To Love in Silence (Currents of Love Book 3) Read online

  To Love in Silence

  Emilee Harris

  Copyright © 2019 Emilee Harris

  All rights reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  The End | <<<<>>>>

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE PRESS OF STEEL against the soft, vulnerable flesh of his wrist tempted Eric to a morbid degree, inciting a rapid pulse and the deep, heated flush of mortification. Blinking down at the letter opener compressing a white line into the otherwise healthy hues of his forearm, he wondered how the implement came to rest there. The hand clasped about the handle trembled, knuckles whitening. He hadn’t meant to dredge up the memory, thought he’d been safe in rummaging through the long-neglected correspondence on his desk, but something in the note sent him back to all those years ago. Perhaps you ought to consider your limitations...

  Behind him, something imperceptible shifted in his surroundings telling him he was no longer alone. If asked, he would be hard-pressed to put the feeling into words; it was a subtle shrinking of the space around him, a condensing of the air, minute dimming of the light, a distortion of energy signaling another mass had entered his life’s orbit. A heartbeat later a faint vibration started beneath the hand he habitually set upon some solid surface whenever he knew his back was unguarded, in this case, the back of his upturned hand resting against the windowpane. Flipping the letter opener away from his skin, he turned in time to note his youngest sister’s small fist drop to her side from where it had rapped on the door. Framed by the doorway, her blond locks, matching in hue to his own, bright smile, and cheerful countenance shone like a rogue ray of sunlight amid a storm-darkened sky.

  He smiled. Of course, it would be Sarah. Even if the rest of his family had been in residence at Heathermoore, only she could have materialized at precisely this moment when he felt the world closing in on him. His guardian angel. Again. She’d known, sensed the darkness in him when no one else in his family had.

  “What can I do for you, Poppet?” He asked, using the pet name devised shortly after her birth when, peeking into the bassinet beside his mother’s bed he’d announced with all the sage wisdom his three-year-old presence demanded, “It’s a Poppet!” At the time he was thoroughly convinced he’d been lied to when told he had a new sister. She was far too small to be substantial. Yet, something in that tiny countenance struck a chord within him and they’d been practically inseparable ever since. Sarah exuded a gentleness, a quiet consideration which soothed and calmed. It was a characteristic his other two sisters didn’t quite mirror or match. He set down the letter and opener, giving her his full attention.

  Her smile widened as she glided across the parquet flooring, arms outstretched, pausing expertly a moment before treading on his stockinged feet to grip him round the waist in as tight a hug as her small frame could emit. “You’ve been brooding again, it makes me worry,” she admonished once she’d leaned back enough for him to see her features.

  He concentrated on the movement of her lips, though the habit proved unnecessary the moment she released him and took a step back. Her slender hands moved in time with her words, gliding across the air in various shapes and movements as they continued to call him out for poor behavior.

  “I feel as though I haven’t seen you in days. With everyone else out of the house, I’m akin to a ghost roaming the halls. I should take up chains and begin wailing.”

  “An exercise in futility if you expect me to take notice.”

  She met his retort with a glare.

  “Aren’t you being a bit overdramatic?” He continued, uncomfortable with her adept perception. He dropped his gaze just long enough to slip his feet into his shoes, hoping he’d composed himself sufficiently from the unsettling thoughts of moments before.

  When he looked up, Sarah’s smile had vanished, replaced by a stern set to her jaw and iron glint in her eye.

  “Don’t make me sit vigil beside you.” She signed.

  Eric swallowed. “That won’t be necessary.” Even had he been able to hear his words, he doubted they would ring any more convincing than the weak vibrations in his throat did. Only Sarah among his family members truly understood the darkness plaguing him.

  Some miracle drew her to him that night when he was fourteen and still in the early stages of recovering from the fever that had stolen his hearing. A girl of eleven, so used to barging into her brother’s room unannounced, especially during his long illness, she’d surprised him just as he set blade to wrist. They’d never discussed it, but that night she refused to leave his side, going so far as to crawl into the bed beside him as though they were nursery children again. He didn’t doubt she’d do the same now if she felt it warranted.

  He’d dropped his gaze to his hand resting on his father’s desk, a twitch away from the silver letter opener boasting a mermaid carved into the handle, tail curved in a siren’s beckon. A small hand covered his, infusing it with warmth, fingers curling around the edges of his palm and enticing him to meet his sister’s gaze.

  “Are you certain?” her eyes searched his as she tightened her grip on him, tugging his hand away from the questionable implement.

  “No,” the sound rasped across his throat.

  “You can’t keep blaming yourself, Eric.”

  “Can’t I? Can you think of any other reason anyone would have gone after James and Amaryllis aside from their association with me?” He referenced the events of the previous year, which had rent the family asunder and nearly lost them two of their siblings.

