“Hmm?” She started. “Oh, yes of course. What else could it have been?”
He tilted his head. What else indeed?
She tugged the collar of his coat closer. “With all the excitement, I forgot to ask what you were doing here?”
“We’ll talk tomorrow. You get inside, and I’ll—” His stomach chose that moment to protest its empty state.
Her lips quirked up. “And you’ll come inside, too, and have some supper. There won’t be anything hot, but I’ll rummage something up for the both of us.”
“Well….”
She took his hand and pulled him to the door. “Come on. And then you can tell me what it was you stopped by to say to me. Besides, I need some way of thanking you from saving me from that ruffian. Feeding you is the least I can do.”
He forced the image of what he wanted her to do to thank him from his mind. It was a pity he had felt her body pressed against his. Now he could vividly imagine the curves her gowns hid.
He followed her into the house and down a stairway into the kitchens. She greeted the cook who was just finishing up the cleaning for the day. “Hello, Mrs. Butters. Do you mind if we raid your larder?”
The woman wiped her red hands down her apron. She eyed Mr. Strait curiously but didn’t voice her questions. “’Course not, dearie. There’s some goose left over from the mistress’s dinner, and you know where the cheese and bread are kept.” With a bob of her head, she left them to their meal.
Miss Moore gathered plates and glasses. “Wine?”
“Please.” He settled at the rough plank table, taking the glass Miss Moore handed him. He winced when he took a sip.
“Awful, isn’t it?” She bustled about the small kitchen, setting plates of food on the table, getting a thick pat of butter for the bread. “I’m sad to say I’ve gotten quite used to the flavor. The woman I rent from doesn’t have the funds for quality wine.”
“It’s fine.” He cleared his throat. “Miss Moore—”
“You called me Cassandra before.” She loaded a plate up with slices of goose and some sort of red sauce before sliding it across to him. She sat on the bench opposite. “After saving me from a robbery, or worse, I think you’ve earned the right to my given name.”
He focused on ripping off a hunk of bread from the loaf. One called intimates by their given names. Not their protégés and pupils.
He gnashed at the bread with his teeth. Circumstances, however, could force a closer understanding between people in two different stations. Wilberforce began as Lord Summerset’s servant and now treated him as a friend. A closer acquaintance didn’t have to change their nature. He nodded as he swallowed. “As you like. And I’m Charles.”
“Charles.” She said his name like she was tasting it, seeing how it felt in her mouth. She smiled. “And my friends call me Cassie.”
He inclined his head. “Why did you leave the office this afternoon? Our work day was not yet finished.”
“Oh.” She sliced her bit of bird up into tiny pieces. “I thought we were done. My apologies.”
He stared at her, waiting for more. “That’s it? All the explanation I’m to receive?”
She stabbed at her goose. “Do you want a lengthy exposition? I didn’t think there was anything more we could accomplish today, so I left. There’s no more explanation than that.”
No, he supposed it didn’t need a deeper reason. It didn’t explain why she wouldn’t look at him, however.
“Are you a member of Lady Mary’s club?” He watched her straighten a napkin on her lap and line her glass up with the edge of her plate.
“Not officially, no.” She pushed her goose to one side of the plate so it no longer touched the sauce. “I can’t afford the dues. But Lady Mary allows me entrance. She and my mother were friends before—” She clamped her mouth shut.
Charles leaned forwards. “Before what?” And why did he care? He shouldn’t care. She wasn’t his mystery to solve.
“Before….” She turned her head to the side and swallowed. “Before my sister died.”
He sat back. “I’m sorry.” He thought of his own sisters. They were older than him and happily married with families, but the idea of losing them made his throat ache. “You were close?”
“The closest.” She inhaled, her bodice going tight.
And now he was an arsehole, staring at her chest while she was hurting. He dug into his own meal. “Your father and mother are still alive?”
