Page 29 of Legacy of Thorns (Kingdoms of Legacy #3)

Finley

L orne stood and raised his voice. “Young man!”

Finley swung around, fighting down a flash of fear as he settled into his familiar, charming smile. He offered his hand to Lorne who shook it warmly.

“I understand you’re Finley. And I believe you might have something of mine.”

Finley’s eyes widened, and he glanced at Daphne. So Lorne had told her then? She knew Finley had stolen from her old friend?

She merely looked confused, however.

“If I tell you I took it to protect my brother, does that help?” he asked Lorne.

Lorne’s face remained stern, but Finley caught a slight twitch of his lips. “Since I take it your intention was to use it on my goddaughter, I’m not sure it does.”

“I would never use it on her now,” Finley said quickly.

Lorne gave a small chuckle. “No, I suspect you wouldn’t. Nevertheless, I would like it back. It was a gift from a good friend.” He hesitated and glanced at Daphne. “But perhaps you can return it at a later date. I understand there is still some difficulty ahead.”

“I was planning to return it anyway.” Finley had decided on that as soon as he realized how much Lorne meant to Daphne.

Daphne stood as well. “Are you talking about your knife? Did you take that from Lorne’s study?”

Her eyes narrowed, and Finley held his breath. But she turned to Lorne.

“He really does return the things he takes. I’ve seen it more than once.”

“A most unusual thief,” Lorne said, and this time he was definitely smiling. But his expression quickly turned more serious. “But your report of this Lord Barlowe is most concerning.”

“Have you met him?” Daphne asked. “Do you know anything about him?”

“I met him for the first time in this house.” Lorne frowned. “But I must confess that I noticed nothing of interest about him.” He spread his arms. “He seemed a perfectly ordinary person—as much as any lord can be considered ordinary.”

“So you’ve been living here in the same manor with him for a few days?” Finley asked. “And you never noticed anything in all that time?”

Lorne shook his head. “I haven’t actually been staying in the house. As I mentioned to Daphne, I have some friends with me, and we’ve been staying together at the local inn.” He frowned. “I could ask them if they’ve heard anything of this Barlowe. They’re more widely traveled than even me.”

Finley glanced around the ballroom. “Are they here?”

Lorne shook his head. “They were invited but preferred a quiet night. I’m sure they’ll still be awake, though, so I could go immediately and ask them.”

“Would you?” Daphne seized his hand in both of hers. “Thank you so much!”

He patted her clasped hands. “Nothing but a trifle, my dear. I’ll return as soon as possible.”

He disentangled himself and hurried toward the ballroom door, moving in a sprightly way despite his bent figure. Finley and Daphne both watched him go.

“Should we wait for him to return before we approach Lord Barlowe?” Daphne turned to Finley with an expression of concern.

He smiled down at her. “First, we should finish what we started.”

He held out his hand, waiting patiently while she stared at it blankly.

Then the music swelled, the current song nearing its end, and understanding lit her face.

She swallowed, her hand rising slowly toward his.

But before it made contact, she paused. Whatever she’d discussed with Lorne was making her more hesitant than she had been earlier in the evening.

And yet, Finley could have sworn some of the tension lurking beneath her surface had eased. But still she hesitated, seeming to tremble on the brink of something he didn’t understand.

With a soft sigh, she placed her fingers in his and looked up at him with the softest of smiles. “I would love to dance with you.”

Finley’s hand tightened convulsively around hers, his pulse taking off. But his feet didn’t move. Instead, he reluctantly pulled something from his pocket.

“If we’re rejoining the ball, you’d better put this back on.”

“That’s where it went,” Daphne cried, seeing her mask dangling from his fingers. “I lost track of it.”

She smiled up at him expectantly, and he placed it slowly on her face. Her fingers held it in place as he reached around her head to tie the two ribbons together. His face hovered beside hers, his arms stretched around her, and he didn’t dare breathe lest he shatter the moment.

It took all his self-control to pull back and offer her his hand again, some semblance of his usual smile on his face. But when she put her hand into his for a second time, he couldn’t resist pulling her close, cradling her in his arms as he swept them both onto the ballroom floor.

They had never danced together before, and yet they moved as one, their feet gliding smoothly and their focus locked on one another. A slight pink suffused Daphne’s cheeks, but she held his gaze confidently, her posture straight and open.

