An Improper Arrangement

“Clarice—a witch? You mean one of those hideous crones we see drawings of in children’s books? Old hags dressed all in black, with noses like beaks, often with a large wart at its tip?” Thea laughed. “Oh, and with a horrible cackle?”

“I’m to be sadly disappointed, I take it.”

“Oh, yes, very much so.” This time her answer was followed by a near giggle.

She had a wonderful laugh, unaffected, full of joy. He would have to remember to make her laugh often.

He could stand there all morning, just enjoying her company, except that something told him sooner or later—probably sooner—he’d say or do something that would set up her back or lead her to asking one of her pointed questions for which he had no solid answers, and then he’d wish himself back upstairs in his bed, a watchful Horton guarding the door with his blunderbuss at the ready.

“If you’ll just give me a moment to check on Caspar, I believe I hear the horses being brought up outside.”

“I’ve already checked on him. He was still sleeping, his head rather tucked up beneath one of his wings.”

“He had a busy night.” Gabriel glanced toward the corridor lined with two rows of decorative cages, a pair of footmen busily scooping out seed into clever feeding trays hinged to each one. Other birds were already awake and eager to eat. After which, as Mother Nature had programmed, they’d— “Shall we go? We don’t want to be late for luncheon.”

The curricle was again waiting outside, but this time Gabriel, once Thea was seated, said, “Jimmy, congratulations, you lucky devil. You have the morning off.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Sinclair!”

“That was very nice of you,” Thea said as the tiger stepped back and Gabriel set the bays off down the drive. “Wasn’t it?”

Gabriel laughed. “Clearly we two are building a relationship based on mistrust. You’re perfectly safe with me this morning. It’s only after dark my baser instincts come to the fore.”