Page 62 of The Lady's Last Mistake
“You’ve done a hell of a job of that so far!”
Their shouts ebbed, and at a soft clearing of a throat, Grant belatedly remembered they weren’t alone. At the study doors. Audrey stood with Hugh, and they looked on with interest.
Cassie turned away and attempted to compose herself.
“Cassie will be staying with us tonight,” Hugh murmured to Audrey, who looked intrigued but refrained from questions.
“Of course. I will tell Mrs. Carrigan to prepare your guest room,” the viscountess said, then, with a hand to her husband’s arm, added, “There is a matter I’d like to discuss, if you have a moment?”
Hugh showed reluctance to leave the study, but with a sharp look from his wife, conceded. It was evident Audrey only wanted to draw him away to give Grant and Cassie a moment alone.
Once they were, and the flames crackling in the hearth were the only sounds in the room, his storming temper calmed. He’d probably looked and sounded deranged just now. Running a hand through his hair, he blew out a gust of air.
“I’m sorry,” he said, breaking the silence. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you.”
She eyed him warily, as though questioning if the apology was genuine. Grant went to Hugh’s desk and poured her a finger of whisky. The other night at Thornton House, she’d seemed more settled when she held something in her hands.
He brought it to her, and she accepted, her fingers closing around the cut crystal. He’d never truly observed her hands before. They were small, her fingers slim and dainty. For a heartbeat, he recalled the press of them against his chest in Lady Dutton’s closet. He dashed the image away.
“I don’t usually raise my voice,” he said. It was true. He found a silver-tongued remark, or some well-timed sarcasm could be just as effective. More so, even. But with Cassie… his temper had never fluctuated so rapidly or easily.
“Neither do I,” she said, absentmindedly sliding a fingertip over the rim of the glass. “Well, that’s not necessarily true, I do shout. Though usually just at Michael.”
Grant wasn’t entirely certain he liked being lumped in with her brother.
But at least for the moment they’d found a tenuous peace.
“Youngdale attacked you in that alley, and now he may have followed you home.” When Cassie began to rise to her own defense again, he held up a hand. “I don’t want any harm to come to you, that is why I get angry. When I think of any man hurting you, causing you any pain, I want to crush him in my bare hands.” At the awed parting of her lips, he caught himself. “Forgive me for being a boorish male.”
She deflated, the argument she’d been about tocommence fizzling. Instead, she took a deep sip of her whisky and shrugged.
“If you can apologize, I suppose I can make the effort as well.” She gathered a breath. “I wasn’t needed at Duke’s. My presence there made no difference and likely made things worse. I’m sorry.” She spoke hurriedly, and then took another sip of her drink. To chase away the discomfort of the apology, he imagined. Grant tried to suppress a smile, but she still saw it.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“Not at all, but did that apology draw blood? It looked painful.”
Cassie affected insult but let out a light laugh. Some of the tension left his shoulders.
“I like the sound of that.”
She continued to smile. “Of what?”
“Your laughter. I haven’t heard it in a while.”
He remembered one time in particular when he’d raced her to the top of the Grand Shaft in Dover; she’d tripped on a step, and when he’d caught her, she’d giggled. It had been utterly girlish and so unlike her that he’d worn a wide grin the rest of the way to the top. They’d arrived gasping for air and in between gasps, argued over who had won. It seemed ages ago now. Another lifetime.
And yet, even then, she’d been keeping her secret about Renfry and the baby. Cassie was amother. One who had been forced to make a heartbreaking sacrifice. Her pain had to be fathomless. He wished he could fix it. Take it away or make it better somehow.
Grant realized she was no longer smiling. Neither was he.They stood in close conference in front of the fire, the flames lighting half of her in a golden dance.
“There aren’t many reasons to laugh lately,” Cassie said.
He was suddenly desperate to make her smile again. To make her laugh. The corners of her eyes bowed upward whenever she did, and the bridge of her nose crinkled adorably.
“I want to change that,” he said, before he could think.
She cocked her head. “Why?”
