Mr. Rasmussen glares at us both, suspicion filling his expression. I feel a blaze of anger toward him. How dare he look at me like that? What I do has nothing to do with him.
Daddy’s eyes flash as he sees me next to Cassian. “You’re the stable owner. What are you doing in my house?”
I step in front of Cassian, trying to draw Daddy’s attention. “Why are you all looking for me? Shouldn’t you all be at the party?”
“One of my men spotted an intruder,” Mr. Rasmussen says, in a precise, deadly voice. I hate the way he’s eyeing Cassian, as if he’s weighing his options for ways to kill him.
“Mr. Bellerose is not an intruder. I asked him to come. I’m allowed a guest, aren’t I?”
Wraye nods, but looks doubtfully at Cassian’s clothes. It’s plain to see that he’s not dressed for a party, and I’m not fooling anyone.
“I said,” Daddy repeats, stepping forward, his angry gaze still fixed on Cassian, “what are you doing in my house?”
Wraye shoots me an oh no look. I think Daddy has guessed that Cassian and I were doing more than just talking. Beside me, Cassian makes an impatient noise. I can feel his anger mounting, but starting a fight isn’t going to convince them he’s not an intruder.
I clasp Cassian’s hand to tug him toward the door. “He was just leaving.”
But Cassian doesn’t move. He’s glaring between Daddy and Rasmussen like a fight is exactly what he wants.
Rasmussen’s guard approaches Cassian with a determined expression. “I’ll escort him out.”
“No, you won’t,” I say, stepping in front of Cassian. The guard and Rasmussen look ready to beat Cassian up in a dark alleyway.
Rasmussen is gazing at me, his expression dangerous. “As Mr. Bellerose insists on his continued association with Lady Aubrey, I have no choice but to reveal who he really is. I know he preferred me to keep this a secret, but you’ve forced my hand, Bellerose.”
“I never asked you to keep anything secret,” Cassian growls.
I look between the two men, not understanding the exchange, as Cassian’s hand in mine grows hot.
Rasmussen turns to Daddy. “Were you aware that General Gunvald Lungren had a child out of wedlock?”
Daddy’s brows draw together. “I recall hearing something about it after he shot himself. A woman died as well, I believe.”
“That’s correct. They were survived by a child.” Rasmussen looks meaningfully at Cassian, and Daddy’s expression transforms to one of shock.
By my side, Cassian goes very still. General Lungren had a child? The man who murdered the King and Queen?
“You look like Lungren,” Daddy says hoarsely. “Why didn’t I see it before?”
But Lungren was a soldier, like Daddy. Cassian has rumpled hair and jeans and a two-day stubble. A warm, outdoor scent.
“I have no doubt he takes after his father in many ways,” Rasmussen says.
Cassian crushes my hand in his. “Shut the fuck up.”
I reach over to touch his arm with my other hand, partly to get his attention but also because he’s hurting me. Cassian jumps, and then looks down at our linked hands.
“Cassian? Is it true?”
He yanks his hand out of my grip and gives me a look so fierce, it knocks the breath from my lungs. The door back to the main part of the house is blocked by Daddy, Wraye, Rasmussen and his guard. Cassian slams through a door on our left, into the larger lounge, spots the French doors and charges through them and out into the garden.
“Follow him,” Mr. Rasmussen tells his guard. “Make sure he leaves the property.” The man hurries out into the night.
Daddy’s face is pale and closed, and he’s staring after Cassian like Cassian is Lungren, the man who destroyed his life and murdered his King and Queen. He goes out into the garden, and Wraye follows him.
That leaves just me and Rasmussen. He’s standing with his broad back to the door, his cold eyes on me.
“Are you happy now?” I ask, breathing hard. Cassian will be long gone by now. Regret burns through me. We shared a real moment tonight, and it ended all too quickly.
“It’s my job to see that people like him aren’t a danger to the safety and security of the Court and the country. A man like that has no place around a woman like you.”
He smooths his tuxedo jacket. He’s so goddamn pleased with himself; it makes me sick. “And you do? I’ve seen the way you stare at Duchess Balzac’s daughters. Just because you work at Court and Levanter House doesn’t make you one of us. You still come from a long line of truck drivers.”
Rasmussen steps toward me, his jaw tight. He must know how intimidating he is with his height and that suit enclosing his large shoulders, but he keeps coming until he has me backed against the bookcase. My heart bangs hard in my chest.