“Daphne,” he breathed, unsure how to put everything in his mind into words.

“Fin,” she said back, her voice tinged with affection. His heart leaped and thumped painfully in his chest.

“In the forest that day,” he began, and Daphne sighed softly.

“I’m sorry I ran away from you. I told myself I needed to protect you, but I was also confused and anxious.

I’d spent so many years expecting to return to Oakden and reclaim my true self.

The reality has been…different.” He pulled her closer despite the conventions of the dance, and she gave him a dazzling smile that momentarily robbed him of words.

They came back to him slowly, driven by the most concerning part of her confession. “You thought you were protecting me? From what?”

“The Legacy. After everything it has done to me—is still doing to me—I didn’t want you to get sucked in as well.

” She shivered in his arms, and he swung her toward the edge of the dance floor, positioning them behind a potted tree so that he could pull her all the way to his chest and hold her there.

“I already told you.” His voice was rough. “I won’t abandon you to the Legacy, no matter what.”

For a blissful moment, she sunk into his hold. But within mere seconds, she pulled back, an indignant expression on her face.

“I appreciate that you want to protect me, but that means you should understand that I want to protect you too. The Legacy is building toward something, ensnaring me deeper.” A shadow passed over her face. “I can feel it. And there’s no reason for you to get sucked in as well.”

Finley smiled down at her. “I think it’s a little late for that.”

Could she see the love blazing in his eyes? She must have sensed something because a flush appeared around the edges of her mask.

“I should warn you that I’m finished running away from the Legacy,” she said.

“I have to accept what it’s made of my life and find my way forward despite it.

And to do that, I have to face whatever it throws at me next.

You’re finally on the road to answers and freedom yourself.

Are you sure you want to be part of more chaos? ”

“If it’s your chaos—always,” Fin said without needing to think. “If you’re ready to stop pushing me away, that is.” His chest squeezed painfully. “Are you ready for that?”

Daphne’s radiant smile released the pressure inside him, warmth flooding through him in its wake. She leaned into him, her lips hovering near his ear.

“I can live with the naps if I have to, Fin, but I don’t want to live without you.”

He stared down into her eyes, drinking in her mischievous smile and the sincerity in her gaze.

“Blast that mask,” he growled, and then his lips were on hers anyway, and the rest of the ballroom had faded into irrelevance.

When they finally broke apart, he scooped her up and spun her around, nearly colliding with the tree as his laughter enveloped them both.

“My one worry,” she said when he put her down, “is how we’re going to break the news to poor Archer.”

“Ugh, Archie.” Finley shook his head. “My patience with that boy has been wearing paper-thin.”

“But it’s not his fault, poor thing,” Daphne said. “It’s the Legacy.”

“Is it?” Finley’s eyes narrowed. “I notice your control over brambles wore off weeks ago. If you ask me, he’s been using the Legacy infatuation as an excuse—because otherwise he knows I would have dumped him in the creek by now for the way he moons over you.”

Daphne laughed. “In that case, he’s probably doing it to rile you up. The poor boy hasn’t had any other entertainment for weeks.”

“I’ll give him entertainment ,” Finley growled, but Daphne laughed again, and his irritation melted into a smile. He was too full of joy to remain irritated with anyone, even Archie.

“Young love,” an urbane voice said from the other side of the potted tree. “It’s enough to warm anyone’s heart.”

Finley instinctively stepped in front of Daphne, trying to shield her from the stranger’s view. But when the man stepped around the tree and he recognized Lord Barlowe, his mind went completely blank.

“As touching as this display is,” Lord Barlowe continued, “I’m not sure it’s appropriate for a ballroom. On behalf of my good friend, Lord Castlerey, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Finley stared at him, his mind racing. Did the man know who they were? Was he?—

“Ah, before you consider protesting your right to remain,” Lord Barlowe said, flicking a nonexistent speck of dust from his sleeve, “I should perhaps mention that I was privileged to witness your very…ah, creative entry to the ball.”

Finley and Daphne remained silent, and Lord Barlowe smiled. “Very wise. You have had your fun, and if you leave quietly now, no harm has been done. Do you not agree?”

“Certainly we’ll leave if we’re no longer welcome here,” Fin said easily.

Was it a mere coincidence that Lord Barlowe was the one evicting them from the ball? Regardless of his reasons, they could hardly refuse. If they made a scene, they would attract Lord Castlerey’s attention, and Barlowe’s accusations would be proved.

