to smoke cigars.”

“Men-folk things,” Jafeth says with a grin. “Though smoking cigars isn’t my idea of men-folk things.”

His tone gives me pause. There seems to be something he’s saying between the words. I think of other things that men might do with their time, things that involve beds and sheets and limbs tangled together. Is that what Jafeth means? Is that what Noah will seek once he drops me safely at my room? An uncomfortable jealousy crawls across my skin at the thought of Noah with some unknown woman, a scullery maid perhaps, or an escort from the mainland.

“Professor Rose?” Though it sounds like a question, Noah’s tone is insistent. Like he’s eager to get somewhere else.

I stand, setting my napkin over what’s left of my dessert. “Yes, Lord Professor. I’m coming.”

Noah clears his throat.

When I look up, I’m surprised to see he’s extended his arm. On the way to dinner, he maintained his distance, choosing to walk as if there were a third person between us. Nearly silent but for polite grunts and one word answers to my questions, he was cold and indifferent. A contradiction to the man who cornered me in the hallway.

Now, his offered arm feels like another shift in character—warm, almost cordial—although the fire that was in his eyes in the hallway is currently missing.

“Did you find what you were looking for in the library?”

I want to laugh. After all, he’s the one who selected those infuriating books. Instead, I bite my lip and make a noncommittal noise in the back of my throat. My turn for the one word answers.

“And your dinner?” Noah asks.

There’s a stiltedness to his attempts at conversation that puts me on edge. The questions feel forced, like he’s following a script. I’m not sure why he’s trying to make up for his poor manners now, when he seemed to care so little earlier.

“It was delicious.” In an attempt to lighten the mood, I add, “Staying away from the wine helped.” My laugh comes out more nervous than lighthearted. Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I catch his jaw tighten, like a metal trap clamping down on a beast it doesn’t want to escape.

Vague memories of Noah carrying me up to my room float through my mind like bones shimmering under a bog. Had he kissed my neck? No, it was his nose that brushed my throat. He sniffed me, I think, and shuddered as if he was fighting against some great impulse. But those memories are too cloudy to know if they’re real.

“If I had known the food would be so delicious,” I say, shaking off my confusing thoughts, “I would have begged an invitation much sooner.”

“Is that how you got your invitation? Did you beg, Miss Rose?”

The way he attaches the word beg to my name makes my heart gallop like a horse across a barren plain. I try to hide the effect he has on me with a laugh, but it comes out strangled. “It would seem so. I asked for access to your library and an interview with your father. He agreed.”

Noah’s shoulders tighten, though I can’t begin to understand why that bothers him.

“I might wonder why you’re so averse to my presence here. Do you worry your father will donate your vast fortune to my work and leave you destitute?”

His head tilts, his brows collapsing together as if he can’t comprehend my question. “There is no risk of that.”

“Indeed. Mr. Roan has plenty to go around.”

Noah lets out a dry laugh. “There’s no risk, because my father will never grant you the money you request.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Come now, Miss Rose, you’re not a fool. You heard my father last night. Does he seem like a man interested in women’s studies?”

“He gives generously to the woman’s sanitorium.”

Noah turns his face away from me. The muscles in his arm tighten under my hand. He doesn’t say anything more in response, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m right and there is a chance that I might get the donation just as the sanatorium did, or if it’s because he’s so assured of his position he doesn’t feel the need to argue with me.

I try to think of something else to say as we continue down the corridor, a way to stir the conversation back to life, but I can’t think straight. I refuse to believe that I will fail in my task. Without David, I’m dependent on my job at the university, and if I can’t bring in the necessary funds for my research…

No, I can’t think of that now.

Noah’s hand comes to the small of my back, directing me down a different hallway than the one we used to get to dinner.

Unlike the other passageways, this one has no gas lamps, only candles placed far apart on mounted candle holders. They cast eerie shadows that stretch like cloaked figures from one flickering light to the other. In between, large gaps of darkness lie like open holes ready to pull me into their depths.

My steps falter, the dark of the hallway rushing toward me and my free hand shoots out, trying to find something to hang onto. My breath picks up, coming in sharp inhales and quick exhales that don’t fully fill or leave my lungs when I try to let them go.

“What is it?” Noah asks, his hand pressing more firmly into my back, holding me steady. A lone anchor in the dark.

I shake my head, unable to speak. My lungs strain and burn as the darkness reaches to grab hold. Closes around me. Takes me. I can no longer feel Noah, my senses numb. I’m in that small room. Hidden from the light. Captive to the darkness, where I’ll meet my end.

