Page 61 of Teach a Rogue New Tricks
Should she ask what he planned? He clearly wished her to. He kept peeking at her from beneath the brim of his hat. His steps bounced, too. Not for the same reason, clearly.
The townhouse door loomed before them. She could waltz right up to it and escape before ever having to face the answer to the question he wished her to ask.
Too bad she’d always been a curious sort, and her recent dedication to the ways of bravery and adventure meant she could not, in the end, turn tail and run. She stopped before the front door and took a deep breath then dove in. “Planning what?”
He leaned a shoulder against the wall beside the door and opened those talented lips to speak.
The front door banged open, and her father exploded over the threshold. “Ada Cavendish! Where have you been?”
Ada stumbled back a step, and Cass bounced off the wall and stumbled backward until he bumped into Ada. He stepped to the side and caught her, steadied her, and she popped out of his embrace.
She smoothed her skirts and cleared her throat and met her father’s stony gaze with a cheery one. “Hello, Papa. I left a note with Sarah. I do apologize if I’ve worried you.”
Her father shifted his gaze to Cass, and a thundercloud appeared on his brow. “You again. From the Tower.”
Cass began to speak but reversed course. He bowed low. “Yes, Lord Eaden. It is jolly to see you again.”
“Jollier to see my daughter, though?” her father asked, stepping from the doorframe to cast a shadow over Cass in the midday sun.
To Cass’s credit, he did not cower. “It is always an honor to encounter your daughter.”
“Papa,” Ada said, “I was visiting with Willow, Lady Cordell, and I happened to cross paths with Lord Albee on my way home.”
“Where is your maid?” her father asked.
“Now, don’t be angry, Papa, but I did not bring her. I’m not used to going about with a chaperone in the country. I like my freedom.” True enough.
Her father crossed his arms over his chest. “I can’t be angry when you call me Papa. I assume you know that. Thus, the use of the moniker when usually it’s ‘Father this’ and ‘Father that.’Humph.” He passed his gaze to Cass. “Thank you for escorting my daughter home, my lord.”
Cass pressed a palm to his chest. “I’d escort her out of the afterlife if necessary.”
Her father nodded and scratched his chin at the same time, likely impressed by the allusion to Greek mythology.
Ada leaned close enough to Cass to whisper, “That really is too much.” Out loud she said, “Papa, you need something to do rather that sitting about waiting for your daughters all day. You quite obviously have too much time on your hands. Don’t you have a new book due at the publishers?”
“I don’t want to write it,” her father grumbled. “I am not interested in any of that anymore. I’m not working in the field any longer, Lord Albee. I breathe for my daughters and my family, and that is my main job these days, along with writing books I don’t want to write.”
“I find joy reading your books,” Cass offered.
Her father scratched his chin. “Thank you. People do enjoy them. But that is not the same thing as enjoying writing them.”
Cass scratched the back of his neck. “I can’t say I understand, but I trust you have the right of it. You know, I’ve been thinking of writing a book.”
Her father’s brow arched upward. “Really? About what?”
Cass froze. Then coughed. “Oh, you know. My life.”
“An autobiography. Typical.” He grunted. “Most of the aristocracy think their lives interesting enough for the masses. I’ll tell you the truth.”
Cass leaned in, waiting.
“It’s not.”
“Ah.” Cass shot back up straight, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ll remember that.”
“Buttering up the father of the woman you’re courting. Intelligent strategy, that.”
Cass froze once more. This time his mouth dropped open then popped closed. He looked like a fish, dying without its watery air.
