Page 25

He was stuck between a rock and a hard place—which, if memory served correctly, was somewhere up around Lairg. His superiors in the Secret Service wouldn’t accept his excuses, and the Prince had made it clear what would happen if Cassian ever told them the truth.

The only way he could be exonerated was if the Queen herself—elderly and infirm and surely ignorant of all the details—summoned him to tell the truth.

He would have no problem telling her of her grandson’s failings.

Cassian snorted softly. As if that’s likely to happen .

“Bad news, Da!” called Gus from where he’d been discussing presumably fishing with Gabby. “She doesn’t have a line either.”

Cassian stared as the pair picked their way closer.

Gus…Gus had called him Da .

It had been so natural, so unexpected. Almost as if finding his father in bed with Gabby had been a stamp of approval.

He didn’t bother hiding his smile as he limped across the sand to meet them.

“How am I supposed to go fishing now?” the lad was saying.

But Gabby shook her head, leading them toward the bank with a convenient ledge for sitting. “You cannot fish willy-nilly, Gus. You need a plan.”

“I wasn’t going to willy-nilly anything, Gabby,” he grumbled. “I was going to catch a fish, then take it home for the cook to fry up for me.”

“Yes, Gabby,” Cassian deadpanned, his heart suddenly so much lighter than it had been for weeks while struggling with his troubles. “He’s definitely thought this through. He was going to William-Nillam it.”

Gus blinked as Gabby nodded solemnly. “Yes, that is the more formal version of things. But Gus, I meant that you need to know exactly how many fish you will be catching, how you will be catching them, what bait you will be using, and what your plan is once they are in your possession.”

The lad huffed, kicking at the sand as Gabby settled herself on the little ledge, spreading her skirts around her like a perfect lady .

It was almost hard to remember just how unladylike she had been only hours before…

“Fishing isn’t that big of a deal,” his son mumbled.

“On the contrary,” she cautioned, holding out her hands for the lad.

She waited until he placed his in her hold, then continued, holding his gaze.

“You—your father—Sir Richard…you do not own this river—you borrow it from the fry yet to hatch. The river is not an all-you-can-eat buffet; every nibble you take, every silted nest you disturb, echoes downstream for generations.”

Gus was frowning in thought as Cassian limped closer, both of them hanging on each word.

She smiled at his son softly. “One cannot churn the spawning beds and still expect the Lochy to flourish. If we wish the River Lochy to feed and shelter our kin tomorrow —I mean, your children’s children—then we must treat her with respect today.

True ownership, true dominion lies not in dominion at all, but in care—and care begins with restraint. ”

“Dominion,” Gus whispered, wide-eyed. “Restraint?”

“Yes.” She dropped his hands and sat back, her smile lilting. “The river has a long memory, and proper stewardship is vital when it comes to ensuring this estate—which will one day be yours—will prosper for years to come.”

Remarkable .

In her short lecture, Gabby had shown she knew more about land stewardship than Cassian could ever hope to learn. He wasn’t accustomed to being made to feel so ignorant, but Gabby Butcombe had made a habit of surprising him .

Long may that last.

Gus blinked, then shrugged cheerfully. “Aye, that makes sense. If I can’t fish, can I swim?”

Since he had turned to his father to ask that question, Cassian forced himself to consider the water. Finally, he nodded. “Aye, if ye stay near the bank and…” What was it Gabby had said? “Dinnae disturb the spawning nests.”

With a whoop, the lad turned and began to strip out of his shirt. Since his shoes had already disappeared somewhere, Cassian supposed he ought to note where the shirt—och, aye, and the trousers now—were dropped along with?—

“Sorry,” he offered with a wince as his son’s bare arse disappeared into the water. “I thought he’d keep on his drawers.”

Since Cassian was moving toward Gabby’s ledge, she gathered her skirts to one side, leaving space for him to settle beside her.

“Do not fret, he had more of an eyeful of us this morning,” she reminded him teasingly, and he gave her the response she wanted with a good-natured groan.

Since she’d stripped off her riding gloves, Cassian scooped up her hand and placed a kiss in her palm. The breath she sucked in told him that she wasn’t unaffected, and he allowed his lips to linger.

Christ, she smelled perfect, even after that ride.

His cock had already begun to harden just from being so close to her warmth, her scent. He wanted her again—suspected he would always want her .

He wanted to hear her scream his name again. Wanted to feel her squeezing around his cock—or his fingers, or his tongue—as she found ecstasy. Wanted to see the look of wonder on her face as he brought her to that pleasure countless times.

Always .

Beside him, Gabby pulled him back from his impossible musings with a little hum. “He really is a good swimmer.” She was squinting over at Gus. “But you will have to teach him how to recognize spawning sites, so he stays clear of them.”

Cassian couldn’t help his snort, and now used his thumb and forefinger to stroke her smallest finger. “As if I have any kenning of such a thing. Ye’re a far better steward of this land than I am, Gabby.”

“I grew up listening to my uncle.” Clearly warmed by his touch—thank God—she swayed closer to him so their shoulders brushed. “More so than Hunter did, at least.”

And what had she said earlier, during their ride? That she’d studied veterinary science, presumably because Hunter had done it as well. Was she as good a doctor as he was? That wouldnae be difficult, the bar wasn’t so much low as on the ground .