  “That’s a risk every man in your position runs.” Sarah abandoned his hand with a last squeeze to give full range of motion to her own. “We all understand that, yet none of us would speak against you continuing your profession. We’re proud of you.”

  Shaking his head, Eric moved around his sister toward the far end of the study and a large globe on display there. “Your pride is misplaced. Blind luck has kept me in this game up to now, with my own foolish pride spurring me forward rather than admit to my limitations.” Something churned in his stomach at the echo of the words from the letter. He’d gone into intelligence work precisely to prove he had none. For some time now he thought he’d succeeded, but circumstances dispelled that illusion last year.

  The bookcase beside him overflowed with treatises on navigation and naval strategy. One shelf housed a replica of the first ship his father had commanded within the confines of a bottle, while another displayed his sextant and spyglass. As the only land-bound Langdon in an otherwise seafaring family, it fell to him to manage most of their family’s affairs from the study which now belonged to his eldest brother, Daniel. He’d always found a kind of comfort in the nostalgic surroundings, or so he often told himself.

  Sarah refused to leave him be.

  “You know that’s not true,” she argued the moment she’d succeeded in tugging him around to face her. “You are every bit as capable as anyone else. You’ve pr
oven it time and time again.”

  “Have I?” He fixed her with a strong enough determination to give her pause. “No one outside of my family and Sir Thomas know what I do. As far as the world is concerned, I lost any usefulness I may have had, including my wits, along with my hearing when I was a boy.”

  The words stabbed at his throat, unnaturally sharp for all the years meant to dull them. His eyes darted about the room again, taking in all the trappings and regalia which had so entranced him as a boy. His life suffered an irreversible alteration in course the day the fever released its grip and he opened his eyes onto a silent world. It spared him his life but absconded with his hopes and dreams for the future.

  “The world can go to the devil,” Sarah signed vehemently, eliciting a choked laugh from him. “Those of us who know you understand your worth, and we’re the only ones who matter.” She finished with a pout unbecoming her twenty-two years and crossed her arms in front of her.

  “You are the only ones who matter,” Eric soothed, “but can you truly keep your good judgment of me after what I’ve put our siblings through?”

  “It’s not as though you actively tried to put them in danger, Eric, you had no way of knowing our name got caught up with the French smugglers. Besides, James and Amaryllis both came back the better for it, they’re happily married now.”

  “They could just as easily have been killed.” He stated darkly. “Nearly were.”

  A long silence passed between them.

  “I don’t know any more what I’m meant to do, Sarah.” He admitted in a whisper.

  She enfolded him in another lingering hug. “You’re meant to be my world, big brother. Just as you always have been. I refuse to let you shirk your duty.”

  “You say that now,” he smiled, a heaviness creeping into his heart. “But soon enough your eye will fall on some lucky fellow and I’ll be left without a purpose.”

  Perhaps that was his greatest fear. His siblings would all go off to their own destinies, leaving him the last man standing amid cobwebs of the past.

  A shadow fell across the doorway and Eric looked up to see the butler give a slight bow.

  “Sir Thomas to see you, sir,” the man mouthed, his white gloves moving in time to the announcement.

  Sarah gave a small start and straightened, disengaging herself from their hug. Eric glanced in her direction before responding, noting the slight flush to her cheeks.

  “Very well, please see him in.”

  SIR THOMAS MALLORY, Eric's best friend and longtime mentor entered the study on the butler’s heels. Of an age with Eric’s eldest brother, the man espoused the carefree geniality of his other brother, James, and a penchant for gossip and intrigue to match that of his sister, Marissa. Indeed, he suited so well in some aspect or another to every Langdon sibling that his frequent presence in the home ceased to incur any sense of curiosity shortly after he’d been introduced to them.

  “Eric, if you truly don't want me to bother you, you're going to have to make it more difficult for me to find you.” The man grinned, pausing in his stride to angle toward Sarah and offer a polite bow.

  Eric didn't need to look at his sister to know her tell-tale blush deepened before she ducked a quick curtsy and excused herself. He pressed his lips together as he watched her leave, knowing she had her own crosses to bear. What he'd taken as childish infatuation years ago seemed unwilling to let go of her. If Mallory ever noticed, he was at least decent enough not to make mention or to tease her about it. Mallory darted a glance to the desk, noting the half-opened pile of missives Eric had been sifting through before Sarah arrived.

  “At least I know you're opening them,” he commented dryly.

  “It would be much easier to enjoy my leave of absence,” Eric began, “if you wouldn't insist on sending me information as though I were still working.” He moved to the sideboard, filling two glasses with brandy, then turned back to his friend. Mallory made the hand gesture for thank you before accepting the glass and settling into a chair beside the hearth. He wasn't as fluent in the gestures as Eric's family, but admittedly had less opportunity for practice. Eric often wondered if he'd truly taken up the signs out of friendship or a lingering boyish fancy that set the language on a secretive, mysterious shelf similar to invisible ink.

