Almost Perfect (11 page)

Cassie’s eyes widened. She closed the distance between them. “It’s your own death I see in your face,” she cried softly, her eyes alive with fear for him. “Tell me. What’s happened?”

Much to Lucien’s surprise the whole story--that he believed he’d caught Bucksden cheating at the tables, that Bucksden to protect himself from Lucien’s accusation had seduced the weak-willed Dorothea so any accusation Lucien made would seem petty vengeance, of the poor dead babe who might or might not have been Lucien’s son--crowded onto his tongue. He kept his mouth closed.

His anger over the wrong done to him by Bucksden and his wife was private, his own personal hell. If he wanted to soothe his rage, then he’d speak to Devanney, who knew the tale although he hadn’t been in England at the time the events occurred. Exposing it to Cassie would be an act as intimate as the kiss they’d shared last night. How could he contemplate offering her such honesty, and exposing himself to her ridicule? She was nothing more to him than a pleasant way to pass the two weeks of this house party.

“There’s nothing to tell,” he said, only to hear the bleakness she mentioned in his voice.

Turning his back to her, he stared down into the stream. Yellow pipe lined the banks, their tall, narrow leaves and yellow flowers shivering as water rushed over their roots. Golden coins of sunlight dropped through the overhanging branches to pierce the tumbling water. Where the light reached the stream bed he could see smooth cobbles and the occasional shadow of a fish.

Fabric rustled. Cassie was leaving him. The isolation of shame again closed its lonely hand around Lucien. He fell easily into its familiar grip, having come to know it well these past three years.

To his surprise Cassie appeared at his side. She stood with her hands folded before her. Bowing her head, she watched the shimmering, shifting water.

Lucien opened his mouth to tell her to leave, only to close it without speaking. He didn’t want her to go, but neither did he want her here. He waited for her to say something. One question, even an innocent comment, and he could dismiss her.

Still, she said nothing, only stared down into the water, bearing him company. Isolation’s grip shattered. As it retreated something warm and quiet stirred deep within him, both comforting and comfortable. Tension began to drain from him.

Time ticked past, measured by the gurgle of the stream, the nearby song of the wren and cooing doves, and the distant tap-tap of a woodpecker. Lucien’s rage continued to recede, doing so without effort on his part. One minute he smelled nothing but cold water and leaf mold, the next he savored the scent of Cassie’s rose perfume. With that scent came the recall of his mouth on her skin and his fingers in her hair.

Without thought, Lucien caught Cassie by the arm, turning her toward him. She looked up into his face. Concern for him filled her brown eyes. Her loosened bonnet ribbons streamed down the front of her riding habit, marking the lift of her breasts.

“Why are you here?” he asked at last.

“Because you needed a friend.”

Her answer was simple, but it revealed a truth he hadn’t given enough credence until this moment. He and Cassie were friends. They had always been friends, even after he’d so rudely abandoned her all those years ago.

With rage still seething in him, he lowered his gaze to her mouth and discovered another truth. There were two ways to soothe his anger. One was to talk his way out of it with Devanney. The other would be to make love to Cassie, venting into her body what had boiled in him for so long.

The thought was so seductive that he slipped his arms around her, drawing her close. She laid her hands on his chest, pressing back from him. The heat of her palms penetrated his clothing to sear his skin.

“My lord, this isn’t why I stayed,” she protested softly.

“I know that,” Lucien replied, speaking yet another truth. It might not be why she’d stayed, but the primal joining of their bodies was what he wanted from her now. Nothing else mattered.

He pressed tiny kisses to her mouth, her chin, her cheek then one to the corner of her jaw beneath her ear. She sighed at that, resistance beginning to drain from her. That was all the invitation he needed.

Lucien took her mouth with his, demanding she become the woman of the alcove. Her lips softened beneath his onslaught. He pulled her closer still. Her bonnet tumbled from her head, hitting the ground near her feet. With it went a pair of big haircombs. Her hair uncurled from its knot, spilling down her back in a glorious golden mass. Lucien thrust his fingers into its thickness, savoring its softness.

Shivering, Cassie turned her head to the side. “Let me go,” she whispered. “You must let me go, my lord.”

