Dreaming by Jill Barnett Page A

was an odd tightening in his chest. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought it was his heart. But he’d stopped caring long before, when he’d lost the ability to believe that the future held anything for him.
    He knew with surety that he could never give her what her eyes begged him for. He willed with every ounce of his being for these strange feelings to pass. And the seconds turned to minutes.
    “Your food’s getting cold,” he said finally, giving a curt nod at the bowl in her hand while he blamed his addled sense on the fall.
    She blessed him with one of those smiles that seemed to irrationally irritate him, then set a cup of water aside and took a bite of stew. “This is quite good.”
    Self-preservation made him look from that smile to the food in her hand until he’d blocked her out with thoughts and smells of food. He’d had nothing in his stomach but the brandy he’d known he would need, for the courage to walk through the front door of his estate for the first time in two years.
    One couldn’t confront old ghosts sober. But all those glasses of false courage were now nothing but a sour memory in his empty stomach. He felt his stomach tighten. He was hungry after all.
    A loud slurping sounded from behind him. He turned around.
    The hellhound quickly sat back on his haunches, staring at him, his canine face set in a sly and truly satisfied grin.
    With a sick feeling Richard looked down at his bowl—his empty bowl.
    And Gus burped.

Chapter 6
     
    The lock slid open with a rusty scrape that Letty could feel clear through to her teeth. She turned just as the door cracked and a musket barrel poked through the opening. The musket quivered, and after a slight pause, Philbert stuck his gray-haired head inside. He quickly tossed a large soup bone toward Gus. It landed with a loud thud and rattled across the wooden floor for a foot or two.
    One would never have known that Gus had just eaten Richard’s food from the way he pounced on that bone. Like an animal starved, he hugged it between his large paws, then clamped his teeth around it, his droopy eyes darting left, then right. He stood up and trotted around the hold, tail wagging and ears flopping, as he proudly displayed his prize.
    He carried it as if it were a brace of pheasants. He pranced past a tight-jawed Richard three times, then settled into a corner and began to ravenously gnaw on the bone.
    “Excuse me, Mr. Philbert ?” Letty said, ignoring Richard’s bullish snort.
    The smuggler looked up and pointed the gun barrel at her, using the door as a shield. “I’m not Philbert .”
    She paused, a little apprehensive. It was Phelim , and the last time she’d seen him he was being carried out unconscious. She supposed he would not be too pleased with her. She gave a tentative nod and searched for the correct thing to say.
    From his appearance, she figured he had come out fairly unscathed. After all, he did have his eyebrows. Just for good measure, she decided a compliment was the most politic. “Mr. Phelim . You look well.”
    “I’m not Phelim .”
    Her mouth fell open. “Another brother?”
    He nodded. “Aye.”
    She held up three fingers.
    The man nodded. “Triplets.”
    “Oh.” She cast a quick glance at Richard, who sat in a corner near a brandy barrel. His knees were drawn up, his injured arm resting on one of them, while he watched Gus from narrowed eyes that made him look as if he were ready to snatch the bone away and eat it himself. “Have you ever met triplets before?”
    Richard said nothing. He just watched Gus the way the Duke of Wellington might have eyed Napoleon across a battlefield.
    She sighed and turned back to the other brother. “Gus ate Richard’s food. I believe he’s terribly hungry. Do you suppose someone could fetch him another dish of stew?”
    The man remained in the doorway, the musket still aimed at her and his stance very cautious. After one of those long strings of male silence, he frowned and shook