“Pretty can’t make up for terrifying.” Camden’s smirk this time seemed to be, if Drake weren’t mistaken, at his own expense. “I tried flirting with her yesterday, and she calmly informed me that if I didn’t desist immediately, she had no fewer than one hundred and twenty-three ways to make my life miserable, sixty-five percent of which had been field tested and were without fail.”

Drake’s lips twitched up too. That sounded about right—though it wasn’t how she’d responded to him, at least. No threats, just . . . questions. He ought to have known, he supposed, that he needn’t worry she’d succumb to Camden’s charms. Charm didn’t seem to be what drew her.

Hopefully he knew what would though. He’d had Red drop a few letters in the post for him yesterday—one to Abuelo, and the encoded letter for her. It ought to be delivered to her today. Tomorrow at the latest. And she’d realize it was from him in about two seconds, so he might soon know how she’d respond to it. His throat went tight.

As for Camden . . . Drake cleared his throat and lifted a brow. “And you didn’t take her threats as a challenge?”

“I prefer my women with a bit of softness to go along with their pretty faces, thank you.” That glint reentered his eyes. “Your sister turned out quite well, Elton. When last I saw her, she was just a scrawny little thing, but I do believe she’s one of the loveliest girls in the OB.”

Red’s fingers went tight around Drake’s elbow. Drake kept his smile easy though. “She’s spoken for, of course.” Or would be, as soon as Red worked up the courage.

Camden chuckled. “You think I’d let that stop me if I were determined?”

A good point. “And she’s Margot De Wilde’s dearest friend.”

“Oh yes, I already worked that one out.” He winced. Actually winced, which made Drake all kinds of curious as to what Margot had done or threatened to do to him. Camden clapped a hand to Drake’s shoulder and then angled away. “I need to get back to the office. But I’ll drop by sometime when your nursemaid isn’t here for a proper visit.”

“Mm. So long as you leave your fists at home.”

Camden’s smile looked like it always had—carefree and more than a little mischievous—but his eyes were absent the light that had filled them when they were lads. They sparked, but somehow darkly. “Don’t worry, old chap. No more fisticuffs until you’re well.”

Drake lifted his chin. “Not forgiven yet, am I?”

“My mother might keep you in biscuits for life, but I won’t thank you for this. You should have left me to rot.”

Red huffed out a breath. “Look at that. Something on which we agree.”