The Conquest of Lady Cassandra (2 page)

“I think the presence of his aunts and sister restrained him. He became a paragon of virtue the day they arrived.”

“That is because his aunts are ruthless gossips. They probably assume that only your being with child would explain this wedding at all. I would not be shocked to learn they took turns keeping watch at night to see if they could catch him sneaking in your door.”

“Hortense probably brought a spyglass just for that purpose.” Emma giggled. “In truth, though, more likely Darius did not want to scandalize Lydia.”

Cassandra dabbed some paint and rubbed Emma’s cheeks until it faded to a light blush. The Earl of Southwaite, whom Emma would marry within the hour, treated his sister Lydia like a schoolgirl, even though she was twenty-two. In order to preserve her innocence, he had forbidden her to be friends with Cassandra, which was one of several reasons why Cassandra did not overly favor him.

Considering Southwaite’s prejudice against her, she had not expected an invitation to this wedding. Emma had obviously prevailed. Despite his faults, he did love Emma to the point of intoxication.

It remained to be seen if, a few months hence, the husband still indulged his wife should Cassandra remain in England. She did not expect either of those things to come to pass. As a result, these preparations with Emma possessed a poignant quality.

“All done.” She moved so Emma could see the looking glass again.

Although not a great beauty, Emma’s eyes held beguiling sparks, and her attention compelled one with its directness. She now focused deeply on her own reflection.

“It is time, and I am as ready as I will ever be. Will you walk down with me, Cassandra? If I falter when I see the guests, you must pinch me and push me forward.”

“The man you love is waiting for you there, dear friend. He is all you will care about when the doors open.” She fell into step with Emma anyway, so that they would face the waiting world together at least one more time.

A
man had only to look at Lady Cassandra Vernham to begin imagining scandalous things. That rumors claimed she at least dabbled in the art of pleasure did nothing to discourage such thoughts when they invaded.

She stood near tall windows upon which rain formed arabesque rivulets. She had just disengaged from one
conversation, and now examined the guests, planning her next social sortie.

Her dark curls in their fashionable, reckless abandon appeared almost black in the overcast light. Her large blue eyes implied an innocence that the full redness of her lips contradicted. The creamy, frothy dress flattered her body too well, emphasizing its feminine lushness.

Not for the first time in his life, Yates Elliston, Viscount Ambury and heir to the Earl of Highburton, thought that Cassandra Vernham looked good enough to eat. The room’s colors and sounds blurred as his imagination feasted. His mouth kissed and tasted shapely, snowy legs, and moved up her body while his hands raised the creamy dress to reveal—

“Damn bold of her to come.”

The pleasant fantasy, which had reached the curve of an extremely sensual thigh, vanished. Yates turned to see his friend Viscount Kendale glaring in Cassandra’s direction.

“The bride invited her. They are very close friends,” Yates said. The noise in the drawing room reasserted itself, rising around him like an orchestra tuning its instruments.

“She has to know that Southwaite dislikes her.”

“He permitted her invitation in order to indulge Emma,” Yates said. “If he does not mind her presence, why should you?”

“I am not blinded by love the way he is, that is why. I saw the way you were looking at her just now, for example. With all the women available to you, and damned eager to accommodate you from what I can tell, there is no need to set your sights on
that
one.”

Kendale alluded to the fact that six years ago Cassandra had refused to marry Baron Lakewood, one of their friends, after he had compromised her. Both of their reputations had paid a high price for her capriciousness. Worse, the prior spring, Lakewood had died fighting a duel over a woman. Presumably that woman had been Cassandra, since he had never stopped loving her.

“I was merely considering some business that I need to conclude with her, and planning how to do so.” The delay in settling that business had been inexcusable, even if family duties made it explainable.

“The hell you were. I know that look. Unless—you are not contemplating seduction as an act of revenge, are you?”

Not at the moment, but the unworthy idea had entered his mind more than once over the years. It had been the ignoble attempt of a randy mind to find excuses to do what should not be done. Cassandra Vernham had never married. A gentleman should not seduce her innocence, even if the latest
on dit
said she no longer had any.

