The Millionaire Meets His Match
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He shrugged. “We had a deal. Maybe you’d better tell me your name, though. It will make the introductions easier when Emilie arrives.”
“Cass Appleton.”
“Gabe Preston. Nice to meet you.”
She nodded, then they lapsed into silence for several minutes.
The door opened abruptly. A tiny white-haired woman floated in wearing a long silvery gown that made her look like an earthbound cherub. She turned immediately to the gardener, who’d risen automatically at the sound of her arrival. “Gabriel, darling,” she said, lifting her smooth powdered cheek for a kiss.
“Hi, Emilie.” He gave her a hug along with the kiss.
The woman turned quickly to Cass, who also stood automatically. “And you’ve brought a guest. How wonderful.” She drifted forward as though she were walking on a cloud, her hand outstretched to grasp Cass’s. “It’s so lovely to meet one of Gabriel’s friends.”
“She’s here to see you, Emilie,” Gabe explained. “I just happened to meet her on the grounds, so I showed her the way to the house. Emilie, this is Cass Appleton. Cass, Emilie Crosswhite.”
“You’re here to see me?” Emilie Crosswhite repeated, turning to Gabe while clinging to Cass’s hand. “I thought I didn’t have any appointments this afternoon.”
“I don’t have an appointment, Mrs. Crosswhite,” Cass confessed, releasing the tiny cool hand that had gripped hers with unexpected firmness. “I didn’t have time to make one. I’m here because of an emergency.”
“An emergency!” Mrs. Crosswhite’s clear blue eyes dimmed with concern. Her classically arched eyebrows drew together as she frowned. “Sit down, my dear. Gabriel, ring for tea, won’t you please?” She led Cass to a sofa and sat, patting the cushion next to her. “Tell me all about it.”
Cass sat and her eyes flicked toward Gabe, who was speaking on the house phone. “It’s rather personal,” she said softly.
Mrs. Crosswhite followed the direction of her glance. “You mustn’t worry about Gabriel. my dear. He’s my godson and my most trusted friend. I have no secrets from him.” She laughed gaily, like a girl. “Except my age of course. No one knows that but me, and I’m afraid I’ve quite forgotten it.”
Gabriel had hung up the phone and stood propped against a high-backed chair, his forearms resting lightly on the wicker. His sea green eyes were alert and watchful, belying the casual pose.
Cass took a deep breath. “I’m not sure I know where to begin.”
Emilie Crosswhite patted her hand. “Just take your time, dear, and do the best you can. Gabriel will explain it to me if I don’t understand at first.”
That wasn’t a reassuring thought. Cass turned so she wouldn’t have to see Gabe’s face when she told Mrs. Crosswhite the reason for her visit. “Someone has kidnapped my cat,” she said.
“Oh, my dear!” Mrs. Crosswhite exclaimed, genuine distress clear on her face. “How awful for you.”
Cass ignored the choking snorting sounds coming from Gabe Preston’s direction and concentrated on capitalizing on Mrs. Crosswhite’s sympathy. “They didn’t mean to take my cat. They meant to take your cat, Princess Athabasca.”
“My cat?” Emilie Crosswhite looked confused. She shot a quick look at Gabe, searching for a clue to Cass’s mysterious statement. Apparently he was no help. She focused on Cass again. “I don’t understand, dear.”
“There was a burglary at Dr. Bellingham’s clinic last night,” Cass explained. “Whoever broke in took my cat and left a note. The note said the kidnappers would be calling you tonight to give you instructions on when and where to leave the ransom money. They think they stole Princess Athabasca, but they made a mistake and took the wrong cat. My cat.”
“That is the most ridiculous—” Gabe began.
Emilie Crosswhite brought him up short with a stern look, then addressed Cass. “What does your cat look like, dear?”
“He’s a big gray tom with gold eyes. Bobby, one of the kennel boys who works for Dr. Bellingham, says there’s a strong superficial resemblance between Crudley and the Princess.”
“Crudley?” Gabe echoed in disbelief. Cass nodded without looking at him. For the first time she wished she’d given her cat a more impressive name.
Emilie, however, seemed quite taken with the name. “That would be,” she ventured, “C-r-u-d-l-e-i-g-h? He is French, isn’t he?”
The unmistakable twinkle in Emilie Crosswhite’s eyes filled Cass with renewed hope. She smiled and shook her head in answer. “No, he’s American. It’s just plain l-e-y.”
“How refreshing! And what a relief, really. The French can be so fiercely independent one hesitates to offer help. A French cat, no matter how desperate his straits, might very well try to bite the hand that rescued him. I speak with some authority. We had a French poodle once—”
“Emilie,” Gabe interrupted, his voice dropping to a lower warning register.
“Now, Gabriel,” Emilie Crosswhite answered him, a hint of willfulness in her tone, “you know we have to help the girl.”
“This is not your problem,” he insisted.
“Of course it is,” she countered. “Someone tried to kidnap Princess Athabasca. They failed, but only because this girl’s brave cat thwarted their plans by valiantly substituting himself for their intended victim. It could easily be the Princess and not poor Crudley languishing in a cold dark cage somewhere without food or water or a kind voice to cheer him.”
Gabe rolled his eyes theatrically and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Emilie, your whimsical interpretation of events is an almost constant delight to me. But in this case, I think you’re overreacting. This woman is a stranger. She showed up here today unannounced, charmed her way past the staff—” he had the grace to stumble a little over that “—and now she’s trying to sell you this preposterous story, apparently in the hope you’ll feel guilty and agree to pay off some alleged kidnappers for the return of a cat she may or may not even own.”