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Juliet spun about, tapping Dashlane’s arm. “Why don’t we check the dairy farm on the outskirts of the village? Surely Mittens brought her kittens there for a delicious treat.”
Dashlane frowned. “We’ve been searching for the better part of an hour. I don’t think—"
“Nonsense.” Juliet waved, flashing him a smile. “We’ll find her. I’m certain of it.”
Bianca pressed her lips together, certain that Juliet had concocted this entire scenario to get the handsome Lord Dashlane alone. Which was all well and good except for one little problem. Actually, he was a rather large problem.
Her gaze flitted to the other lord who’d travelled to their village with Lord Dashlane. Apparently, the three of them had been headed to a party when a storm had washed out the bridge. Tall, dark, and menacing with a heavy brow and a constant frown, Lord Craven frightened her a bit. He rarely spoke, instead answering with a sound that closely resembled a growl. His arms were perpetually crossed, making the thick muscles of his neck bulge out.
“Juliet,” she said. “We can all search the dairy farm together. Surely—”
But Juliet had already grabbed Dashlane’s elbow. “We’ll be right back. Check the tree. It’s a grand idea.” She flashed Bianca an angelic grin, her auburn hair glinting in the sun. “You’ll be fine, B. Don’t be a scared little mouse.”
Bianca coughed, unable to believe that Juliet had just called her that in front of two men they hardly knew. “I am not a scared mouse,” she said, more to herself than anyone else.
Lord Craven made that noise in response. “Mmmm,” he growled out from deep in his throat.
How did he even make such a noise? Her gaze flicked to him again as her stomach did a flop. She’d guess he wasn’t afraid of anything. She nibbled at the inside of her cheek as she pressed her hands into the folds of her skirt.
She likely was scared of most things. For example, she was frightened to ask him to help her search the tree. He’d just growl at her again and so she turned without a word and started for it alone.
She didn’t have to look back to know that he’d followed. She could feel his hulking presence behind her like one feels a predator, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. Though, it wasn’t precisely fear that filled her belly. She looked back again, watching his muscles flex. Her breath caught.
Reaching the tree, she circled around the base, ducking branches and staring up into the newly forming foliage. “Mittens?” she called, then made a kissing noise.
Lord Craven had stopped several feet from the tree, staring at her as she moved. Her insides twisted again and her heart sped up. The man’s gaze was disconcerting. Why must he stare? And why did one side of his upper lip curl as though he’d smelled something foul?
She attempted to ignore him as she finished a full circle. “Mittens?” In response she heard a faint, but distinct meow. She gasped, poking her head between two low branches. “Mittens?”
“Bloody hell.”
Bianca heard a deep voice rumble behind her. Surely that was Lord Craven, she’d just never heard him utter actual words. She turned back to look at him, peeking through the branches of the tree. “I can assure you that Mittens is just an ordinary cat. She isn’t sent from the hell fires at all and there is nothing bloody about her.” What had made her just say that? Color stained her cheeks as she assessed his reaction. She made a habit of speaking before she’d really thought the words through, something over which she received endless teasing. From her family, of course. But as of late, it had spread further, with many of the boys in the village taking up the mantle.
He straightened to stand taller, his muscles growing more defined as he tensed. She reached for the branches as though they’d anchor her from his disapproval. He didn’t say a word, however. His brow just dropped lower over his eyes. Briefly, she wondered what color they were. He always had them narrowed into slits so it was difficult to tell.
But he didn’t berate her, verbally anyhow, and instead, just continued to watch. With a shrug, she turned her attention back to the tree and tried to pretend the cat was the only one currently plaguing her state of well-being. “Mittens,” she called. “Come down, sweetheart.”
“No cat has ever come when called. They are like women in that regard,” he said as he moved closer.
She tightened her grip on the branches. Was that an insult? She didn’t look at him. His face wouldn’t provide answers anyhow. “You find it objectionable that women and cats wish to be in charge of their own destinies?”
He stopped again, making that dreadful noise. “No. I didn’t say that. I simply meant you’re wasting your breath calling her. She won’t come.”
Bianca frowned. He was right in that regard. Mittens likely wouldn’t come and if the kittens had followed her into the tree, they wouldn’t be able to come down and she, being a good mother, wouldn’t leave them. “Fiddlesticks,” she mumbled and then let out a sigh. There was only one thing to do.
“Fiddlesticks?” He ducked under the branches to join her at the trunk of the tree. Only one large branch separated them and she shifted away, still looking up into the canopy. Looking up at him made her so…jumpy. Goodness, she felt a bit like a cat right now. She couldn’t see the cat, only heard the meows.
Thank goodness she could pretend to look for Mittens rather than face the disdain she could hear dripping from his voice. “You don’t like the word fiddlesticks?” she asked, testing the strength of the lowest branch.
“It’s a silly word,” he replied. “From a…” He paused, but she winced.
“From a silly girl?” She filled in, her chest a
ching. She’d often been called exactly that. If only she could be confident and sharp like her sister Adrianna or refined like Ophelia.
He said nothing in response and she sighed as she looked up into the tree. She couldn’t do a darn thing about a man who thought her foolish. But she could do something about Mittens. And so, lifting her skirt, she grabbed onto a tree branch and started to climb.
* * *