He didn’t want to let her go. He wanted to lay her onto the sod, cover her with his body then love her until he no longer remembered anything except her.

Anything but Cassie? He froze. Damn Devanney! His distraction was working.

Lucien’s arms opened. Cassie stumbled back a step as eager to escape him as he was to let her go. Stooping, she snatched up her fallen combs and bonnet then disappeared into the foliage along the stream’s bank. When she reappeared her hair was once more neatly confined beneath her bonnet. She stopped a few yards from him, well out of arm’s reach. It was her turn to look bleak.

“It shames me to know that I’ve lost your good opinion,” she said, her voice so low he barely heard her over the stream.

She turned and strode away from him. Lucien watched her disappear around the church’s corner. A new emptiness opened up within him.

If she thought she was the only one who paid a price for that kiss they’d shared last night, then she was wrong. Their kiss had shattered their ease with each other, irrevocably changing them. His life would be the poorer for that.

Closing his eyes, Lucien drove out all thoughts of Cassie. Simmering rage, born on the day Bucksden had seduced his wife, once more closed its hand around him. He sank back into its familiar embrace. There would be no more distractions.

Distraught, Cassie made her way around the corner of the ruined church as quickly as she could. She now knew exactly what happened to women who strayed too far from propriety’s boundaries. Never again would she banter with Lucien the way she had at the waltz, because he would never again respect any limit she placed on him. Instead, he’d see her every gesture as an invitation to join her in bed. What grieved her most was that despite the way their previous relationship had ended, she did consider--had considered--Lucien a friend. The desire they’d unleashed between them last night had irrevocably ended that.

“Cassie!” Philana caught her by the arm. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

Cassie blinked herself back into awareness, only to realize she’d walked the whole length of the church without noticing. She glanced around her. Beneath the arching canopy of broken stone vaulting over their head Lord Ryecroft’s guests strolled the church’s length in twos and threes, their footsteps muffled by the grassy carpet beneath their feet. Lady Ross’s young son climbed into an empty window and struck a pose. Animated conversation echoed from the altar end of the ruin. Wearing high-waisted riding habits in shades of green and blue, Eliza and her newfound female friends sketched from their seats on a crumbling length of gray wall dotted with tiny, star-bright daisies. Standing behind them were the party’s young bucks, busily complimenting the women they wooed on their artwork.

“What’s happened?” Philana asked.

The spray of gray feathers decorating the old woman’s bonnet rippled in the day’s gentle breeze. Her riding habit was a deep green, a color that suited her and made her blue eyes seem brighter. And, sharper, as if she could pluck out with her gaze what Cassie preferred to keep hidden.

Feeling as lonely as Lucien had looked a few moments ago, Cassie shook her head. “Nothing worthy of your worry, Philana.”

That was God’s own truth. No upright woman could have any pity for her. Lucien’s behavior this morning was exactly what she deserved, considering what she’d done with him yesterday.

The worry on Philana’s face shifted into pique. “What you use to put off your father won’t work on me,” she scolded then her gaze shifted onto something beyond Cassie’s shoulder.

The irritation cleared from Philana’s face. “Now that’s a pleasant sight for these old eyes.”

Cassie glanced behind her to see Lucien striding into the church. Despite all that was wrong between them she still reacted to his presence. How could she not? His buckskin riding trousers displayed his powerful thighs, his brown coat the breadth of his shoulders. He looked more privateer than titled nobleman, what with his roughhewn features, lightly curling hair and his sun-browned skin.

Cassie looked back at her aunt, determined to end her meddling. “Lord Graceton tells me that Duchess Eleanor expects him to wed Lady Barbara.”

“No,” Philana cried, her brows flying high. “He cannot seriously entertain such a notion. Why, the two of them couldn’t be less suited. Their union would be the same disaster his first marriage was, although not for the same reasons. At least Barbara’s not the brainless idiot Lady Dorothea was.”

Cassie didn’t know how great an idiot Lucien’s wife had been except that her name had been one of those scandalously linked with Lord Bucksden. By the time a widowed Cassie had returned to London, Lady Graceton had retired enceinte to Lucien’s estate, where she and her child later died. By then the gossips had moved onto the next scandal du jour.

