To keep from letting her disappointment show, Fleur took a drink she didn’t want.
As a credit to the gentleman, he kept his gaze carefully diverted at Cassia’s gardens. “Rinse and spit.”
She furrowed her brow—then his meaning became clear.
He wandered over to the balustrade and stared out.
Fleur took small, swift sips and rinsed her mouth.
When finished, she wiped her hands over her cheeks and tried to muster whatever dignity she had left this day. “Thank you for your assistance, Lord Cassian.”
Henry’s man-of-affairs took that as the permission it was to look at her. “I hope you are feeling improved.”
Only slightly. “Much. Thank you.”
Neither of them spoke. The gentleman allowed Fleur to compose herself. Why? Why, when he had done the gentlemanly thing, looking after her, could he just leave?
“I happened to overhear your family’s…discussion,” Lord Cassian said. “Regarding His Grace.”
Ah, this is why he remained.
“How could you not?” she said under her breath. “With the racket they make, it is entirely possible the guests heard over the orchestra and noise.”
He laughed, and with his booming, resonant, unguarded expression of mirth, the walls came down.
“Nor was it a discussion.” A new wave of anger passed through her. “I am sorry for their—”
Henry’s man-of-affairs waved away her words. “You needn’t make apologies for them. You are no more responsible for your family’s actions than I am for mine, or Hart is for his.”
His gaze on her was razor-sharp, intense, devoid of his earlier amusement.
Fleur straightened. What was he trying to tell her?
Drawn by the mystery he had dangled, Fleur joined him over at the balustrade and set her flute down. A breeze gusted over the gardens. Closing her eyes, Fleur leaned forward and let it cascade over her; the fragrant lavender helped to soothe her nausea.
Only a bit.
Saliva gathered at the back of her throat.
Trembling, she collected her drink for a much-needed sip.
“Drinking and swallowing will make the nausea worse. Just spit.”
“You want me to spit in front of you, Lord Cassian?”
“Given your reputation of being something of a hoyden, I didn’t think you’d blink at spitting in front of anyone.”
Fleur would have laughed if she weren’t so deuced miserable—about her family’s disdain for Henry. About a blasted sickness that wouldn’t go away.
As if on cue, her body went suddenly hot and then cold and back to hot.
Lord Cassian rested his palms on the stone railing, leaned out, and spit. “Like that.”
This time, she did laugh. “I know how to spit.”
“Do you? With all the guidance I’ve had to provide thus far, I began to wonder.”
Fleur’s latest bout of amusement was cut short. She scarcely noticed Lord Cassian rescuing her flute. She hung over the side and spit more times than she could remember, until her mouth went dry, and the nausea dissipated.
