Page 10

On the other hand, perhaps this was a golden opportunity.

After the fool she’d made of herself with him on the day of their arrival—bloodying him and then unintentionally flirting with him—she hadn’t had any alone time with him, and neither had Hunter.

They’d all seen one another at meals and from a distance, but he seemed to be strangely absent most hours.

Did he spend his time hiding in the library?

Had he been hiding from her? From them ? Embarrassed, her gaze wandered over his face, until his second brow joined the first and she knew he was waiting on an answer.

“Your lip looks good—better, I mean,” she blurted. “Healed.”

Both brows slammed back down and he turned away. “Och, well, I’m a fast healer.”

Was he? He limped to the same side table where she’d placed her other books, and arranged the Barnhardt book atop it. From this angle, she could see the way his shirt—damp with sweat—stuck to his back.

Had he been…exercising? Chopping wood? Lifting lead weights?

For Heaven’s sake, where?

When he turned back to her—still balanced awkwardly on one foot five feet in the air—Gabby found herself asking that question. “Were you exercising? Here, in the library?”

He froze, his gaze darting back to the book, then to her eyes, then to her stuck foot.

“I find I often have the place to myself. And there’s more dark corners here than elsewhere.

” He glanced away, and she wondered if it was her imagination that his cheeks darkened.

“I’m no’ going to get sturdier by sitting on my arse. ”

Intrigued despite her predicament, Gabby asked curiously, “And what do you do?”

He frowned. “What?”

“How do you get sturdier , as you say?” She had some experience with amputations among animals, but they had three other legs to make up for it. They got up and moving so much quicker. “I suppose jumping and lunging, that sort of thing?”

He was watching her with his head cocked in what she hoped was bemusement. “Aye. And balance training. Today I was using weights.”

Ah, so she had been correct! Her smile was instinctual, but then she froze—still balanced precariously—and realized what all this meant. “How long were you in here?” she asked suspiciously.

Was it her imagination, or did his lips twitch? It was hard to tell from this position. “There’s a reading niche behind those stacks. I thought if I kept still and quiet, ye might take your books and leave me to my peace again.”

Ah, so he had been in here the entire time? Listening to her mumble to herself? Thank goodness she hadn’t squealed happily on the ladder. Wait. Had she?

“But it seems ye need my help, Miss Butcombe.”

Gabby winced at that ridiculous name. “I thought we decided you ought to call me Gabby?” Oh blast, she was making a complete muck of this.

How else to get him to stop calling her by that ridiculously false name?

“Since we are both guests here at Inverlochy and bound to become friends,” she hurried to explain.

“I will call you Cassian, the same way I call Augustus by his name, and we can all be chums.”

“Chums,” he repeated dryly, stepping up beside her and craning his neck back. Oh Lord, could he see up her skirt? “Do ye need help, Gabby ?”

Her throat had gone dry with his nearness. Or perhaps embarrassment. Or anticipation, wondering how much of her legs he could see. “I…my foot appears to be stuck.”

There was a hint of humor in his voice when he inquired, “On a book?”

“On the ladder rail.” She thought she heard a snort of laughter beneath her, so her voice was more peevish when she asked, “Are you going to help?”

With a put-upon sigh, he murmured, “I suppose I must.”

Gabby had every intention of snapping an initiated reply…had Cassian not chosen that moment to wrap his hand around her ankle and all thought fled from her mind.

His hold was gentle, yet firm. His fingers encircled her leg, right above the top of her half-boot, and she could feel the warmth of his hold spear through her silk stockings.

Through sheer dint of will, she managed to keep from whimpering.

He betrayed his country. He killed the men who trusted him. He is a traitor, the lowest of the low. You are here to bring him down. Try to remember that !

Oh yes, it was well and good for her subconscious to judge her for her body’s response, but her body was currently the one all aflame because of a man’s simple hold on her silk-clad ankle.

Cassian’s dark head bent over the task, gently manipulating her heel first one direction, then the other. When it popped free, she felt his exhale against the silk covering her calf.

God in his Heaven ? —

“There,” he murmured, stepping back.

Gabby knew she needed to thank him, and she would, just as soon as she managed to make her voice work. For now she focused on climbing down, her gaze locked on the spines of the books ahead of her, and not at all on what was beneath her feet.

Which was a foolish move, because her foot caught in her skirts again and she pitched backward with a gasp.