“I tell you, Cassie, Lord Graceton is meant for you,” Philana was saying. “Everyone here can see it. Why, haven’t a dozen people told me what a handsome couple the two of you make?”

Cassie sagged, unable to bear her aunt’s persistence on this most painful subject. “Enough, Philana,” she pleaded. “Every time you speak of this my concentration flags. If I can’t concentrate, then I cannot win what I need to sustain my family,” she lied.

Philana’s face softened. She pulled her niece into her embrace. Cassie relaxed against her aunt, finding the warmth of Philana’s body as comforting as her familiar violet water scent. Only the little dignity Cassie had left to her kept her from burying her face against Philana’s shoulder and sobbing like a babe.

“Tell me,” Philana crooned. “Tell your auntie what makes you fret so.”

The dangerous desire to spill all the horrors of the past weeks washed over Cassie. She dare not, not when doing so compromised Philana’s safety. Cassie pulled free of her aunt’s embrace and took a step to the side. Confusion and hurt tangled in Philana’s expression. That she’d hurt Philana tore Cassie to bits.

“I can’t tell you,” she said, desolate that this was the only explanation she could offer. “Please don’t ask me why I can’t. Instead, say you love me still.”

The hurt faded from Philana’s eyes. She cupped Cassie’s face in her papery palms. “On that point you need have no worries. You will always be beloved by me.”

She lowered her hands, her expression firming. “Forgive me, but against your distress I must repeat my offer. Let me name you and your sister my heirs.”

When Philana first made the offer Cassie had been both awed and terrified. She’d refused then, just as she would refuse now. “You are good beyond what I deserve, Philana,” she said, grateful that Roland had chosen to remain behind and couldn’t hear this discussion. “You know I cannot accept. I couldn’t bear it if my father squandered your fortune the way he did ours. You cannot know how it feels to open your door to find some man saying he holds the mortgage on your home and is foreclosing.”

Philana made a gentle, distressed sound. “How I ached for you when I read that in your letter.”

She once more wrapped her arm about her niece, smiling, the light in her blue eyes radiating affection. “I think that things may be changing for you, though. The Roland of this house party isn’t the man I met at your wedding, or at Charles’s funeral. Is it possible he’s at last learned his lesson?”

The image of her satchel, stripped of every pence she had to her name, rose before Cassie’s inner eye. She shook her head. “Don’t trust him, Philana,” she said harshly. “No matter what he says or does, don’t trust him.”

“I must take your direction on that point,” Philana said, “since you know him better than I. Now, what do you say we go encourage the servants to lay out our picnic?”

Her suggestion had nothing to do with food. Rather Philana was offering the promise Cassie so wanted. She would no longer press Cassie about what bothered her, or attempt further matchmaking between Lucien and Cassie even though she might remain convinced of their suitability as a couple.

Cassie leaned her head onto Philana’s shoulder. “What would I do without you?” she asked, her voice trembling, her heart breaking.

If she did manage to win enough money to buy passage to America how would she ever survive leaving Philana, especially knowing the hurt she’d do her in going? If she failed to win enough money, how would she ever bear the look on Philana’s face when she learned her niece was a murderess?

“Pardon, Sir Roland,” asked Squire Kerr, “but would you be looking for a game tonight?” His thick Scottish accent tortured his request, suggesting he’d been born and raised here on the Border. The squire, a great bear of a man with a lantern jaw and graying hair, kept his voice low, not wanting to disturb Eliza as she sang accompanied by Lady Barbara. No London pretense for him; he closed his neckcloth with a simple knot while his leathery skin and callused hands suggested years working out-of-doors.

Cassie narrowly eyed him, wondering if he approached Roland because her father was such a poor player. The squire and his two companions had been her gaming partners last night after the stargazing expedition, which may have been why he wasn’t inviting her to his table. The three men knew each other well and Cassie had used their familiarity to her advantage, letting her winnings rise to fifteen pounds before giving them back most of what she’d taken. When she’d retired from the drawing room it was with a total of more than ten pounds in her reticule.

Longing washed over Roland’s face, but he didn’t shift out of his morose slump. Although not a hair on his head or crease in his neckcloth was out of place he still managed to look untidy. He shook his head. “Can’t. I’m listening to my daughter sing. Demmed fine voice she’s got.”

