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Lord, but Patrick longed for a recess.

The bottle was drawn from its shadows and placed on the bar top, where Patrick stared at it for long moments, head awash.

But he didn’t drink from it. He wouldn’t until his father was the one to pour it. If John Colson were here, he’d set two glasses down, fill them to the brim and tell Patrick that there is little more dire than a woman.

Patrick sat himself on a stool—one that faced the door to the stairwell—and drew a coin from the inside of his sleeve. “You’re a fuckin’ fool, Pat,” he said to no one. He flipped the coin in the air and let it fall as it may. Tails.

So he’d stay here, then. He would not go back up to her.

A strange combination of relief and anguish followed.

He returned the bottle of rum to its dark corner and wiped his mouth on his shirtsleeve, trying not to imagine it all again. At this moment she was likely hanging her shawl, unpinning her hair, unbuttoning that torturous dress. She was closing her eyes and trying to rid herself of the night’sevents, enough to fall asleep. She would fail. He would fail. They would wake with burning impressions all over their bodies from where the other had pressed.

“Fuck,” he growled, and stalked toward a door behind the bar.

Through the kitchen and out to the courtyard, past the chickens and a sleeping Isaiah, who awoke and greeted him immediately. Patrick stopped to stroke his downy head, then whistled for the dog to follow him to the cottage door.

The windows glowed orange—a bad sign. He’d hoped Tess and his brothers had remained at the marketplace.

The kitchen was already warmed when he stepped into it, the round table occupied by Gunner and Donny. Isaiah went to Donny’s feet and puddled gracelessly. He panted up at them all, oblivious to the tension arriving the moment Patrick closed the door behind him.

He waited for either of his brothers to speak, and when they didn’t, he took off his coat, hung it, and said reluctantly, “Let’s have it, then.”

Gunner was tight-jawed. He looked at Patrick squarely when he said, “We had an agreement. No fuckin’ the swanks.”

Donny offered nothing. He seemed to sink into his chair, readying for a long argument.

Patrick merely tilted his head to the side, scrutinized his brother through his furrow. “A rule we came up with for Donny and the other boys.”

“So, it’s different rules for Patty, then?” Gunner grasped a mug on the tabletop like he might break it. “Very convenient, eh?” From the corner of his mouth, a speck of inky black slipped free.

Patrick stared at it, laughed darkly, then stepped forward until he was close enough to bend his face to Gunner’s. Patrick lifted a thumb and smeared the bluff from his brother’s lip, then held it up for closer inspection.

Gunner shrunk. His eyes averted.

“Yeah, brother,” Patrick muttered, inches from Gunner’s face. “It’sdifferent rules for me.” He was close enough for Gunner to throw his head, to take a swing. When he did neither, Patrick shook his head and paced in a circle, scrubbing his face.

“Pat?” Donny asked, not without apprehension. “What’s it like to fuck a Charmer?”

“Watch your mouth.” Patrick felt the last tethers of his patience snapping. “And no one’s fuckin’ anyone.”

“I just wondered if there was anythin’ special about it, is all.”

“Shut up, Don,” said their mother, appearing in the doorframe behind the table. “Go to bed.”

“No,” Patrick said. “Donny, take Gunner home. Make sure he doesn’t fall into a fuckin’ canal along the way. His wife’s waiting for him.”

Gunner raised his head. “Pat—”

“I’d wring your neck, Gun. But it seems you do a fine enough job of that all on your own. Get the fuck out of here.”

For a moment, his brother seethed, fists balled, and Patrick almost wished he would throw a punch.

But he didn’t. Gunner only sniffed pitifully. “Yeah, I’ll go,” he muttered, overbalancing as he stood. He was a head taller than Patrick, broader in the shoulders, yet somehow half his size. “But you just remember what we said, eh, brother? Them Artisans you’re collectin’, we can’t trust ’em. You told us to keep our distance.”

“And so long as I’m running the tunnels, the trades, the meetings, the rallies, and thefuckin’coppers, I’ll keep telling you whatever I like, Gunner. Unless you want the job?”

Silence fell. Each one of them knew it couldn’t come to pass. The bluff had hold of Gunner, and so Gunner had hold of nothing.