And for the second time since arriving in Inverlochy Castle, Cassian Grey caught her.

For the second time, Gabby slammed into his chest, involuntarily inhaling his scent—shaving soap, charcoal, and a ligament rub she recognized.

For the second time, her head tipped back to stare up at him, and he just looked so put out that she had to grin.

“I promise I am not naturally this clumsy.”

“Really?” he grunted. “Are ye certain?”

But he made no move to set her away from him. This was…good progress, was it not? Remembering her cousin Ma rcia’s technique when on assignment with Baron Tostingham—once murder suspect, now her husband—Gabby wondered if she should try…well. Flirting with Cassian. With Mr. Grey. With the traitor.

If he were interested in her, he would spend more time with her. The more time he spent with her, the more likely she would learn the truth about the Belfast mission that went so terribly wrong.

So she lowered her eyes in what she hoped was a demure expression. “Why, Cassian,” she breathed, “you really are a hero.”

To her surprise, he stiffened and barked, “What?”

“You caught me.” Gabby kept her voice simpering as she peeked up at him. “Thank you. You really are the hero Augustus said you are.”

“ What?” he repeated, this time grabbing her shoulders and setting her away from him. “I’m nae hero, and nae one here thinks that. Least of all…” He turned away, sentence incomplete, limping toward the pile of books.

Gabby, committed now— You ought to be committed, you are terrible at this— hurried after him. “I have taken tea twice with Lady Zilphia—or rather, Aunt Zilphia, because she insists Inverlochy Castle is an informal place. She also brags heartily about your service to the Queen.”

His brow twitched at the word also , and now he eyed her uncertainly.

“She says you were hurt in a mission for the Secret Service.” Gabby tried to look suitably impressed. “And your son said you were mightily indispensable to the Crown. ”

That hadn’t been quite what the boy had said, when Gabby had tried to encourage him to speak of his father, hoping for more information. But perhaps it would work…

Cassian’s expression had turned hard, but there was confusion, perhaps even hope, in his eyes. “Gus doesnae have any reasons to brag about me.”

Ah. So he wouldn’t be falling for flattery. Not in that direction, anyway. “He…said something to me?—”

“When were ye with him?” the man suddenly barked, taking an aborted step closer, his elbow tucked tight against his side as if he was trying not to reach for her. “Was he?—”

Whatever question he’d been about to ask was cut off when he abruptly pressed his lips together.

Cocking her head to one side, Gabby studied him as though examining a prize alligator which had a toothache.

The questions seemed rooted in…worry? She could understand that.

“Sir Richard has forbidden me—several times—from working with his elephant, but there have been a few other animals that needed my attentions. One of the zebras had an old injury to his leg that had abscessed, and when I went to treat it, I found Augustus in his stall.”

“Gus was alone with an injured beast?”

How was it possible that when he frowned, he became even more handsome?

It was the worry in his eyes that told her she needed to respond to his question, not the way his wide mouth looked so inviting with those lips pressed together …

Gabby lifted her chin to defend her new young friend. “Your son is a competent and caring lad. He was bathing the abscess with soapy water—a well-reasoned step, frankly—and listened carefully as I explained the poultice I was making. He was in no danger.”

Was it her imagination, or did his shoulders slump slightly? Relief, perhaps?

Cassian turned away slightly, his gaze flicking to the lamp, and she wondered if he was hiding his reaction from her. A spy would be used to doing that sort of thing, would he not?

Push him . She was here to find out more about him, was she not? And she was alone with him now, and he was emotional—vulnerable. A prime opportunity.

“You said he has reason to be angry with you.” That wasn’t quite what he said, but Gabby gave into temptation and placed her hand on his arm in an attempt to distract him. “Why would Augustus— Gus not wish to brag about you?”

It had been a struggle to get those words past her throat which was suddenly in danger of closing up, thanks to her body’s ridiculous reaction to touching his bare skin.

There was a sprinkling of hairs on his arm, coarse and wiry, that made her want to drag her fingertips along his skin, feel the roughness, luxuriate in it…

Unfortunately Cassian had stiffened when she touched him, the muscles of his forearm clenching. If anything, though, it made her want to strengthen her hold on him as she watched him.

The skin around his eyes tightened, as if considering his words, before he finally met her gaze. “I was gone through most of his childhood.”