Adam stepped forward, fondness and melancholy tempering his smile. “I suspect you are thinking of my grandfather, the elder Mr. Gimsire. You are Mrs. Wilson, are you not? Grandfather spoke highly of you.”

The old woman blushed. “Sir, you are too kind.” She glanced at Eliza.

“Pardon me,” Adam said, putting his hand on the small of Eliza’s slim back. As though he had every right. Illusions. “My wife, Mrs. Gimsire.” He’d lied to humans for centuries. Still the words were hard to utter. And, if the sudden tension along Eliza’s back meant anything, they were hard for her to hear.

“A pleasure,” Mrs. Wilson said as Eliza murmured her hellos. “And how does your grandfather fare?”

“I’m afraid my grandfather has passed. Just last year.” Adam put on a frown, suddenly hating the lies he had to tell over and over. Hating that he never bonded with a community, a set life, but watched the world drift past him while he remained frozen in place.

“Oh,” Mrs. Wilson exclaimed with a small, weak breath. “Oh, dear, I’m so very sorry to hear it.”

“I ought to have written to you. I know you’ve been keeping his shop well.”

Mrs. Wilson grimaced. “Not as well as I would like, I fear. I’m getting on and there is just myself to…” Her voice drifted off as she searched her reticule for a kerchief. “He shall be sorely missed, young man. In that you can trust.”

Adam gave her a gentle nod of acknowledgment. “You were a good friend to him.”

“God be with you, Mr. Gimsire.” Mrs. Wilson sniffled into her lace handkerchief, then dabbed her eyes as she ambled back to her shop.

He watched her go and the odd feeling of time slipping through his fingers hit him square in the chest. And he was always on the outside of it.

Chapter Nineteen

An hour caught in Mab’s snare and then Sin was free to go. He stumbled out into the mews, the stench of manure and household garbage thick in the damp air. He made it to the coach house before he retched. The force of it doubled him over and lifted him to his toes. The smell of sick burned his nostrils, as his fingers dug into the loose mortar between the bricks. Surrounded by filth, and yet he was the most disgusting thing out here.

His skin crawled with the taint of Mab and the knowledge that he’d let her do those things to him. That his body had enjoyed it in some profane way. With the female responsible for destroying his family. A sob, deep and filled with rage, tore from his chest. The thick ivy that clung to the top of the mews began to crackle and grow, spreading toward his hand. Sin did not bother to rein in his power but leaned against the wall and tried to breathe through his anger.

Above him, the sky was the pasty white of spoilt milk, the light of the sun hidden behind endless layers of clouds. It hurt to look at that pale, unending sky. And he closed his eyes, trying to breathe past the heaviness invading his chest. Ivy leaves tickled his cheeks and climbed over his shoulders. Perhaps they’d entomb him. Perhaps he could dig a hole in the loamy earth and lose himself in its cool embrace.

“Death is not the only solution, you realize.”

Sin froze. That someone would come upon him in this moment and see enough to understand what he was contemplating. Self-loathing and impotent rage made his skin fire hot. He forced himself to open his eyes.

A man stood not far off, his expression placid but his dark eyes keen. Though he wore the fine wool suit of a proper English gentleman, with his bowler hat resting just so on top of his coal-black hair, everything about the man screamed foreigner. And then recognition set in.

“You were with Layla at the theatre.” The words were out of Sin’s mouth before he could think to keep them in, and he flushed in annoyance. “Miss Starling, I mean.” Not much better, that. He’d made it painfully clear that he’d been watching Layla.

But the man smiled kindly, a knowing look lighting his eyes. Smug bastard. “Yes. With Miss Starling. I was hoping you’d join us, but you did not.” One shoulder lifted. “Perhaps next time.”

Sin pushed away from the wall and glared at the man. “Who are you?”

“My name, for all intents and purposes here, is Augustus. Your sister, Poppy, knows me as Father.”

Fear ran through Sin’s tired body. Father was the enigmatic head of the SOS. As far as Sin knew, only Poppy had any real contact with the man. “What the devil are you doing with Miss Starling?” Sin would not believe for a moment that the man was actually courting her. Not from what he knew of Father – an ageless man who was gone more than he was around.

“Protecting her.”

The length of Sin’s body tightened with swift pain. “You’ll pardon me if I find that answer less than comforting.”

Augustus’s black brows rose as one. “Have you reason to believe that the founding father of the SOS would fail at this task?”

“No,” Sin said with reluctance. “It’s the fact that she needs protecting that worries me.” If Layla needed watching, he ought to be the one to do it. The memory of her bright smile hit him hard enough to hurt his heart. They’d been fast friends. Being near her had been his daily joy, his air, until she moved away.

Augustus watched as a hawk might. “You cannot protect her as you are now.”

Sin’s fists clenched. “How —”

Communication of thoughts are not limited to mere words, lad.

“Get the bloody hell out of my head,” Sin snapped, a fine sweat coating his skin.