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“ I hate you! You can’t take me away from Inverlochy! You’re not my real father!”

Cassian Grey tightened his grip on his fork and refused to allow any of his emotions to appear on his face or in his voice as he responded to his son’s outburst. He met bright blue eyes, the exact color of his own, and twitched a dark brow.

“Unfortunately for ye, laddie, there is nae doubt ye’re my son.

To suggest otherwise is an insult to yer mother. ”

Augustus, only just turned twelve years old, blanched at the hint he might have somehow sullied his sainted mother’s memory.

But the anger he was holding in his shoulders didn’t abate; instead, he shoved away from the dinner table, ignoring his aunt and uncle as he directed all his ire instead at Cassian.

“You can’t come prancing in here, deciding what’s best for me, after a million years away!

I don’t need you!” This last part came out as a shriek, which—judging from the flush on Augustus’s cheeks and the way his hands were balled into fists—only fueled his embarrassment.

“Things were fine before you came back!”

Cassian’s own anger—anger at so many things—roiled in his stomach, but he had a lifetime of fighting to control his emotions and keep others at bay. So his tone was bland when he very deliberately did not look at his son, instead focusing on arranging the fork neatly beside his plate.

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint ye, Gus, but some Fenian’s ruined yer life then.

” He didn’t need to glance at the cane propped against the table to make it obvious what he meant.

Surely all eyes had been on it the moment they stepped into the dining room.

“I’ve been made useless to the Crown, and yer great-uncle has verra graciously allowed me to recover here at Inverlochy.

When I am healed enough, ye and I will move into our own home?—”

“We don’t have another home!” The lad all but stomped his foot. “ This is my home! I don’t want to leave and move to America with you!”

Each word was an arrow in Cassian’s heart, but he refused to allow the pain to show.

Perhaps ye should. Perhaps the lad should see that he means something to ye .

Cassian swallowed, shooting a glance at their host and hostess, his dead wife’s relatives, who were surprisingly unruffled by Gus’s outburst. “Son, thanks to my years working for the Crown?—”

“The Crown!” The boy tossed his cutlery atop his plate in his anger, causing potatoes to spill across the finely embroidered tablecloth and stain it with sauce.

“ The Crown this, the Crown that! If your foot hadn’t been blown off serving the Crown , you’d still be gone!

The Queen is more important to you than we are!

You ought to go back to kissing her arse! ”

Laddie, sometimes when the pain is too great, I lie awake yearning for the possibility. It would be easier than dealing with yer anger.

Instead of saying that, Cassian pierced his son with a dark glare. “Her Majesty is important, Gus, and without my work, I never would have dared to court yer mother. Ye owe yer existence to the work I did for the Queen and this country?—”

“I don’t care!” The boy stumbled backwards, bumping against the chair and pushing away, tears of anger in his eyes. “I don’t want you here, mucking everything up! I hate you!”

After hurling that last blow, Augustus turned and ran from the room.

Cassian allowed his left hand—gripping his left thigh tightly—to relax. When had he even started gripping? “I’m sorry,” he mumbled to his host and hostess, who’d been murmuring quietly to one another through the exchange. “He should have excused himself.”

“Don’t be silly, lad.” Sir Richard’s forced chuckle was awkward as he bent back over his beef. “Asking to be excused? The least of our concerns. Augustus’s been…been off his feed lately.”

His wife, the American heiress Lady Zilphia, tittered dutifully. “He really is a good boy, Cassian, I swear. We love him dearly, but he is just feeling out of sorts since…well… ”

Since yer return .

“Aye, milady,” Cassian sighed, scrubbing his hand down his face. “I ken. Truly, I am beyond grateful to ye and Sir Richard for taking him in and raising him?—”

“Oh, we would not have it any other way.” Lady Zilphia was twisting her serviette between her hands, looking worried. “Truly we would not. Right, my love?”

Sir Richard, who had speared a piece of meat on his fork and was now holding it upright by his ear, started. “What? Oh yes, quite right, quite right. We love the little rascal, don’t we, eh, Jessica?”

The capuchin monkey on his shoulder snatched the piece of beef from the fork, took a bite, made a face, and tossed it over her shoulder.

Sir Richard forced a chuckle. “It was a bit overdone, you’re right. I’ll have a talk with the cook.”

