Chasing Cassandra (The Ravenels 6)

“What are those?” she asked.

Severin followed her gaze down to his arms. “The scars? Spark burns. It happens during forging and welding. Little bits of flaming steel sear through gloves and clothing.”

Cassandra winced at the thought. “I can’t imagine how painful that must be.”

“They’re not so bad on the arms: They tend to bounce off sweaty skin.” A reminiscent grin crossed his lips. “It’s the occasional spark that burns through your trouser leg or boot—and sticks—that hurts like the devil.” He struck a Lucifer match against the nearby range and bent to light an alcohol blow-lamp fitted with a perforated nozzle. Gently he adjusted a knob until the nozzle emitted a hissing spear of continuous flame. Gripping the lamp in one hand, he directed the flame against the flux-coated seam until the paste had melted and bubbled. “Now for the fun part,” he said, giving her a bright sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth curling upward. “Would you like to help?”

“Yes,” Cassandra said without hesitation.

“There’s a thin stick of metal solder on the floor near the—yes, that’s it. Hold it by one end. You’re going to run a bead around the seam to seal it.”

“Run a bead?”

“That means make a line with the tip. Start on the opposite side from where I’m holding the flame.”

While Severin held the flame against the pipe, Cassandra guided the tip of the solder around the joining. The metal liquefied and flowed instantly. Oh, this was fun—there was something viscerally satisfying about watching the solder run around the seam to form a neat seal.

“That was perfect,” Mr. Severin said.

“Is there something else that needs soldering?” she asked, and he laughed at her eagerness.

“The other end of the pipe.”

Together they soldered the copper pipe to the joint coming from the wall, both of them intent on the task. They were kneeling a little too close for propriety, but Mr. Severin was being a gentleman. Far more respectful and polite, as a matter of fact, than most of the privileged lords she’d met during the London Season.

“How curious,” Cassandra said, watching the melted solder run up the seam when it should have dripped downward. “It’s defying gravity. It reminds me of how water runs up the hairs of a paintbrush when I dip it in.”

“How sharp you are.” There was a smile in his voice. “The cause is the same in both cases. Capillary action, it’s called. In a very narrow space, like the seam of this pipe and fitting, the molecules of the solder are so strongly attracted to the copper, they climb up the surface.”

Cassandra glowed at the praise. “No one ever calls me sharp. People always say Pandora’s the sharp one.”

“What do they say about you?”

She gave a self-deprecating little laugh. “Usually it’s something about my looks.”

Mr. Severin was silent for a moment. “There’s much more to you than that,” he said gruffly.

Shy pleasure suffused her until she turned pink from head to toe. She forced herself to concentrate on the soldering, grateful that her hands kept steady even though her heart was charging and halting like an unbroken horse.

After the pipe had been soldered, Mr. Severin extinguished the flame and took the metal stick from her. It seemed to cost him something to meet her gaze. “The way I proposed to you earlier … I’m sorry. It was … disrespectful. Stupid. Since then I’ve discovered at least a dozen reasons for proposing to you, and beauty is the least of them.”

Cassandra stared at him in wonder. “Thank you,” she whispered.

The humid air was scented of him … the pine-tar tang of rosin soap … the acrid bite of shirt starch softening from body heat … and the fresh sweat on his skin, salty and intimate, and oddly compelling. She wanted to lean even closer and take a deep breath of him. His face was over hers, a slant of light from a casement window catching the extra green in one eye. She was utterly fascinated by the cool, disciplined façade overlying something withheld … deeply remote … tantalizing.

What a pity his heart was frozen. What a pity she could never be happy living in his fast-paced, hard-edged world. Because Tom Severin was turning out to be the most attractive and compelling man she’d ever met.

The clatter of a bowl on the kitchen worktable recalled her to herself. She blinked and looked away, searching for a way to ease the tension between them. “We’re returning to London soon,” she said. “If you call on the family, I’ll see that you’re invited to dinner, and we can discuss the book.”

“What if we argue?”

Cassandra laughed. “Never argue with a Ravenel,” she advised. “We never know when to stop.”

“I was already aware of that.” A hint of friendly mockery entered his tone. “Would you like me better if I agreed with everything you said?”

“No,” she said easily, “I like you just as you are.”

Mr. Severin’s expression turned inscrutable, as if she’d spoken in a foreign language he was trying to interpret.

She’d been too forward, saying such a thing. It had just slipped out. Had she embarrassed him?

To her relief, the tension was broken as Devon strode briskly into the kitchen, saying, “I arranged for a new boiler. Winterborne doesn’t carry an eighty-gallon model in his store, but he knows a manufacturer who—” He stopped in his tracks, looking aghast as he beheld the two of them. “Cassandra, what the devil are you doing here with Tom Severin? Why don’t you have a chaperone?”

“There are at least a dozen people working only a few yards away,” Cassandra pointed out.

“That’s not the same as a chaperone. Why are you on the floor?”

“I helped Mr. Severin solder a pipe,” she said brightly.

Devon’s outraged gaze shot to Mr. Severin. “You had her working with an open flame and molten metal?”

“We were being careful,” Cassandra said defensively.

Mr. Severin seemed too preoccupied to explain anything. He bent to gather some of the tools and slid them back into the plumber’s bag. One of his hands went to the center of his chest and rubbed surreptitiously.

Devon reached down to pull Cassandra up. “If Lady Berwick finds out about this, she’ll come down on us like the wrath of Zeus.” He glanced over her and groaned. “Look at you.”

Cassandra grinned up at him, well aware that she was perspiring and bedraggled, with soot marks on her yellow dress. “You probably thought Pandora was the cause of all our misadventures. But as you see, I’m capable of getting into trouble all on my own.”

“Pandora would be so proud,” Devon said dryly, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Go change your dress before anyone sees you. We’ll have afternoon tea soon, and I’m sure Kathleen will want you to help pour and entertain.”

Mr. Severin stood as well, and executed a short bow. His face was expressionless. “My lady. Thank you for your assistance.”

“I’ll see you at tea, then?” Cassandra asked.

Mr. Severin shook his head. “I’m leaving for London right away. I have a business meeting early tomorrow morning.”