  He'd come to understand any man willing to work in intelligence, in addition to a penchant for adventure, generally had a healthy dose of boyish enthusiasm for all things mysterious. Mallory was six years his senior and much like an additional brother to him.

  “I understand your hesitance to come back,” Mallory began as they settled into their chairs, but your absence is truly a detriment to the service. And you know I'm not one to inflate you just to see you back.”

  “At this point in time,” Eric stated bitterly, “I'm not entirely sure of that. Good intelligence officers are hard to come by in the first place and easy to lose in the second. I'm not entirely convinced it's my expertise you need, but the additional manpower.”

  Mallory lost some of his characteristic joviality, giving way to a flush and momentary tightening in his jaw, but he remained quiet, ducking his eyes to his glass for a moment before looking up and continuing.

  “I understand your concern for your family, Eric, truly I do. But there is no reason to believe that simply because you are no longer actively taking assignments whoever it is out to get your family is going to abandon their purpose. Given that possibility, I believe you have a higher chance of deflecting the threat by continuing your work than by staying home.”

  “There are plenty of other men more capable.” There was that bloody sentiment again.

  “Rubbish,” Mallory allowed his anger to show, setting down his glass to better emphasize his point. “You've convinced yourself that you are somehow lacking in ability. But the truth of the matter is you are every bit and more capable as any man I have working for me, and it's exactly your perceived lack which makes you the most effective.”

  “You mean the fact that society at large considers me dimwitted?”

  Mallory rolled his eyes and flopped back into his chair, offering no good argument against Eric's statement. In a likely attempt to cover that fact, he took up his glass again and took a swallow of his brandy. A few moments went by in which neither of them said anything, then Mallory set down his glass again and leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees.

  “We've got information on a new threat,” he began, “but have been having trouble collecting enough evidence to confirm it.”

  “That's unfortunate.”

  Mallory let out a sigh and slumped back into his chair. “Eric, you've received my notes, you've read them, I know you know what I'm talking about.”

  Eric chewed on the inside of his lip.

  “Of course, I couldn't send you all the details, but I had hoped the hints I made might be enticing enough to get you to poke your head out from this estate.” He settled a gaze on Eric, but Eric didn't flinch or make any move to reply. He had been tempted but knew better than to admit it. Whatever excitement his career offered now came with a twinge of guilt, one painful enough to keep him locked away at home.

  Realizing Eric wouldn’t respond to his prompts, Mallory resorted to plain speech and behaving as though Eric hadn’t been avoiding him for months.

  “We've been trying to persuade Nathaniel Rothschild to provide a loan to the government to aid Wellington in his campaign. We know that some of this information has been intercepted, and now fear that Rothschild's life may be in danger.” He raised an eyebrow at Eric, but Eric only deepened his interest in his brandy.

  “There's a Frenchman,” Mallory continued with a look of irritation when Eric returned his attention to the speech. “A Pierre de Durand, Comte de Montaigne, who seems the most likely opportunist to carry out such a plot, but we haven't been able to get close enough to him. He's an ex-pat, but still fiercely loyal to France.”

  “If you can't get to him what makes you think I
can?” Eric questioned, instantly regretting the show of curiosity when Mallory’s features brightened.

  “Actually, I don't.” He beamed. “I'm not asking you to aid in this particular mission.”

  Eric narrowed his gaze at his friend. “Then why are you here?”

  “To invite you and your sister to an event this coming Saturday.”

  Eric blinked. “An event? That seems completely unlike you Mallory.”

  “An event hosted by said Frenchman, who happens to have a young ward, a niece, similar in age to Miss. Sarah.” Mallory mumbled into his cup.

  Eric straightened in his chair, anger rising. “Mallory you are not going to use my family to—”

  The man raised his hands in surrender and supplication. “There is no direct hint of danger, Eric, this is simply a social outing in which I'm hoping the young ladies might develop a friendship.”

  “A friendship which will benefit you if Sarah happens to hear something that you can use.” Eric accused.

  “We've been at this for months, Eric,” he pleaded. “We haven't been able to get anything on him. It's more likely than not that this won't help anything, but it's the last thing I can think of to try. Besides, at the very least it will be enjoyable for Miss. Sarah. I can’t imagine being confined to this house with only you for company while her Mother and sister are off visiting has been all that agreeable.” He raised a brow, daring Eric to dispute his claim.

  Eric glared, pressing his lips together and hating the reminder of his Sarah’s sentiment. He’d been ignoring her in favor of his own inner turmoil. She was bore and lonely. Guilt plague him, but pride overcame him.

  “There's nothing wrong with this house,” he ground out, “and I'm not inclined to leave it for a social outing at the moment.”

  “I understand that,” Mallory conceded. “But you can't become a recluse and think it's going to solve your problems. What happened to James and Amaryllis frightened you. It gave you pause and made you begin to question your work.”