Page 67 of The Thirteenth Count

Cassius stepped back just enough for her to think the moment was over.

“And your hair.”

Fern immediately reached for the back of her head. “My hair is fine.”

A look crossed his face that made it very clear her hair was not fine.

Fern looked away before the heat in her face could betray her further. “I was in a hurry.”

“I wouldn’t call thirty minutes a hurry.” He moved past her and gestured to the vanity in her room. “Sit.”

Fern turned, staring at him. “No way.”

“Must I repeat myself?” he asked, already moving into her quarters.

Muttering darkly beneath her breath, Fern followed and dropped onto the stool.

Cassius reached for the pins first. His fingers brushed briefly against the side of her head as he removed the ones hanging on by sheer determination alone and set them carefully beside the looking glass. Fern watched him through the reflection, unsettled by how easily he handled the task. There was no hesitation to the movements. No awkwardness. Only calm, practiced movements.

“You’ve done this before,” she said before she could stop herself.

One corner of his mouth shifted faintly. “I grew up in court, Miss Silverbell. Complex clothing ceases to be impressive after a certain point.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“No,” he agreed, selecting another pin. “It doesn’t.”

Fern frowned at his reflection while he gathered her hair more carefully this time, twisting the loose curls back into place. He was surprisingly gentle for someone who spent most of his time speaking as though every conversation were an inconvenience.

Which, somehow, only made Fern more suspicious.

“You’re laughing at me again, aren’t you?”

“Only a little.”

“I really do hate you, you know.”

He chuckled. “Don’t lie. We both know you’re embarrassed.”

“I am not embarrassed.”

“Mm.”

Fern narrowed her eyes at the looking glass while he secured the final pin near the nape of her neck.

“And we’re done,” he said at last, stepping back. “Now you look presentable.”

She rose slowly, smoothing a hand over the front of her tunic before glancing toward the reflection again.

It did look better.

That, unfortunately, irritated her almost as much as the laughter had.

Cassius, of course, appeared entirely unaffected by the fact that he had just laughed at her, touched her waist, and fixed her hair as if any of that were a perfectly normal start to the morning. He only adjusted one cuff, turned away from the looking glass, and returned to the sitting room.

“Eat,” he said.

Fern followed him, still smoothing the front of her tunic even though there was nothing wrong with it. “Do you ever ask?”