Page 52 of The Duchess Games

This Callum offered Granny a deeply elegant courtly bow. It was the kind that showed great respect for the recipient and was generally reserved for royalty.

And then he winked.

The stern, unyielding, exceedingly proper Duke of Tremaine winked at Granny Goodwin.

And Granny beamed like the sixteen-year-old girl she had once been.

Cat felt the invisible ribbons winding between her and Callum tighten. There was nothing she could do to stop it. While Cat tried not to hyperventilate at the feelings she refused to feel, one of Granny’s crows landed on Callum’s shoulder.

He went very still. “Is he a friend of yours?”

Granny cackled. “That’s Humphrey,” she said. “He likes you.”

Humphrey hopped down Callum’s arm to peck at the silver button on his cuff. “He likes shiny things. I think I am superfluous.”

“That he does.”

Callum raised an eyebrow at Cat. “Does everyone in Little Crumpet collect animals?”

“Taught her mother everything she knew,” Granny interrupted proudly. “And she taught Cat. Cat’s the best of us, I don’t mind telling you. I like birds, her mother liked small, sweet creatures. But Cat will rescue anything. The meaner the better.”

Callum smiled then, just a brief lopsided curve that she could not look away from. “I know.” He noticed the oilskin tacked into the space left by a broken window behind her. “Did he do that?”

She laughed. “That’s been like that for two years now. Bit nippy in the winter. Humphrey doesn’t like that I covered it up. Thinks it’s his own personal door.”

Humphrey, hearing his name, cawed once for attention. And because Callum’s button would not come loose. “Here, give him this,” Granny handed Callum a bent and rusty nail. He accepted it as though he wasn’t used to being given things dipped in gold. “It’s not as nice, but it will keep him busy.”

Instead, Callum reached down and yanked the silver button free from his sleeve. He did it as though it meant nothing. He did not even notice the involuntary gasp that came from Granny, from Cat, and from Old Pete pulling his cart up the road. Callum tossed the silver button in the air and Humphrey leapt up to snatch it, cawing with glee. He flew away to the nearest roof to admire his treasure.

“You’ll never be rid of him now,” Granny said.

Cat was very much afraid he would never be rid of her now either.

Trust Juro to try and steal every bit of sunshine.

He emerged from the pub, flanked by three of his lads. Strutting like he already owned the village, the smuggling operation, her connections. The small double-take he did when he spotted her there, unencumbered by custom agents, not on her way to Bodmin jail but instead strolling with the duke was sweeter than any of the champagne at Penhallow.

She wanted to cackle like Granny’s crows.

Juro glared at her as he went on his way. Granny spat on the ground after him. Her crows jeered.

Cat left the village with a spring in her step.

Callum watched Juro for a long time. “Who’s he?”

“A pain in the arse,” she replied.

“I don’t like how he looks at you.”

She snorted. “He was being downright polite.”

“Smuggler?”

She stopped. “What makes you say that?”

“He looks dodgy. Like a thief.”

“How can you tell?”