Page 50 of The Duchess Games

“Does that happen often?” Callum frowned.

She shook her head. “It’s never happened before.”

“And it will never happen again.”

Chapter Nineteen

“Thank you,” Cat said some time later when they left the cottage. She had adrenaline in her blood, a giant wolfhound at her heels and a duke at her side. She sent him a sidelong glance. “I thought you supported the revenue men.”

“Naturally,” he replied. “I might support the Crown, as required by my title, but I won’t have them trampling through your house.”

There was still a kindness to him, under all of that duke-ness.

It made it so hard not to reach out and touch his arm, brush his hair back from his forehead.

Bite him.

Just a little. Under his sharp jawline. Just to see what he would do.

She already knew they weren’t going to talk about that kiss. She wouldn’t let them. Everything was already too muddled.

And some things went away when you looked at them too directly.

He had once before. There was no reason he wouldn’t again. Just as soon as he discovered what she was up to. Before even. She couldn’t imagine him meeting her by the garden wall when The Duchess Games were over. Even if he didn’t choose a wife.

“Did they upset you?” he asked, sharply, misreading her expression. Displeasure fairly sizzled off of him like steam from the kettle.

She shook her head. “No, just a bit of a startle, is all.”

“Did they target your brother, do you think?”

She both smiled at the thought and felt every sharp edge of her spine rise like hackles. But she couldn’t let Callum see her rage. It wasn’t ladylike. “No, everyone knows he’s far too good for that kind of thing. He’s rotten at lying.”

No, they’d come for her.

Hang ladylike.

She knew it was Juro, that arsewit, and she would make him pay dearly for it.

Starting now.

She stopped walking, tilted her head at Callum.

He narrowed his eyes. “What?” he asked. “The look on your face makes me glad you don’t have a sword hidden on your person.”

Oh, she did. It just wasn’t the kind of weapon people expected.

“You were very kind back there.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “And?”

She could lie to him, of course. But it felt wrong, as if every lie added together might crush her. If she could tell him the truth whenever possible, she might feel less itchy. He might remember, one day, that she only misled him when the stakes were high.

Or she was deluding herself.

Regardless, she could be mostly honest about this request. “Would you walk through the village with me?”

She worried at her lower lip. Perhaps she was asking too much. Why would the Duke of Tremaine take a stroll with Caitriona Sparrow, spinster and smuggler? Through Little Crumpet of all places?