Page 63 of A Pirate's Pleasure

I turned my attention to Lief, watching him as he studied the man who had made himself at home in his house. The slight frown that marred his brow said he knew the man, but not well enough to recall the time and place. Not an ex-lover, then.

“Well…” the man said. “I don’t suppose I need to tell you that your presence here comes as a surprise.”

“It’s my house,” Lief said, outrage leaking out of him like water.

I put a steadying hand on his shoulder as a silent reminder that he’d achieve nothing by losing his temper. He nodded, but it was jerky, the swallow that followed speaking of a battle to get himself back under control.

The man’s gaze switched to me, his scrutiny slow and thorough. “Who are you?”

“Who’s he?” Lief said with a sharp laugh. “Who the fuck are you? And what are you doing in my house?”

The man inclined his head in recognition of Lief’s outburst. He cleared his throat. “We met, remember?” When Lief only frowned, he elaborated. “In The Stately Sword tavern. You were rather in your cups that night, so I suppose I shouldn’t feel too offended that you don’t recall. You told me many things that night, how lonely you were, all the regrets you had about the past, how you rattled around in this enormous house with only servants to talk to.”

“I was drunk,” Lief said flatly. “Drunk people say all sorts of crap.”

“True,” the man said. “You were very convincing, though.”

“So you thought you’d steal my dagger, frame me for murder, and rid me of the burden of this house? Is that it?”

A somewhat sad smile appeared on the man’s lips. “Are things ever that straightforward?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Lief said. “I’ve never plotted to take over someone else’s life.”

The man’s mouth twisted, something about what Lief had said apparently bothering him.

“Why don’t we start with your name?” I suggested.

He nodded, his gaze staying on Lief. “My name is Baravor Ulara. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Not a thing,” Lief said. “Should it?”

“I thought you might have heard of me.”

“Why would he have done?” I asked.

Baravor’s sigh was lengthy and seemed practiced, like he was used to displaying that reaction to the uneducated. He pointed to where there were two more chairs in the library. “Perhaps we could have this conversation like civilized human beings.”

I grabbed Lief and steered him toward the chairs before he was tempted to quite rightly point out that there was only one person in this house who should issue invitations, and it wasn’t Baravor. We carried the chairs over to where Baravor had resumed his seat at the table, the man making a big production out of closing his book like he resented not being able to return to it.

“Your name?” he said to me.

“Zephyr. Zephyr Chase.” No sign of him recognizing it. Good. It gave us the upper hand if he was unaware of who I was and what I could do.

“I assume you know who I am,” Lief said, a sliver of ice underlying his words.

“I do,” Baravor said amiably. “Although, I will admit that I didn’t know of your existence until you turned up in Silkdrift to claim your inheritance. An inheritance that, incidentally, should have been mine.”

“Yours?” Lief’s laugh was full of contempt. “How do you work that one out?”

“Your uncle was my father.”

Lief shook his head. “No, he wasn’t. My uncle didn’t have any children. That was the reason the inheritance passed to me.”

A muscle ticked in Baravor’s cheek. “He didn’t have any children he was willing to acknowledge as being his, but unless you’re calling my poor departed mother a liar, he had children. Or one, anyway. Me.”

“How?” Lief asked.

“The usual way,” Baravor said smoothly.