“The beef is fine, sweet pea,” Lady Zilphia scolded. “Young Jessica is just picky—besides, you know she prefers grapes.”

“Grapes!” the rotund knight agreed, reaching for the centerpiece, which did in fact contain grapes. “You’d like some grapes, Jessica? Does ‘oo want some nice grapey grapes?”

Cassian stifled his sigh as his hostess switched her worried gaze to the damned monkey, then happily clapped when the capuchin gobbled up the fruit.

“There, what a good girl.” Beaming, she turned back to Cassian as her husband continued to dismantle the centerpiece to feed the monkey currently shitting down his back. “ What were we talking about? Oh, yes, Augustus. He will come around, Cassian, he is just angry.”

“Aye,” Cassian growled, then forced himself to relax. “So am I.” Beneath the tablecloth, his missing foot throbbed, which should be impossible. Damnit. “And I owe ye both so much?—”

“Nonsense!” The small woman flicked the serviette dismissively.

“We have been delighted to have Augustus in our lives since dear Artemesia’s loss.

It has taken him some time to overcome that pain, and after seeing you so infrequently over the years…

well. It has been a difficult transition to have you back in his life. ”

Because ye havenae spent much time in his life otherwise .

The words were unsaid, but didn’t need to be said.

Cassian resisted the urge to scrub his hand over his face again, and instead lifted his fork to poke at his potatoes, pretending hunger.

How often, in the last twelve years, had he considered quitting Her Majesty’s Secret Service? Returning to the small house he’d rented for Artemesia after their marriage? Helping her raise their son to be strong and wise and caring? Being the family he had promised her they would be.

Then came the fever that took her, while he was undercover in Russia. By the time he returned, his son was being raised hundreds of miles away by Artemesia’s uncle and aunt.

Granted, Inverlochy Castle was a far better place for Augustus to grow up than lonely, rented property…but pe rhaps Cassian shouldn’t have ignored his responsibilities for so long.

Perhaps ?

He didn’t snort, but only because snorting into one’s potatoes was as bad as splattering them across the tablecloth.

It was only logical that Cassian should want to build a future for— with his son, was it not?

Of course he should focus on the land he would buy and the manor house he would build with the pension he would surely receive from his years in service.

Those were the plans taking up his attention—but they were for both of them.

It didn’t have to be in America, it could be someplace nearby. But it made sense for Cassian to work toward that goal, the goal of taking his son someplace where he could raise the lad on his own…

…didn’t it?

“You’re right, angel!” Sir Richard suddenly exclaimed, as the monkey snatched more food from him and chattered loudly. “Grapes were just the thing. Look at her, she’s gobbling them right up. Such a good girl, aren’t you, yes you are!”

“Oh, sweet pea, of course she prefers grapes,” Lady Zilphia frumped good-naturedly.

“Goodness gracious, perhaps it was for the best the Lord never blessed us with children—you would likely forget to feed them all together.” She blew a kiss to let her husband know she was teasing.

“If you are going to insist on bringing these animals home from our travels, the least you can do is remember their diets. Capuchins prefer nuts and berries, remember? They are foragers. ”

“Eh? Prefer nuts and berries?” The rotund older man winked lewdly at his wife. “Don’t we all, eh?”

“Oh, Dickie!” Zilphia blushed prettily and pressed her palms to her cheeks. “We have guests.”

“And Cassian was happily married to our Artemesia for years, eh?” Sir Richard leaned sideways, and judging from the way his wife squeaked and jumped, had just pinched her arse.

“He knows all about needing to sneak away occasionally for a bit of fun. A bit of the old zig and zag, eh? A horizontal chess match? Playing blanket hornpipe, if you know what I mean?”

As Lady Zilphia grew more flustered, Sir Richard winked at Cassian, who really could do nothing else but wave his fork weakly. “Oh please, dinnae stay on my account. I can eat my beef in solitude.”

Lady Zilphia suddenly clucked her tongue. “Oh dear, sweet pea, Jessica has relieved herself all down the back of your jacket!” She had bounced up and was now wiping inefficiently at her husband’s coat. “It is going to have to come off immediately!”

As if this was some kind of code—and knowing the two of them, it likely was—Sir Richard reached for the buttons of his jacket.

