Page 16 of Her Tempting Traitor
Cassian merely grunted. He’d done little.
“I can see your leg is paining you?—”
“It’s fine,” he growled, irritated at himself for his body’s response to her, but intrigued at the same time. She was a respectable doctor’s sister, for fook’s sake, he had no right to be sniffing around her. “I need the exercise.”
Not true; he’d spent an hour working the leg earlier today, but he always welcomed the opportunity to try it on different terrain. Unfortunately, he was discovering that wet grass wasn’t at all stable.
They reached the stones of the patio and Cassian breathed a little sigh of relief as he stepped up onto the firm surface. As she followed, her foot became tangled in her skirt, and she pitched forward.
Only years of honed skills allowed Cassian to lunge to one side, dropping his cane and catching her before she could take a tumble.
Unfortunately, those years of honed skills forgot the inconvenient fact that he was missing a fooking foot. The prosthetic gave way under the sudden lurch, and Cassian fell backward.
Since he had momentarily been holding her up, the doctor’s sister went down too. On top of him. Onto the patio.Hard.
Her forehead slammed into his mouth as he hit the ground with a pained grunt.
Stunned, he lay there for a moment as she gasped and rolled off his chest. “Mr. Grey? Oh, Mr. Grey, I am so sorry.” Her hands were on his chest, she was kneeling at his side. “Mr. Grey, are you?—”
“I’m fine,” he growled, brushing off her hand and trying to roll over, only to find his jacket pinned beneath her knees. “Just a wee fall.”
“You are bleeding,” she announced, in that bold way of hers. “Where is your handkerchief?”
Before he could object, she was digging into the pocket of his plain waistcoat, pulling out a white square. “What the—” he began, only to be silenced by the press of cotton against his lip.
Frowning, Cassian reached up and snatched it from her hand, glaring at her as he patted the sore swelling he could already feel growing. “In these cases, it’s generally preferable for the young lady to useherhandkerchief.”
Miss Butcombe blinked. “Why?”
Why? One of the skills he’d never been able to master undercover had been flirting, and now he tried to recall. “I believe it’s so the victim—excuse me,gentlemanhas an excuse to see her again and return it.”
Suddenly, her smile bloomed.
And had he thought her intriguing before? Miss Butcombe wasstunningwhen she smiled. What was she doing, unattached and scribbling notes for her brother, decked in such modest apparel? She ought to have found a lover to drape her in diamonds and pearls…or at least a husband, to drape her in respectability.
Christ knew Cassian would, if he could afford to.
“It is a good thing I do not need an excuse to see you, Mr. Grey,” she announced, laughter in her voice, as she rolled to her feet. “Since we will be staying in the same house. Castle. Whatever.”
Then, to his great surprise, she held her hand out to him. What had happened to the woman on the verge of fainting? Sprawled on the patio stones, Cassian could only glare up at her.
“And I think, since I have managed to fall into your horizontal embrace and bloody you within minutes of our meeting, you ought to call me Gabby.”
Wellthatwas so unexpected, Cassian reached up and took her hand before he could think through the action.
Earlier he’d avoided taking her hand for fear of his body’s reaction. Now he knew he’d been right; a shock went up his arm when his palm touched hers, and he was surprisingly grateful they hadn’t met at a ridiculous social function where they’d both be forced to wear gloves. Her grip was strong and warm…or perhaps that was just his response to her, as he rolled to his feet, keeping his weight on his right leg.
They ended up standing mere inches apart, hands still gripped between them. He stared down into her midnight-blue eyes, and to his surprise…sawinterestthere.
Miss Butcombe was no simpering Society miss, och nay. She knew what she wanted.
And she was, frankly, in a position to get it. Unmarried, untitled, out of polite Society, hidden away up here in Inverlochy…
Cassian felt his brow twitch. “Miss Butcombe,” he began in a murmur.
“Gabby,” she corrected, squeezing his hand, her lips twitching. “And I am afraid I owe you a handkerchief.”
Was she flirting? Was this flirting?