“Miss Rose?” Noah’s concern breaks through my fear, cracking it like a hammer breaks ice. I blink and shake my head, trying to clear the morbid memory.

He turns me, tilting my chin so my eyes meet his. I’m not alone.

“Are you alright?” His voice is stern, but not cold. A weight bringing me back into my body.

“Fine.” I gasp, my lungs finally filling. “I’m fine.”

His examination of me is acute. He probably thinks I’m mad. David surely did whenever I had one of my “episodes.” He never understood how trauma can linger. Which isn’t surprising, since he’s led a golden life.

But there’s no accusation in Noah’s gaze, no superiority or judgment. “Are you okay to continue?”

“I’m alright.” I offer a reassuring smile. “But… I’m not ready to go back to my rooms yet.”

Being alone is the last thing I want right now.

He hesitates, then guides me quickly forward, his palm never leaving my back as we descend a curved stairwell, then cross a room lined with stained glass windows

At the end of a stone corridor, Noah pushes open a final door and leads me into the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen.

Filled with a myriad of plant life, it’s humid and warm. Apart from the door where we entered, the entire room is paneled glass, revealing the two crescent moons hanging like a set of broken pearls against a black cloth sky. There are no lamps or candles here either, but the light of the moons provides me with a sense of expansiveness that I need right now.

I let out a slow breath. Then another.

“Does… that… happen to you often?”

Not normally. Not in years. Please, don’t look at me differently now. “It’s nothing.”

His gaze narrows, but a hint of a smile comes to his lips. “Do you lie often?”

“No more than the next person.” I step away from him and move toward a grouping of ferns near the window. Placing a palm on my heart, I distract myself from the lingering fear by studying the mystifying man beside me. Few men have seen me in that state, and all have responded harshly. Snap out of it, they say. Pull yourself together. Stop being so emotional.

But not Noah Roan. I get the sense he’s haunted by his own demons. “And you, Mr. Roan? Do you hide things?”

“Yes.”

He’s so straightforward, it startles a laugh out of me. “It’s a rare man who will be honest about being dishonest.” I brush a gloved hand over the prickly leaves of a plant I recognize as some form of nettle. It’s beautiful in its own defensive, stinging way.

The plant beside it has broad leaves and lovely white blooms that glow softly in the light of the moons. When I touch a blossom, it opens wider as if greeting me with its beauty.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Noah says.

“It is.”

Footsteps draw closer, his shadow looming over me, breath warm on my neck. “What are you really doing here, Miss Rose?”

I have no idea what he’s implying, but his nearness sends a tingling sensation through my body. My heartbeat picks up again, for entirely different reasons than before. All I can think of is leaning back into his warmth. A fraction of an inch and my back would be pressed against his chest. I hold myself very still, afraid to draw a breath. My traitorous brain urges me to lean into him, to learn what his body feels like against mine.

I close my eyes. Only instead of clearing my mind, it makes me more aware of his scent. Earthy and warm, like amber beads, frankincense, and warm tea leaves. I think about earlier today, in the hallway, when his fingers slid along the back of my hand.

“I’m researching,” I say, breathless, recalling he asked a question.

Noah’s fingertips dance along the side of my waist. My breath hitches, as if a prickly plant is trying to grab hold of the soft tissue inside my chest.

“ What are you researching?”

“Women.” The word is the whisper of wind through trees. “Policy of power.” I hate how weak I sound as I speak, how shaky my legs feel. Noah’s featherlight touch ignites a fire inside me.

His chuckle is low and sensual in my ear. “Women. Power.”

The mocking tone snaps the tether of yearning coiled low in my belly. I spin around to face him, miscalculating how close he is, so close I have to lean back over the plants to look up at him.

“You’re just like your father, aren’t you?” I jab a finger into his chest. “A misogynist.”

Noah pushes away my hand but doesn’t let go of my wrist, holding it in his firm grasp. “I’m nothing like my father.”

There’s a war waging in his eyes, but I can’t determine what battle he’s fighting. On a sudden exhale, he drops my wrist and spins away from me, clenching his fists. The self-control he’s exerting is evident in every tight muscle in his body. Oddly, it makes me want to trust him.

“Forgive me,” I say, turning away from him to look out at the stark moons. “We’ve only just met, and I shouldn’t make assumptions. About you. Or your father.”

His terse laugh scrapes the heavy air. “Your assessment of my father is… inaccurate, Miss Rose. You’re too kind to him.”

“And what of you?” I walk along a row of plants, needing to put some distance between us. The moons mute the color of the leaves, highlighting only their shape. “What kind of man are you?”

