Page 12 of Her Tempting Traitor
Fook.
Cassian squeezed his eyes shut and reached up to massage his now throbbing temple. Since he forgot he was still holding the pencil, he poked himself in the ear. With a faint growl, he tucked the thing behind his ear and pinched the bridge of his nose instead, the pressure doing nothing to relieve the internal strain.
What was hedoing?
He needed to find a way to exonerate his team. A way to ensure their families knew they died as heroes.
But how was he supposed to do that, with his hands so efficiently tied?
Fook.
It had been five months since that disastrous mission. Five months since he’d lost his team—and half his leg. Five months since he’d been told to keep his mouth shut, on pain of treason. Five months since his whole life had collapsed.
Three months since he’d been cleared to visit Inverlochy Castle—nothishome, but his son’s.
And in those three months, he’d done sweet fook-all toward figuring out his future.
Aye, he was walking better, and aye, he was stronger… And aye, he’d spent countless hours staring at the ceiling over his bed—his sick bedandthe far-too-comfortable-and-in-danger-of-making-him-soft bed in the far-too-grand-and-opulent suite Sir Richard had put him in—trying to think his way out of this mess.
So far, he’d had no luck.
“Damned elephant,” Cassian muttered aloud, more to interrupt the silence than de-rail his thoughts.
Because he’d been unable—thanks to the Prince’s order—to explain how the mission had failed to his superiors, theyhad tosuspect him of treason. There’d been no word from London, no word from the Service. Nothing about a discharge or pension…or trial for betraying his country.
But focusing on the future Cassianmighthave, the future he could build with his son if he were exonerated, had given him something to work toward. The sketches of manor houses, and modest cottages, and garden plans…it had given him something todo, something to plan for.
He winced, remembering his son’s reaction to his casual mention of building a home—either nearby or across the ocean. Gus thought of Inverlochy as his home, and why shouldn’t he? The Biggenpanses had raised him when Cassian couldn’t be there to care for the lad. But surely it was time for them to build their own future together, the two of them?
If he were allowed to, that was.
Because without a way to tell the truth of what happened, his superiors in the Secret Service would think him a traitor and that would only lead to?—
“Aunt Zilphia! Did you hear about—oh!”
Cassian pushed away from the window and turned in time to see his son skidding to a stop on the fine rug in the middle of the floor. In an instant, Augustus’s expression went from excited to shuttered, and pain coursed through the older man.I’ve caused that.
“Hello, Gus,” he murmured, trying to keep his tone neutral.
The lad swallowed and glanced around, clearly looking for an excuse to back out of the room. “I…I was looking for Aunt Zilphia.”
Aunt ZilphiaandUncle Dickie. Another reminder of how much, exactly, Cassian owed to this couple; they’d taken over raising his son when he couldn’t, provided him with a fine place to grow up.
Theywere considered family.
“I havenae seen her.” Cassian shifted, his weight on his good leg, as he jerked his chin toward the large windows across the back of the room. “I’ve been…looking at the elephant.” This last part sounded weak to him, but he hid his wince.
Better to speak of the animal than his plans for the future…or lack thereof.
And he was surprised to be glad for it when Gus’s expression lit once more and he hurried toward the window—toward his father. “Is she out there? Is she with the veterinarian? I heard he’d arrived but I can’t find Uncle Dickie, and they’re not in the stable. I thought Aunt Zilphia might know where they are. Where’s Elizabeth?”
Cassian limped to his side and used the hand holding the sketchpad to point to the distant gray lump in the shade.
His son nodded at the elephant, but glanced at the sketchpad from the corner of his eye. Embarrassed, Cassian fought the urge to hide his work. Instead, he tipped the pad to the light, glad he’d hidden the sketch of the garden plan for his non-existent future manor house.
“I was bored,” he said simply, as way of explanation.
Gus glanced up, the usual anger in his blue eyes replaced by confusion and uncertainty before his gaze dropped back to the sketch. “That’s…not bad.”