Roland laid a hand on Cassie’s arm. “Perhaps my elder daughter will prove a good substitute? She’s a fair player.”

The squire’s bushy brows wriggled in surprise at a refusal from a man once eager to sit at anyone’s table, but he nodded. “What do you say, Mrs. Marston? My partners tonight are set on Cassino and we’d like a fourth.”

Cassie came to her feet, smiling. “I’d love to join you, Squire. Lead the way.”

Following the big man across the room, Cassie marshaled her energy. The emotional upset at the abbey this afternoon had left her feeling unbalanced when she needed to be at her sharpest. Given the ease with which she’d won from these men last night, tonight could prove equally as profitable. The prospect of putting more than twenty pounds in her reticule was alluring, indeed.

Squire Kerr stopped at the table at the back of the room. Cassie heart sank to her toes. Colonel Egremont, dressed tonight in his more formal regimental coat, came to his feet. Lucien shifted in his chair to look over his shoulder at her.

No longer was Lucien the privateer of this morning, but an icy, powerful nobleman. The black of his formal attire and the stark whiteness of his carefully creased stock were as daunting as any armor. Tonight’s waistcoat, the same pale gray color of his eyes, had more life to it than did his flat gaze. It wasn’t hard to read the message in his eyes, not after this morning. To him she was a tart unworthy of his regard in polite society.

For just an instant she considered demurring and waiting for another game then discarded the idea as rank idiocy. All that could matter to her from now until the end of the house party was winning. She couldn’t afford to be picky about her partners since the duchess wouldn’t have her at Lord Ryecroft’s table. The only other card players in the room were the four guests at the far table and they had no space for another player.

“Have you come to join us, Mrs. Marston?” the colonel asked as Lucien came to his feet in polite recognition of her presence.

“I have, indeed,” Cassie replied, hiding her discomfort behind a smile as the squire pulled out the chair next to Lucien for her.

She sat, only to immediately wish she had the colonel’s chair. Despite his disdain for her Lucien’s presence enveloped her, sending her already rattled nerves skittering out of control.

Cassie planted her elbows on the table, and began to repeat to herself that she couldn’t lose, she wouldn’t lose. She just wouldn’t.

“The rest are mine,” Cassie Marston announced, laying out the king of spades. “I think that brings me to twenty-one,” she added without looking up from the table.

Outrage seared Lucien. “So they are,” he snarled as she again took the most points in their hand.

They counted their cards. Cassie had, indeed, reached the points necessary to win the game. His jaw tight, Lucien watched her claim more coins from him. He couldn’t remember ever losing so much in such a short period of time, and certainly not to a woman. By God, but she was up almost to the house limit of twenty pounds after only an hour’s play! Losses like this happened to Sir Roland, not to him.

Cassie drew her winnings closer, then nervously pushed a ringlet behind her ear, disturbing her coiffure. She wore no cap tonight. Instead, curling golden tendrils framed her face while the rest was drawn back into a wild knot at her nape. Her high-waisted gown was a pretty blue with long sleeves and a bodice far more conservatively cut than the previous night’s gown.

If not for Percy’s news of Bucksden’s presence at Hawick, Lucien might have seen her higher neckline tonight as an attempt on her part to restore the respectability she’d lamented at the ruins. But his rage earlier today had stripped him of his lust for her. Without desire to blind him he could see her for what she truly was: a sharp.

Cassino was a game that required a deal of luck according to some. Lucien knew they were wrong. To win at Cassino all a player needed was strong nerves, knowing when to build and when to capture. Lucien had better nerves than most men, but apparently not better than Cassie’s.

Her play was too perfect, building lines that no one else could match. She had to be cheating. He just couldn’t identify what or how she was doing it.

“I had no idea you were so skilled a player, Mrs. Marston,” Egremont said, his expression flat. Lucien cocked a brow at the young man. So, Egremont also suspected that Cassie had somehow manipulated the cards.

“I know. I can’t believe my luck,” she said, sounding more chagrinned than pleased by her good fortune. “I’ve never won like this. It can’t last much longer.”