From the looks of him, Kendale could not decide whether to disapprove of the idea, which meant he appreciated the conundrum. Normally Kendale adhered to rigid notions of honor, but Cassandra’s suspicious independence put her outside any strict way of viewing those ideals.

“It is a different sort of business that I must conclude with her. Much less pleasurable.”

Across the drawing room, Cassandra strolled away from the windows. With the grace and self-possession befitting the daughter of an earl, she attached herself to a small knot of guests. Within two minutes, she was at its center. After her addition to the group, both the conversation and guests’ expressions changed from careful and wary to free and lively.

“Hell of a way for Southwaite to start his marriage. Now it will be almost impossible to force the break between his wife and that woman,” Kendale said.

Yates almost explained the obvious—that Southwaite was too much in love to refuse his new wife anything. He had married Miss Fairbourne, hadn’t he? Despite her common birth? Most of the guests did not approve of that any more than they did Cassandra Vernham.

“I suppose we must do our duty as charged.” Kendale raked his dark hair back with his fingers. “Hell of a thing.”

“She is holding her own without our help.”

“We promised the bride.”

“So be it. Fortunately, you will be at your post only until breakfast. I must take over then. We should line up in a quarter hour, I think.”

“What am I supposed to talk about? Should I ask her about the most recent gossip attached to her name?”

“Are you even aware of it? I had no idea you followed the scandal sheets, Kendale.”

“I read nothing and heard nothing. Yet I still know what the gossip would say. As do you.”

Indeed, Yates did. “The rumors remain vague. The men remain nameless,” he said, thinking aloud, once more calculating his obligations as a gentleman.

He would not mind knowing how true those rumors had been. While not complete, her fall had been far enough to make her fair game for his imagination, and thus unacceptable as a friend for the new Lady Southwaite. Presumably Southwaite would deal with that problem in the following weeks.

Cassandra smiled and sparkled as she extricated herself from her current group and walked away, greeting all whom she passed.

Kendale forced his scowl to fade. “Here I go. Fifteen minutes, you said. You must take over if it is one second more.”

C
assandra prayed that the servants would call the party to breakfast.
Now.

Until ten minutes ago, she had managed the forty guests in the drawing room very well. Then her situation had turned hellish. For reasons she could not fathom, Viscount Kendale, one of Southwaite’s best friends, had not only addressed her but had decided to stick to her side.

She walked this way and that, and he followed like a shadow. She tried to engage other guests in conversation,
and his face hovered above her shoulder. Anyone generous enough to throw a question his way received a minimal response. To say that polite conversation was not one of Lord Kendale’s skills would be a kind way to describe his lack of social grace.

He had served in the army, so one expected better of him. Most officers were very amiable. Presumably, those who were not avoided society. Kendale’s unexpected inheritance of the title meant he could hide no longer. Someone must have advised that at parties he attach himself to a woman who could cover his artlessness.

It appeared that today he had chosen her.

She stopped trying to converse with others, in order to spare everyone. She and Kendale stood near the windows while a long silence stretched.

“Regrettable weather.” It was the third time he had commented on the rain. His handsome face remained a stoic blank, and his green eyes looked over the gathering.

“Fortunately, this is an expansive and comfortable house, so inclement weather will not dull the festivities.” If he insisted on that topic, she would make the best of it. “Also, the storm should keep any boats carrying spies from trying to slip to the coast, and thus ensure that Southwaite and you do not have to leave, and ride out to save the realm in the middle of his wedding day.”

Kendale’s expression firmed. His eyes turned steely. “Our efforts to secure the coast from uninvited guests are small and uncelebrated, but I trust not worthy of your mockery.”

“I do not mock you, Lord Kendale. Indeed, I am one of the few who knows enough about your activities to give what celebration there may be. Your bravery in this summer’s earlier adventure has been described to me. Also, I would never insult a man whom I know my dear friend Emma holds in such high esteem.”