Their chance to question Barlowe was disappearing before his eyes. They should have been more circumspect. He tried to think of a way to phrase a subtle question, but the situation wasn’t exactly propitious.

“Of course we’ll leave.” Daphne tugged on Finley’s sleeve, and he gave in to the inevitable, giving Barlowe a quick, shallow bow.

He let her tug him through the room, skirting the dance floor as they headed toward the ballroom door. They would have to wait outside the manor and intercept Lorne when he returned. Perhaps together they could think of another way to approach Barlowe.

But as they left the ballroom and entered the manor’s large entryway, Lord Barlowe trailed behind them. Finley glanced back at him, weighing the risks of speaking versus staying quiet. Perhaps the man had given them just the opportunity they needed?

He hesitated near the front door, looking at Lord Barlowe again.

“My dear sir,” the lord said with apparent amusement. “You seem to have something more to say to me. But may I suggest that whatever enlightening words you have to impart, they would be best said away from our interested audience?”

Finley glanced at the two footmen who flanked the door, both watching the odd group in the entryway with interest, and then down at Daphne.

Her teeth were set, her wary gaze fixed on Lord Barlowe, but she didn’t protest. And for the first time that night, Finley was grateful for her mask.

If Finley’s identity ended up being revealed, Daphne at least retained some protection.

“Very well, my lord,” Finley said. “Perhaps you are right.”

Barlowe gestured toward an open door that led into a sitting room, ushering them both through before closing it behind them and perching himself on the arm of the nearest chair.

“If you intend to upbraid me,” he said, “I should perhaps warn you that I am not easily put out of countenance.”

“No,” Daphne said quietly. “I don’t think you are.”

Barlowe smiled at her, a slow, lazy smile that Finley didn’t like.

“A lady of above ordinary perception, I see. If one is forced to have an adversary, is it not more entertaining to have a worthy opponent?”

“Opponent, my lord?” Daphne continued to meet his gaze steadily. “I don’t know what you mean.”

The lord swung his leg, his lazy smile still fixed in place. “Oh, I think you do, Daphne. I think you know exactly what I mean.”

Finley tensed, his thoughts upending in an instant, all his assessments of danger changing. It had been a mistake to bring Daphne to the ball. He never should have considered it.

“I did not achieve my current position by failing to pay attention to details,” Barlowe continued.

“I certainly would not pursue a man across the breadth of a kingdom for three long years without knowing his face.” His eyes lingered on Finley’s face, and he laughed softly. “Such a noble face,” he murmured.

His gaze snapped to Daphne. “Your face, however, I would be most interested to see…” He trailed off with the faint hint of a question, as if he thought she would remove her mask to satisfy his curiosity.

Finley tensed, ready to intervene if Barlowe tried to approach Daphne, but neither of them moved. Daphne’s stony gaze remained fixed unflinchingly on Barlowe’s face, and he gave a small smile.

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure how you fit into the game, my dear,” he continued. “Especially after I heard of your impressive rescue of young Archer. But after that enlightening display in the ballroom, I think I have a fairly accurate idea of what piece you are in this particular puzzle.”

Finley’s hands fisted, his blood boiling. He wanted to push Daphne behind him, to shield her even from Barlowe’s gaze. But he had to tread very, very carefully.

“I’ll admit,” the man went on, “I was impressed to see you here tonight. Even after all these years, I did not expect my own identity to be uncovered. But you see, that leaves us at an impasse because that is not a situation with which I’m comfortable.”

He stood, his actions suddenly quick and decisive. “Entertaining as it has been, I think it’s time we drew this game to a close. Do you not agree, Finley son of Timothy?”

Finley froze, his brows drawing together. Daphne grabbed his arm.

“What is it, Fin?” she asked softly, and he realized he had never told her his father’s name.

“My father wasn’t called Timothy.” The room seemed to recede, reality dipping and rearranging yet again.

Was it possible that their last three years of flight and terror had all originated from a case of mistaken identity? Had Lord Barlowe been chasing the wrong people?

Barlowe’s brows shot up. “Do you really not know? Now that is surprising!”

“What don’t I know?” Finley’s fists tightened, his patience running thin.

“Your own father, apparently.” Barlowe watched him closely. “Do you really not know that your father was the missing Prince Timothy, the youngest brother of our current monarch?”