This time, Lord Cassian dangled a white embroidered kerchief and waved it like a white flag in front of her.
Gratefully accepting the folded square, she wiped at her mouth. If she were a proper lady, she would have been mortified about having cast her biscuits up in front of Henry’s man-of-affairs and now, nearly a second time. Her desire for information about Henry from a man who knew him most intimately proved far greater than pride.
A proper lady such as Lady Angela wouldnever.
All her muscles constricted in a violent spasm.
Feeling immensely better—and, at the same time, worse—Fleur pulled herself up onto the railing. She grimaced. “I used to be more graceful at this.”
“Skirts complicates things.”
“Based on your first-hand experience, Lord Cassian?”
They shared a smile.
They also didn’t have much time; she stopped mincing. “You are a friend of Hen—His Grace’s?”
The gentleman stared at Fleur with such intensity that she fought to keep from squirming.
Suddenly, his hard lips eased into a smile. “Ahh,you’rethe reason.”
“The reason forwhat?”
“Hart’s developed a new fixation on whether or not I’m his actual friend.”
Her heart hitched. “I didn’t mean to make him question his friendship.”
Lord Cassian snorted. “You did him a favor. Reminding Hart that he’s fallible, and, in fact, very human is something he could use more of.”
“We can agree there.” But he hadn’t answered, and it mattered, because the idea that Henry didn’t truly have peoplein his life who cared about him filled her chest with an empty ache. “Areyou his friend, Lord Cassian?”
“What do you believe?”
“Yes.”
“Such a confident, quick answer.”
“Because I, as a woman with a clear sense and a brain in my head, can tell by the fact you want Hart to feel what it is to be a normal man that you care about him.”
“Then why ask?”
“To better make my point that it’s hard for him to see himself as a flesh and blood man, the same as all men, if you, his actual friend, haven’t allowed human emotion into your relationship.”
A dull flush lined Lord Cassian’s almost too-beautiful cheekbones. “Men don’t—”
She snorted. “Spare me from proud men and their emotions. If you hadactualconversations, Henry wouldn’t need to question; he would know.”
A breeze gusted over the gardens. Closing her eyes, Fleur leaned back and let it flow over her.
“Youare a good friend to him.”
Fleur looked at him, specifically at the solemn set of his handsome features. “Hedoesn’t think so.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“And it doesn’t make any sense,” she exploded. “One moment he makes me laugh like I’ve never laughed before, and the next he is a great big lummox who I want to beat about the ears.”
Kilmartin’s lips twitched with repressed amusement.