Page 6 of Her Tempting Traitor
“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 berelevant.He used to dogood 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 apparentlyDo ye want more grapeswas primate code forGrab 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 uphere?
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. Anelephant.
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 isno’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, andUncle Dickieencouraged 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 tomuck out a zebra stall or shovel some feed for the great tortoise.
Guswas 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.