“Well, damn. I suppose there’s nothing for it.

” He winked across the table at Cassian, even as he yanked at his tie and continued to undress at dinner .

“You don’t mind if we leave you to it, while Zilphia and I… ”

“Scrub your jacket?” Cassian prompted dryly, tipping his head toward the door to the dining room. “Be my guest.”

“That’s a good lad,” the older man declared, pulling the chittering monkey from his shoulder and passing it—her?— to Cassian. “Make sure she gets as many grapes as she wants, eh?”

Horrified, Cassian clutched the animal at arms’ length as the giggling couple clasped hands and rushed from the room, Sir Richard already shrugging out of his waistcoat and Lady Zilphia’s shawl abandoned by the door.

Jessica the monkey stared at him.

Cassian stared back.

He used to be relevant. He used to do good work , work that mattered, work that was important for his country. And now?

Now he had a fooking useless leg, no home, a son who hated him, and was relegated to babysitting primates.

The animal— Jessica, she has a name —cocked her head and chittered almost inquisitively. Cassian felt his lips twitch, imagining she was asking him what the hell was wrong.

Good question.

“Everything,” he muttered. And, avoiding the gaze of the tall footman—wasn’t his name Fairwall?—who stood along the wall, Cassian lifted the monkey closer. “Do…do ye want more grapes?”

After all, if he was going to be gossiped about in the servant’s hall as talking to animals, at least it should be for a good reason.

Unfortunately, he really knew shite about monkeys, because apparently Do ye want more grapes was primate code for Grab for my nose with yer fooking sharp monkey claws, eh ?

Cursing, Cassian deposited the animal in the centerpiece. “Get yer own bloody grapes then.”

He wiped his hands down his trousers and scowled as he picked up his knife to saw at his admittedly overdone beef.

He wasn’t a man who hated animals—on the contrary, he’d had a lonely childhood, and memories of his loyal hound still brought him joy…but how’d he end up here ?

Monkeys at the dinner table, llamas in the stables, ostriches in the back garden. The salon was filled with bird cages, the cacophony the exotic parrots and cockatoos made was enough to give any sane man a headache.

And an elephant on the lawn. An elephant .

Well, the elephant might be in her barn this afternoon. As Cassian understood it, the animal had been sick, but he knew little of ill pachyderms.

Ye ken who is no’ ignorant when it comes to sick animals? Yer son, ye dobber .

Fook.

The meat sat like lead in his stomach. Perhaps it was the reminder, or the anger he’d seen in Gus’s eyes. Or the scent of monkey shite. Either way, Cassian shoved the plate away, no longer hungry.

In the years since Artemesia’s death, Cassian’s infrequent visits to Inverlochy Castle had revealed his son’s budding interest in his great-uncle’s menagerie.

Gus spent more time with the animals than he did with his tutors, and Uncle Dickie encouraged it.

“Plenty of time for algebra and prepositions later, eh?” he would boom, handing the lad a shovel or pitchfork and sending him scampering off to muck out a zebra stall or shovel some feed for the great tortoise.

Gus was interested in the elephant.

And if Cassian wanted to show his son he wasn’t the complete bastard they both knew him to be, perhaps he ought to at least show interest in the blasted beast.

At least she wouldn’t demand grapes. Or grab his nose.

Probably.

Heaving a sigh, he groped for the cursed cane and leaned on it as he stood. The prosthetic was well-made, and he’d spent the months since his dismissal from the hospital dutifully strengthening his muscles and improving his balance.

Still, there were some days when the ache became too much, and the cane… Well, he hated the necessity, but hated the thought of falling on his arse in front of Fairwall even more.

So Cassian glared at the definitely-not-smirking servant. “Where’s the fooking elephant?” he snarled.

The footman blinked in surprise, then lifted a gloved finger to point out the window. Toward what one might call…the elephant in the room. Or on the lawn.

Och, aye, how could Cassian have missed the thing? The size of a mountain, it was, and the crowning glory of Sir Dickie’s extensive and ever-growing collection.

The root of his worry, to hear him tell it.

And where Gus was likely to be .

With a grunt of thanks, Cassian limped from the room, off to find his son and prove that while Gus had every right to hate him, he did love the lad and would do anything he could to build a future for the two of them.

In America.