“Not a good one.”

I look over my shoulder to where he stands a few paces away, his hands buried in his trouser pockets, the fabric of his dinner jacket stretched over his hunched shoulders. If he was any other man, I might think his comment was a bid for a compliment. But he isn’t any other man, and I can tell he believes what he said.

His gaze bites through me, leaving me chilled and shivering, desperate to turn away and change the conversation. I feel like a mouse caught in the sight of an owl. For a moment, in the dark, his eyes seem to glow with a strange brightness, the shadows appearing to move around him.

I shake the dark thoughts from my mind and take off my dinner gloves, needing to feel something tangible, bound to the earth and reality. I run a finger along the soft, marbled leaves of Devil’s Ivy. “My ex-husband used to complain every time I brought a plant into the house. I would have loved to have a room like this.”

“You were married?” There’s an undercurrent to the surprise in his voice. A knife-like edge.

“For a time.”

He makes a noise, as if pondering my admittance like a revelation. “Interesting.” He walks down an aisle of plants, and I find myself following.

“What’s interesting?”

He glances over his shoulder before continuing his stroll through the foliage. “You give the impression of innocence.”

“Is innocence such an important quality?” I stop walking and bend to smell a blood-red rose to keep from putting my hands on my hips with indignation.

“Not at all,” Noah says. “I like my women with a bit of experience.”

The implication warms my cheeks. I bring the back of my bare hand to the side of my face, a cooling touch.

“Does that upset you, Miss Rose?”

I stand up straighter and repeat his words. “Not at all.”

We walk silently through the plants, our footfalls filling the space like heartbeats. I want to focus on the foliage but struggle to draw my attention from the man meandering the greenhouse with me, anxious for where our verbal game of strategy might take us next. But silence remains.

When we reach the other end of the room, Noah stops and leans against the wall, watching me. “What happened? I imagine you loved him very much?”

“Who? My husband?”

Noah dips his chin in a sharp nod.

I let one quick, bitter laugh past my lips. “I thought I did.”

Noah tilts his head. “But–”

“I left him.”

“Divorce? But the colony only allows women to divorce their husbands in cases of…” His voice drifts as his brows collapse over his eyes, then his head snaps up, piercing me with his gaze.“He hurt you?”

“He was not… a loving man.”

A cloud passes over one of the moons, darkening my confession.

Noah storms toward me to grip my shoulders. “His name.”

“What?” I squeak.

“Tell me his name.” The intensity in his eyes and the firm grasp on my shoulders should scare me, but I can tell the fierceness isn’t directed at me. It’s a fire that speaks of retribution, though that doesn’t make sense. He has no reason to want to protect me.

I swallow and shake my head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“He hurt you.” His grip tightens. “His name. Now.”

The shiver that races up my spine fills me with a feeling I don’t understand. Somehow, I know if given the opportunity, Noah would do horrible, unspeakable things to David. For me. The thought both thrills and terrifies me. Some dark side of me wants to whisper his name, but I bite my lips.

Noah’s gaze drops to my mouth. The tension between us shifts and changes into something more carnal, but no less violent.

He leans forward. “I want his name.”

My chest rises and falls in panting breaths. I shake my head.

“You would protect him?” he snarls, and in the dim light, his teeth almost look longer, sharper. His eyes, darker.

I shake my head again. “That time is past.” I force the words out between shallow breaths, confused by my response to Noah. His dominating presence is antithetical to everything I stand for, a force that would frighten me with any other man.

“I will get his name.” He presses a thumb against my bottom lip, a movement far too intimate. For a brief moment, I want to suck his finger into my mouth just to see how he’d react. I fight the inclination.

His grin is feral, as if he can tell the salacious nature of my thoughts. He runs his tongue over his teeth. “You will give it to me,” he says, pinching my lip between calloused fingers and tugging enough to make me gasp.

The noise seems to shake him out of whatever trance held him. He blinks, and his expression regains the distant composure he had throughout dinner. It’s like his mask slipped for a few revealing moments, offering something sinister, powerful, and sensuous, but now it’s firmly back in place as if the change never happened.

He steps back and clasps his hands behind him. “I should escort you to your room. It’s late.”

I make a noise of assent even as my body rebels against the idea.

The walk back to my room is too short and too long at the same time. We don’t speak. My thoughts reel from what happened in the greenhouse, and I can’t shake the intensity in the depth of his dark gaze.

At my door, he gives a stiff, gentlemanly bow and leaves me with an ominous sense of foreboding.