The Secrets of Roan Island

12. Noah

12

Noah

I knock on her door knowing this is going to be a fight. I don’t understand why Miss Rose wants to stay here. Though I know she hasn’t found what she’s looking for and hasn’t gotten her grant, she’s a smart woman and should understand by now that she won’t find either of those things here. I would think she’d be anxious to get back to society and the comforts that an old, empty house like this will never provide. She panics nearly every time she walks down a dark corridor, and goddess knows, there are plenty of those around here.

Perhaps we’ve been too accommodating. Maybe if I make things a bit more difficult for her, she might be more inclined to go. I knock again.

But as I wait, I have to admit the idea of scaring Ruby Rose isn’t appealing. As infuriating as she is, I find myself… considering her. Even wanting to take care of her. It’s the whole damn reason I’m trying to get her out of here.

With a scowl, I knock a third time. “Miss. Rose?”

When she doesn’t answer again, I crack open the door. Perhaps she’s taking an afternoon nap. But when I peek inside, she isn’t there. The bed is perfectly made, everything in its place.

I growl and slam the door shut behind me as I stalk from her room to the library, which is also empty. As are the emerald parlor and the billiard’s room. The next place I think to check is the greenhouse, though now my ire has waned to worry, afraid my father has caught on to my plan to get her off the island. My steps beat a staccato rhythm on the floor and only slow when I hear her voice.

And Shemaiah’s.

I grind my teeth together.

“Who planted all this?” Her voice lilts across the space. My steps slow.

“Our mother.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause before she asks, “May I inquire what happened?”

Shemaiah, who’s suffered more loss than any of us, answers, “Dead.”

The stark harshness of the word hangs in the atmosphere. I’m not sure if it’s the need to ease her discomfort, my brother’s pain, or my own desire to stop any conversation of our mother that has me hurrying my steps. I’m sure Shemaiah can hear me coming by now.

“I’m sorry,” Ruby says quietly.

“Why?” Shemaiah asks. “You didn’t cause it.”

I hear her huff of breath, as if she’s slightly amused by his response, but before she can say anything, she spins because now she hears me. And fuck if my breath doesn’t stall when I see her. She’s dressed in something—who cares what—but it’s the blush on her cheeks, the way her eyes widen, the tremor in her breath. It’s the pulse point I see in the column of her neck and the way she grips her hands tighter in front of her. Her scent. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck .

She looks good enough to eat. Like last night. When I caught her in the hallway outside the entry to the Gate House and her robe gaped, offering me that creamy expanse of skin from neck to breast, I’d pondered leaning forward to see if she tasted as good as she fucking smelled. Nearly had, before reason hit.

She needs to leave.

“Let’s go,” I snap. “You’re supposed to be at the dock.”

“Noah,” Shemaiah starts, but I cut him off with a look.

Her eyes narrow and her jaw tenses before she says, “If you send me away before I get my grant, I’ll lose everything.”

“I can live with that.” I grip her elbow. Her exaggerated exasperation doesn’t concern me. Her life does. “I need you on that boat.”

She jerks out of my grip. “I need–” But she clamps her mouth shut on the words, and I wonder for just a heartsbeat what she was going to say. Then I remind myself, I don’t need to know. I need her off this island.

“Noah,” Shemaiah repeats.

“Shem,” I warn.

His eyes narrow, his meaning clear. He thinks she can help for some reason. A fool’s errand. A dangerous one. Our father is a veritable game of chance. Letting her stay, telling her our secrets, it’s too risky. I shake my head and focus on the professor shooting daggers at me with her beautiful eyes. “You can go with or without your things. It makes no difference to me. Choose.”

She huffs and stomps past me back toward the entrance to the greenhouse.

“I think you’re being shortsighted,” my brother says.

I glance at him. “I have no intention of putting her in a position you are intimately familiar with.”

My brother’s face turns rigid. “Careful.”

“Or what? I won’t make the same mistake you did.”

I hear his hearts speed up, and his hands curl into fists. Will he hit me? It would be unlike Shemaiah, but I’d welcome it. Welcome the feeling of his anger and power. It would at least be a distraction from my failure and my constant thoughts about a certain professor who’s worked her way under my skin so quickly.

But he doesn’t hit me. Instead, he turns and disappears through the greenery, and I’m left to chase Ruby Rose up to her room, where she’s angrily packing her things.

I lean my shoulder against the doorframe as I watch her, neither of us speaking, both brooding. She picks up her packed bag, ratty and tattered as it is, and steps my way. I grab the handle as she passes me by, but she doesn’t let go, her hand gripping tighter next to mine.

“I can carry my own damn bag.” She glares at me with the ferocity of a cat threatening a lion. She has no idea the power she’s up against. I could throw her over my shoulder and have her down at the dock faster than she could say my name.

“Be angry all you want, little professor, but let me help you.”

She jerks against my hold. “Like you’ve helped me this entire time? Setting out useless books, making no argument on my behalf with your father, and now kicking me out on my backside.”

The mention of her backside has me longing to throw her over my knee and spank that stubbornness out of her. I let go of the bag, flex my fist, and stomp down the hall. “Come.”

Once we finally get to the dock, I feel like I can breathe a bit easier. It’s cold, the blustery wind whipping across the lake, pulling tendrils of her mahogany hair from her bun. The red of the water is only a few shades lighter than her hair, darker than her blood, full of the promise of what could happen if I don’t get her out of here. Her back is rigid, the satchel with her things clutched in front of her. Her cheeks and nose are bright pink, her lips plump.

My hearts knock against my chest. “Please, let me hold that for you.” I’m suddenly feeling bad about our earlier exchange.

“My opinion hasn’t changed,” she says around a tight jaw.

I snort and wrap my hand around hers, grasping for the handle. I gently tug at it, thinking more about the frigid temperature of her fingers.

“Your hands are freezing. Put them in your pockets.”

“Whose fault is that?” she challenges, drawing her bag back against her. “I wouldn’t be out here if it weren’t for you.”

“There are things–” I stop, wanting to unburden myself, but am unable to.

“Not interested,” she snaps and tugs, only this time, her foot slips on the wet wood. She tips back on the edge of the rickety dock, and before I can think better of it, my arms are around her, faster than an impulse.

I catch her just before she falls into the freezing water, body nearly parallel with the waves.

“What –” She looks shocked. “How?”

But I can’t think. The wind has whipped her scent into a heady concoction that’s gone straight into me. My teeth ache. My hands curl. My pulse jumps. We’re nearing the new moon, but this visceral response is new. I’m edging a tipping point I might not be able to come back from.

I snap upright.

“Noah?”

It’s like a slap to the face. I let go and take a step back. “Be careful,” I growl and glare at the waves, wondering what’s holding up the boat.

“What are you doing out here?” Jafeth comes down the path like he’s out for a normal afternoon stroll, hands in his pockets, whistling. His black clothing is too stark against the palette of winter around him, highlighting the dark danger within. He smiles in response to my scowl.

“We’re waiting for the boat.”

He wears our father’s grin, as if this is all just a game to him. “You missed it. It came and went over an hour ago.”

I grind my teeth together. Someone changed the boat’s schedule. And they’ll pay for it.