Page 20 of The Lady's Last Mistake
“I know the feeling,” he said. “It took some time to learn how to tread there.”
The carriage shook, rocking them both side to side as Cassie held his stare. “Why do you do it?”
He pulled a frown. “Run a free clinic?” At her nod, he shrugged nonchalantly. “Because it is needed. The only doctors most people there can afford are charlatans and barbers, who think they can perform surgery as proficiently as they can shave a beard or yank out a rotten tooth.”
She didn’t know how to respond. He’d never struck her as a serious or charitable sort. He saw her indecision.
“What, you think I have some other motive?”
“It is only that most men of the peerage don’t bother to think of anyone outside their own part of society,” she answered.
“Perhaps I’m not as entirely self-serving as you imagined.”
“Maybe not entirely.” Though he was surely no saint.
The carriage slowed as Patrick turned onto another street. Grant’s knee brushed against hers, and his unyieldingstare started to feel less provoking and more penetrating. As if he was trying to see something in her that had eluded him so far.
“Do you get your charitable soul from the marquess?” she asked to pierce the silence.
He seemed to recoil and then sat straighter. “About as much as you get yours from the duke.”
“Michael is very charitable,” she said, offended on her brother’s behalf. “He and Genie support a number of foundations.”
Grant hinged forward, his elbows braced on his knees. “So, he would be supportive of your safe house,Miss Banks?”
“You know he would not.”
The galling man sat back again. “Neither would my father. He’d cut me off in a blink if he found out.”
“Oh, boo-hoo,” she said with a roll of her eyes.
Grant challenged her with a taunting look. “You think that isn’t serious? I am the fourth son. Do you know how much fourth sons are given?”
“More than what ninety-five percent of the people in the rest of this city have a year,” she replied lightly.
“You are impossible.”
Cassie bit her inner cheek, pleased to be getting under his skin for once. A dose of his own medicine, so to speak. Though, it didn’t dispel the vibration of friction she felt whenever she was around him, that constant urge to slap him. It also did not dispel the memory of Lady Dutton’s closet. The press of his thighs against hers, the tip of his nose, brushing the crown of her head, his breaths warming her scalp when he asked if she’d always smelled of apricots.
The plague of these memories had to stop. They’d taken up residence in her mind and were driving her mad. For so long, she’d successfully pushed away all thoughts of Winston Renfry and the few times she’d allowed him liberties. However, she’d never felt the strange curling of warmth through her lower abdomen when he stood close to her, as Grant had in the closet. No, every time she thought of Renfry and what occurred between them in his bed, she could only cringe in revulsion.
She could not imagine Lord Grant Thornton had ever once made any female cringe in such a way.
They came about on Grosvenor Square and Cassie thanked the stars. It had started to feel too hot in the carriage, even with her dress still damp from her plunge into the alley puddle. It brought her mind back to Isabel and the dangerous man she was hiding from.
“I will pay you,” Cassie said as they came to a full stop in front of her residence.
Grant cocked his head. “What for?”
“For the use of your clinic while Isabel is there.”
He scoffed. “I don’t want your money.”
“Then whatdoyou want? I must repay you.” If anything, just to stay out of his debt. Something like that could be dangerous with a man like Grant Thornton.
He shifted on the bench. His pinched brow made him look discomfited. Was it the talk of money? It was, after all, crass to speak of such things.
“May I come in?” Grant asked.
