The Merchant and the Rogue by Sarah M. Eden
Rain began falling during their walk home. Vera’s umbrella was in no state to offer the least protection, so they arrived at the flat more than a little wet. Brogan emerged from his bedchamber, changed and dry; Vera was still in hers. Any doubt that he still looked a sight was put to rest when Móirín spotted him and immediately laughed.
“You should’ve seen me before I changed,” he said. “M’best suit ruined, and I don’t know if it’ll ever recover.”
“You’re fretting over your clothes, but you’d do best to clean up your face.”
Brogan eyed his vague reflection in the window. A bit of dirt and likely blood was smeared across his forehead. That had probably happened during the fight with Four-Finger Mike. His hat hadn’t offered him much protection from the rain, but it had managed to prevent that smudge from washing away.
Móirín tossed him a dish rag. He scrubbed his face with it.
“Have you convinced Vera to trust you again?”
Brogan tossed the rag back at her before dropping onto an obliging chair. “To a degree. She has a history of reasons not to trust, and I’ve pricked at that. I think I’m making progress, though.”
“I suspect you’re making more progress than you realize.”
Oh, how he wanted to believe she was right. But he didn’t dare allow his hopes to soar. “Have you spoken with her about it, then?”
“I have eyes, don’t I?”
“And what have your eyes done to solve this mystery? Read letters she’s written explaining her feelings in great detail?” he asked dryly.
“I’ve watched her when she’s with you. And I’ve watched you when you’re with her.” Móirín sat as well. “You’re both a bit wary, but you’re also both happier. ’Tis difficult to explain, but the two of you are somehow more yourselves when you’re with each other. Too often people speak of love and romance as losing oneself in another person, of needing them to the point where who they are disappears. But that’s not at all what I see in you. You both grow stronger, fiercer. You grow independent . . . together.”
He thought he understood what she was saying, but his mind still spun. “She has faith in me. That helps me have faith in myself.”
Móirín leaned forward, looking him directly in the eye. “I hope you know, Brogan, I have faith in you. Always have. You may be my younger brother, but you always looked out for me. You’ve done our parents proud.”
Even as they’d died of starvation, their parents had made Móirín and Brogan promise never to abandon each other, to forge an unbreakable link. Brogan had never yet broken that promise. Móirín hadn’t either.
“But now,” Móirín said, “’tis time and past that we allow that vow to include building our own lives. There is a woman in this flat right now who you could have a wonderful future with. You’d be a better person with Vera, and I’ve no doubt you’d have the same impact on her. If I didn’t encourage you to try, if I did anything to stand in the way, I’d be breaking my vow to our da and ma in horrible ways.”
They’d talked lately about setting up their own homes, and though they hadn’t said it out loud, the reason was clear in his mind. A bit of distance would give them a far better chance of finding love and building families of their own.
“I wish you all the luck in the world, Brog. You deserve it.”
Brogan rose and added coal to the fire. He was cold from the soaking he’d received and hadn’t the least doubt Vera would be as well.
Móirín joined him and offered a quick, affectionate hug. “I’ll be praying for your success in proving yourself worthy of her affections.”
“Prayers may be required,” he said with a grin. “I’m hardly a catch, you know.”
“I beg to differ.” After one more quick squeeze of his shoulders, Móirín slipped from the room.
He wanted to believe his sister was bang on the mark, that Vera felt for him what he felt for her. He knew she wasn’t indifferent; he wasn’t so thickheaded as all that. But how deeply did her affection run?
There remained uncertainty between them. And his membership in the Dread Penny Society meant he’d have to tell her half-truths again. He didn’t like that at all. And yet the DPS saved people. That work was important to him. The Dreadfuls had organized a watch on Old Compton Street, which they hoped would prevent a repeat of the violence that had occurred there mere days earlier. Protecting Vera, and so many others, required that he keep things from her. But he didn’t like it.
“Thank heavens you’ve built a fire,” Vera said from behind him.
He spun around. Despite the heaviness of his thoughts, the simple sight of her settled his mind and warmed his heart. Móirín had said he was more himself with Vera than when he was alone. He was coming to understand that better. Having her near didn’t eliminate his worries, didn’t solve his problems, but it helped him face them.
“That was quite a soaking we took.” She sat on the sofa near the fireplace. “What an evening it’s been.”
He crossed and sat beside her. “If you take ill from this, I’ll never forgive myself.”
She shook her head. “You needn’t worry about that. The rain was hardly the biggest risk we took tonight, and both of us took those risks willingly. I only hope it’s enough to lead to our success.”
“Four-Finger Mike’s words keep returning to my thoughts. ‘The tempest that is coming.’ He must’ve realized we’d likely stopped their blackmail plot, but he didn’t seem the least convinced that it would change much. I’m not sure what comes next.”
“If we’re truly fortunate, the purchase of a new umbrella.” Her eyes danced with a held-back laugh.
He liked when she was in a teasing mood. He took her hand in his and held it, taking comfort in the simple touch. “Have I told you how impressed I was with your expertise as an umbrella fighter?”
“You have. And I’ll return the compliment and say that you’re impressive at throwing fives.”
“A Dublin lad either learned quickly how to fight, or he didn’t survive.”
She leaned her head wearily against his shoulder, grateful for the solid strength of this man. “Life is difficult at times, ain’t it?”
“A right struggle,” he agreed. “But it has lovely moments as well.”
“Like meeting someone who’ll buy hot chestnuts quite regularly.”
He smiled; how could he help it? “Or meeting someone who’s willing to forgive a bloke for being bacon-brained.”
She didn’t move from her cozy position tucked up against him. “You’re not so soft-skulled as all that. And you’re very warm just now, which I deeply appreciate.”
“Any time you need me to warm you, my Vera, you simply say the word.” He released her hand and wrapped his arm around her.
“My Vera,”she repeated on a whisper. She turned, though not enough to dislodge his arm, and looked at him. “Do you truly think of me that way?”
“I do,” he said. “You mean the world to me, and I count myself fortunate that you allow me any part of your world.”
“I’m beginning to think you like me.” Her attempt at a jest emerged shaky, the sort of quiver that came from anticipation and hope more than worry.
With his free hand, he cupped her jaw just below her ear and ran his thumb slowly, softly along her cheek. “I’ve not merely liked you for ages now.”
He leaned toward her and pressed a lingering kiss to her temple, then her cheek.
“My Vera,” he whispered.
He strung kisses along her jaw. She breathed out his name. Brogan kissed her lips, warm and fervent. He wrapped both arms around her, amazed at how perfectly she fit, at how wonderful she felt, how sweet her lips tasted.
She kissed him in return, earnest and heart-full.
He had no idea what lay ahead of them. But in that moment, he chose to hope for the best.
