Page 20 of Ruthless, But for Her

“'Tis silly.” Or worse. She would not speak of it.

“What is?”

Most would have dropped the topic by now. Her husband had. She never dared speak of it after that first time on their second meeting. When she hinted at her strange ability, Roland had become quite upset.

“'Tis naught.”

This time, he stopped. She was forced to do the same.

They stared at one another.

“I've not lied to you. Will you not give me the same courtesy?”

Her temper flared.

“I must give courtesies to my kidnapper?”

Roland might have become angry. He might have struck her. Instead, after the insolent question left her lips, Cassia took a step back, and Ashton's expression softened.

“I would ask it. But you are under no obligation to give it.”

Her chin rose. “You speak like a courtier.”

“You say it as an accusation.”

She bristled, realizing how such a statement sounded. Cassia was no haughty lady. She had no reason to be. She was a woman with few resources, a husband she despised, and a father who had happily given her to such a man.

“I did not intend it to be. Nor do I wish to lie to you, or anyone. 'Tis not in my nature.”

“Tell me, then. What you were prepared to say.”

Did it matter if she was labeled a witch? What was the worst that could happen to her? Death? There were days she welcomed as much.

“I sense things others do not. My maid, Nell, said my mother did the same. She warned me, and my father forbade me, to speak of such a thing to others.”

He tilted his head to the side. He was quite handsome, this kidnapper of hers. What a ridiculous thought. But Cassia could not account for the thoughts which popped into her head, ones which had gotten her in trouble on more than one occasion.

“What sort of things? Things that might happen? In the future?”

She shook her head vigorously. “Nay. Nothing as spectacular as that. Just...intuition about people's natures. Sometimes their intentions. I think it is nothing unusual. I have read books on the matter, including the Secretum Secretorum, which teaches that a man's nature may be read in his face. I believe that alone accounts for my abilities. But I was advised against mentioning it to others.”

“Advised by who?”

“My father. Nell. And by...” Roland hadn't exactly advised her against it, but his reaction had done so anyway.

Ashton's eyes narrowed. He waited for her to continue, and when she did not, he began walking once again, this time in silence.

Buildings began to thin, the packed rows giving way to scrub grass and rutted mud where the town loosened its hold. Beyond them, she could see the land rise toward the water, and a stretch of grey shoreline where gulls fought over something in the shallows.

That was when she saw it.

It stood apart from everything around it, a long house of timber and stone, three storeys, larger than any building they'd passed since the docks. There was real glass in the upper windows and a door painted deep red. Above it hung a sign bearing a single white daisy. Smoke rose from three chimneys, and even at this distance, she could hear music.

“A house of ill repute?”

He was bringing her to a house of ill repute. She'd heard of them, but never had seen one before.

“We prefer the word stew house. But yes.”