Page 103 of The Dueling Duchess

“Why?”

“He gives them to me.”

“He gives you presents?”

“Yes. It’s his way of showing affection. Or at least one way. The way he’s purring for you is another.”

Cat was transfixed.

Blade turned to Guy. “I found one of his caches yesterday.” She took a folding penknife from the pocket in her gown. “It has your name engraved on it.”

“Ah, thank you. I thought I’d lost it. It was a gift from my grandmother when I was a boy.” He took it and slipped it into his pocket. “Is this part of last night’s excitement?”

Guy turned to the settee and began to sort the abandoned garments into separate piles.

A glint of humor shone in Blade’s opalescent eyes. “It started out as one thing and led to another. Francine was not . . . happy.”

“So then Angus did take Henry’s toy?” he asked.

Henry was Francine the magician’s rabbit, a fluffy white creature with startling pink eyes. Henry’s favorite toy was a carved carrot.

Guy held up something that looked like a medieval gown.

“Yes, I’m afraid that Angus has developed an attachment to the wooden carrot.” Blade looked at the garment he was frowning at. “That belongs to one of Cordelia’s people.”

“Ah.” Guy grunted and made up yet another pile. Cordelia Black’s actors kept charge of their own costumes—or at least they were supposed to. He doubted Cordelia would be happy to learn somebody had just left one lying about in the dressing room.

“You’re handy with knives. Why don’t you just whittle him another carrot?” he asked, momentarily transfixed by a skirt that was so filmy surely one could see through it. Lord, who wore this and why had he never seen it?

His willful imagination immediately pictured Cecile wearing it.

“I have done, several times.”

Guy looked up from the skirt. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

He put the diaphanous skirt in a whole new pile—one he’d bring to Cecile. Because . . . why not dream?

“I said I’ve whittled Angus several toys.” She sounded frustrated.

It was unlike Blade to show any emotion.

Thinking about not showing emotion made him think of Elliot.

“Did Elliot talk to you about doing something for me?” He glanced at Cat, not wanting to bring up the sensitive subject in front of her since he knew from his sisters that little pitchers had big ears.

But Cat had become bold enough to employ two hands and was giving Angus a proper rubdown. The raven’s beak was hanging open in an expression of corvid ecstasy.

“Elliot mentioned something to me,” she said, her face once more a mask of reserve. “I can work for you as long as it doesn’t interfere with any of my nights here.” Her gaze hardened. “Elliot indicated this might be about our employer?”

Guy nodded.

“She has enough trouble on her hands right now without my adding to it.”

“I’m not trying to add to her troubles,” he shot back. “I’m trying to help her.”

Blade looked unconvinced.

“Besides, Elliot said you’d be careful enough that nobody would find out anything.”