She turned to look at him. “No, but now that you bring it up…”
“I would find you.” He didn’t mean for it to sound so husky. This wasn’t some romantic thing. He worked for her father. He wanted to earn his bullets.
“Only if I wanted you to,” she countered.
He examined her from foot to crown and chewed on his words before he let them go. “You would. You wouldn’t stop me.”
Her eyes opened wider on him. “I should storm over there and slap your face for your bold gaze alone.”
His mouth curled at the corners. “Threats are weak, Lady.”
She did her best to harden her smile, but she failed. “You mock me,” she said softly on her way out of the room. “Everyone mocks me.”
“Charlotte, wait.” He stepped forward and stopped her with his hand on her arm, easily falling for her feigned somber mood. “I’m not—”
She turned with her fist already flying. She caught him in the nose, striking with all her might. It felt wonderful for all he’d put her through. His head snapped back. When he brought it forward, he was clutching his bloody nose.
“Threats may be weak, Investigator.” She smiled victoriously. “But I am not.” She turned on her heel and left the room without another word.
She had said enough. She wasn’t weak. Holding his bloody nose, he believed her.
His smile began slowly and widened at the door through which she left. She was a hellcat. Could she get any more perfect?
*
Richard Whimsey, LordCroydon, spared no expense for his little gathering of judges.
The large, linen-covered table in the dining hall was heavy with silver goblets filled with red wine, with silver bowls and plates to match. The flatware looked to be silver also. The spoons were shaped like leaves and the forks were long and two-pronged.
There were dozens of dishes being set down on the table. Michael was there early with the duke and John. The servers were preparing for dinner. Michael didn’t care what food was being served, he wanted some wine.
He tried to keep his mind off the duke’s daughter and the shape of her lips. It was difficult.
“We have some time before everyone arrives, Detective,” the judge said, “why don’t you tell me a little bit about the future. What is the law like?”
It was a bit jarring how easily the judge believed him. He’d put Michael in charge of his daughter. She was right. What kind of father was he? This went beyond simply taking Michael at his word or liking a good mystery. It seemed as if Whimsey knew something—like something certain. But how?
Michael told him about the law in the twenty-first century and the judge seemed genuinely fascinated.
“What is it that you know, Your Honor? That makes you trust me? If someone came to me with my crazy story—”
“Oh, come and meet Robert Adarely, Lord Epson. He has arrived early.”
“Wouldn’t it be more beneficial if I was making certain Miss Whimsey was still in her room getting ready?”
Her father stared at him for a moment. Long enough for Michael to think he might agree and send him away to check.
“Aye, it might be,” the duke replied with a growing smile. “But you know nothing about the laws here. Tonight, you will learn.”
Michael had to admit that if someone should know how the laws worked here, it was him. Keeping the law was in his blood, no matter what it cost. But sitting with a bunch of old judges listening to lectures was not appealing in the least.
“Remember,” the duke continued, “I must tell them you are from Brittany. If you claim to be from York, you should know the law. The French have a different judicial system than we. It will make sense when you hear ours.”
Why was the judge doing all this for him? Lying for him?
“Epson!” Whimsey greeted with a wide smile. “Always the first to arrive,”
Michael wondered how he was supposed to greet people these days.
