Chapter Twelve
Cas sat at a table with Miss Matilda Bernat, a forgotten and rapidly cooling cup of tea sitting before him. The clock had sounded the noon hour five minutes ago, and Miss Bernat’s promised “connection” wasn’t here.
She’d made her excuses for him, smoothly and without hint of embarrassment. Then she’d gone back to trying to charm Caspar.
Cas hadn’t bothered to listen. He was feeling… irritable, that was the only word he could put to it. It was an unusual state of being for him; usually he ran from cheerful insouciance to brief flashes of anger that soon cooled. This rolling boil of a temper was unheard of; but then, so were his present circumstances.
He hadn’t slept much last night. He had been too busy thinking his way through this maddening set of problems, looking for