Aye, her twin brother had apparently done fook-all for Dickie’s poor ill elephant.

“I’ve never owned land,” mused Cassian quietly, sitting in the shade and watching his son swim and finding such quiet joy in such small pleasures.

“I thought… Artemesia inherited a house from her father, but Uncle Dickie sold it af ter her death to one of her cousins. I was never there long enough to learn how to care for it.”

“I have never owned land,” Gabby echoed, “but I suppose I know how to care for it.” She sighed, her gaze sweeping the idyllic bend in the river.

“It is not so different from caring for animals or people, I suppose. You just consider what is best for it, and how to make that happen, and then you do it.”

Caring.

Aye, that was what Gabby did. She was bold and brilliant, and threw herself into each endeavor with all her being. She cared with her entire heart.

And Cassian was unused to being cared for—he’d never stayed still long enough for Artemesia to even try.

He lifted her hand to his lips again. “Could you teach us?”

It wasn’t until the words had left Cassian’s mouth that he realized what he’d been thinking. When she turned to him in wide eyed surprise, he kept his expression neutral.

“Could ye help teach me—and Gus—how to be good stewards of Inverlochy? I suppose Uncle Dickie will begin my education if?—”

Cassian bit down on the words.

If he believes I’m no’ going to be dragged off to the gallows for treason.

Her gaze swept his face, as if searching for hints, and he allowed some of his hope to show. Finally, her fingers closed around his .

“I would be happy to,” she murmured. “For as long as you will allow me here at Inverlochy.”

Why wouldn’t she be welcome here? She was sunshine and fresh air and?—

And she can help ye .

The thought stabbed at his chest.

Gabby was brilliant, aye. She was a detective—or at least, was here on behalf of some uncle who wasn’t an uncle, but who was a detective. Could he help Cassian? If he told Gabby the truth, the whole truth, could they work together to find a way out of this?

He eyed her, wondering how much he could share.

Everything , an earnest voice whispered.

Somehow he’d grown to trust Gabby Butcombe. He believed she wanted to help him. He believed she cared for him.

Christ, his damned heart was involved now, and he couldn’t imagine not trusting her.

He’d spent fifteen years learning to make snap judgements about people and never trusting someone an inch more than necessary, yet everything he knew about Gabby told him that she could be trusted…and could be useful in helping him.

“Da!” Gus’s sudden bellow from the river startled them both.

Cassian, still so unused to hearing that name, whipped his head around to see his son standing in thigh-deep water, triumphantly holding a frantically wriggling fish .

“I do not believe it,” came Gabby’s awed whisper. “He did catch himself a trout.”

“How in the hell…” Cassian muttered, thrusting himself to his feet. Or rather, one foot and one wooden prosthetic. “Gus!” he yelled, heart pounding. “How did ye?—”

His weight shifted and he lurched to the side, cursing his poor balance.

But Gabby was there, grabbing his elbow. She stopped his fall, lent her strength. It was such a small movement but it kept him from falling on his face and embarrassing himself further.

Cassian swung his gaze back to the river in time to hear his son yell, “ Whoa !” in his attempts to hold on to the slippery fish, attempts swiftly ended as he fell over backwards.

Gabby was chuckling, but Cassian kept his gaze locked on the water where Gus went in, only breathing a sigh of relief when the perturbed-looking lad shot to his feet again, water sparkling from his hair, and began to splash about, likely looking for the fish again.

Only then did Cassian drop his gaze back to his elbow where Gabby still held him.

“Sorry,” she blurted, dropping her hold as if he’d burned her.

But he scooped up her hand and squeezed it. “Nay, I should be thanking ye. I’m just no’ used to?—”

“Only having one foot?” Gabby quipped, a knowing sparkle in her eyes.

“I’ve never had someone care for me,” he admitted. Never allowed it .

Her lips tugged into a frown as she moved closer until she faced him squarely. “Care for you, or care about you? Plenty of people care about you, Cassian.”

Did they? He glanced over at his splashing son, and remembered how Gus had called him Da . How his gut had tightened. How a sense of pride had overwhelmed him.

“Perhaps,” he admitted. “But I’ve never needed…help before. I’m used to being strong.”

Her fingers tightened around his. “You are still strong. Everyone needs help sometimes.”

How can I help ?

She’d asked him that last night.

Could she help him?

He was beginning to think Gabby could do anything she put her mind to. She knew her way around a llama and Uncle Dickie and his son and their river. And he desperately wanted to find a way to accept her help.

Now she peeked up at him from under auburn lashes, that sparkle of mischief in her eyes again. He was so lucky to have met her, someone who wanted to have fun with him, who cared enough to help him. To even offer it.

“Gabby,” he rasped, then stopped, unsure what to say.

She glanced at the river, and a part of him—the part that wasn’t focused on her nearness and the way his cock was already pulsing with need—was glad she had enough control to remember Gus. “Yes, Cassian?”

That was when she tipped her welcoming head back. When her lips—plump and pink—parted on a soft sigh. When he knew he was lost.

With a growl of surrender, Cassian wrapped his arms around her and lowered his lips to hers.

Perfection .