His hurry wasn’t to reunite with Jacob. Hippogriff’s singular focus was Viv.
When Jacob realized the deadly hawk intended to ignore his master’s outstretched arm, he spun around in alarm—
Just in time to see Hippogriff alight on Viv’s reinforced wrist light as a feather, as she fed him a treat with her other hand.
Viv smiled. Cute creature. Docile as a lamb.
“You carry around dead mice in your pockets?” Jacob demandedin disbelief.
She shook her head. “It wasn’t dead until I gave it to him.”
He stared at her. “You are a deeply peculiar woman. I like you much more than I anticipated.”
Her cheeks heated. Possibly because she’d never before been complimented for sacrificing an innocent wood mouse to a bird of prey.
Or possibly because she herself liked Jacob Wynchester significantly more than she’d bargained for.
Hippogriff gulped down the last of his meal and took to the sky.
Jacob didn’t try to stop him.
“Weren’t you going to teach him a new trick?” Viv asked in surprise.
The corners of Jacob’s mouth twitched. “I think you just did.”
She bit her lip. “You’re not upset with me?”
“No.” He took her hands in his. “Do you want me to dislike you?”
“No,” she whispered.
“Good. That would be impossible.” His voice was low, and rich as spiced rum. The toes of their shoes were barely far enough apart for a blade of grass to poke through.
If he tilted his head down an inch or two… If she raised her chin, just a little…
Belatedly, Viv began to suspect she’d brought the mouse along not to tempt Hippogriff, but so that Jacob would look at her exactly as he was doing now.
Don’t do it,she told herself desperately.Don’t you dare kiss this gorgeous specimen of a man. No matter how much you desire him.
She forced herself to turn away before they committed an irreversible mistake. He was wrong for her in every way. This family was dangerous. The sort of role models that would send her cousin to the gallows. She couldn’t throw herself into a Wynchester’s arms now.
And absolutely no kissing, blast it.
In the interest of making good use of her brain, she could aid them in their cases, but nothing more. Definitely no reason to involve hands and lips and tongues. Not until she found Quentin and cleared his name.
“We should find out who the mistress is,” she blurted, as though she’d been thinking about Mr. Olivebury all along.
“We know who the mistress is,” Jacob answered. “Miss Ines Nixon. After you realized the diary entries were initials, Graham had her address in less than an hour.”
“Then we should visit her,” Viv suggested. “Find out what she knows.”
“I did, this morning,” he replied.
Humph. Anticlimactic. Perhaps the Wynchesters didn’t require Viv’s advice-giving skills after all. Their competency rankled.
“Well?” she said, peevish. “Did she seem like she might be working with the villain?”
“Not at all. She was very sweet and utterly perplexed as to why I was there.”