His gaze shifted to the bride and groom. “I would have preferred if Miss Fairbourne had been discreet about that.
It should not be fodder for gossip by—” He caught himself. He drank more punch.

By such as you.
That was what he had started saying before better sense stopped him. That, or something worse perhaps.

Really, the man was not to be borne. Here she was, doing a good deed by tolerating him, and he had the effrontery to almost insult her outright.

“Do you fear that I am going to whisper about you to my lovers, Lord Kendale? Sell your name to a French spy?”

“Nowadays, there is no telling who is a French friend or a French spy, when you get down to it.”

“Then let me reassure you, sir. Emma’s confidences are never fodder for my gossip, to
anyone
. Even notorious women have their loyalties. Your own experiences with members of the fairer sex have taught you that by now, haven’t they?”

“I have been spared experiences with women who are determined to be notorious. Considering the consequences that I have seen for other men, I do not regret whatever else I may have forgone as a result.”

“How fortunate for you. I should conclude that you are very particular about your feminine acquaintances and be flattered by your attention today. Although, instead I am tempted to wonder if you have had experiences with
any
women, besides your relatives and governess, that is.”

Kendale’s eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth to respond. A hand came to rest on his shoulder in a gesture of bonhomie, stopping him.

“Forgive me for interrupting, but it appeared you two were about to have a spectacular row.” Viscount Ambury smiled at his friend, then at Cassandra. “If there will be fisticuffs, we should all repair to the privacy of the terrace. I will referee, and the rain be damned.”

Kendale’s face flushed. His embarrassment only made him angrier. Cassandra looked toward Emma to see if the
little argument had been noted by the dear friend whose wedding day should never be so blemished.

She tried to cover the awkward tension with humor. “I dare not damn the rain, Lord Ambury. This dress would not survive a drizzle, let alone the downpour out there now.”

Ambury’s remarkable blue eyes inspected her from head to toe. His gaze lingered on how the diaphanous, filmy cream silk flowed from the high waistline of her dress.

“Too true. I daresay that when wet that dress would stick to you like the garments do on Greek statues. Alluring to be sure, but perhaps not appropriate for a wedding party.” He turned to his friend, who had retreated into surly silence. “Kendale, perhaps you would take Lady Lydia something to drink. She appears parched over there.”

Lord Kendale left. Cassandra rather wished he hadn’t. Ambury was one of the people she had been trying to avoid. Now here he was, right in front of her, wearing a sardonic smile that had her wondering just how bad this was going to be.

She did not know Kendale well, but she did know Ambury. For a good many years, until this summer, their conversations had been restricted to brief greetings. During the last few months a private subject had arisen, however, that required more words.

When she had sold her jewels last spring at Fairbourne’s auction house, Ambury had won the best pieces, a pair of sapphire-and-diamond earrings. Ever since, he had put off paying for them.

Their communications on the matter had been in writing, and stiffly polite. However, in a fit of panic after her brother’s visit two days ago, after deciding to help Aunt Sophie run away, she had jotted off an intemperate missive full of demands and accusations.

With any luck, he had not read it yet. Not that his reaction would change the essential truth of the history they shared, and the real reason for the silence as they faced off right
now. Ambury detested her because of the role she had played in the life of one of his friends.

His gaze and stance communicated the expected disdain, but also an undeniable masculine interest that surprised her. His presence exuded challenge, and his eyes dared her to—what? Play with the fire that smoldered in spite of their both knowing it should not? A touch warmer, a bit more dangerous, and his attention would imply that she could be had for a smile, and was amenable to whatever he contemplated.

“Thank you for arranging for my escape,” she said. “I so want to speak with Lady Hollenfield, but I dared not bring Lord Kendale along.” She angled her body away so he would know his further attendance was not required.

“Forgive Kendale. We are hard at work improving his manners. I am confident that in a year or two he should not provoke more than three rows at any wedding he attends.”