As she spoke she sent a distraught glance in Lucien’s direction. That only fed his welling suspicions. She knew he watched her, something no innocent would have noticed. Nor would an innocent have worried over a run of luck. Men who believed fortune simply happened gloated, crowed and boasted when they unexpectedly won.

Not so card sharps. A good sharp was subtle and careful, picking his marks with care. Such a trickster never made an overt show of winning. That was the only false note about Cassie performance tonight. She was winning so obviously and with such consistency that it looked as though she meant to pick their purses.

Laughter exploded from the group across the room where a noisy game of charades proceeded. Egremont came to his feet and coolly bowed. “If you’ll excuse me? Mrs. Marston, your sister and her team are in dire need of my assistance. I’ve never seen such lackluster guesses in my life.”

Cassie blanched. She folded her hands into her lap. “But, I’ve never won like this before,” she repeated, her words sounding like a plea for understanding.

Across from her Squire Kerr grinned, revealing a missing right eye tooth. “That’s two nights in a row for you, eh, Mrs. Marston? It looks like you’ll get to keep all your winnings tonight instead of having to give it back the way you did last night.”

The gathering clouds of Lucien’s suspicion congealed into a thunderstorm. Blast it! She was a sharp, albeit a strangely careless one. Her greed tonight had gotten out of hand, that’s all.

Anger at the way she was using Devanney’s party for her nefarious scheme stirred, dark and deep, straining to share the space he’d given his rage at Bucksden. Then Lucien realized the full meaning of what she was doing. By God, it wasn’t just Devanney’s party she used, but him!

Hadn’t she made a fool of him, standing in the corridor with her naked back, tantalizing his desire for her, using his lust to take him for five pounds? Not quite five pounds. She’d given him that kiss.

His mouth tightened as he remembered the depth of his lust for her last night. She’d had to lose to him. If she hadn’t he would never have let her leave the table.

Against that he found a different meaning in the pattern of her wins and losses last night, especially the way she’d lost that last hand. He hadn’t won that kiss. She’d given it to him, no doubt considering it a small price to pay to take his money.

Lucien’s outrage grew. In the garden she’d counted on his friendship and his honor to prevent him from pressing their kiss to its ultimate conclusion. How she must have exulted when he retreated all the way to his bedchamber. With him gone she could practice her filthy trade without worrying about his scrutiny.

Seething, Lucien hooked a casual elbow over his chair’s delicate back. She’d picked the wrong man to use this time. He’d expose her for what she was, here and now.

“Congratulations on a stupendous run of luck, Mrs. Marston,” he said, his tone jovial. He glanced at the squire. “Is she doing as well tonight as she did last night, Kerr?”

“Better,” the big man said. “When all was said and done last night I’d only lost a little less than two pounds, but it was a near thing. At one point she had all but a shilling of my nightly purse limit.”

Cassie’s brow creased. Her smile sat crookedly on her lips. “That only shows how swiftly and completely luck can change.”

“Too bad I don’t have that shilling tonight,” Squire Kerr said without concern. Bracing his hands on the table, he came to his feet. “I’m done for. If you’ll excuse me?”

“No, wait,” Cassie protested, reaching out as if to stop him.

She looked frantic. As well she should. Lucien curled the corner of his mouth in scorn. She was too late to stop the squire or to prevent her exposure.

Lucien leaned forward, his forearms braced on the table. He bared his teeth in a smile. “Mrs. Marston, I find myself intrigued by your card playing. Did you acquire this skill of yours during your marriage? I have distinct memories of you refusing all card play six years ago.”

“Of course I played cards six years ago,” Cassie replied, swallowing, blaming Lucien to the depths of her soul for this catastrophe.

It really was all his fault. His nearness left her addled beyond cohesive thought. With her conscious mind despairing over the loss of his respect and her body reveling in his scent and the memory of his mouth upon her skin, she lacked the concentration to check her unusual skill. And in the freedom of the moment it was expressing itself to the utmost, joyously winning every hand without care or concern.

Even after she’d noticed what she was doing she couldn’t stop it. No matter how she tried to lose, she continued to win. It was time to quit, before things got any worse. As if they could!

“If you’ll excuse me, my lord,” she said scooping her godforsaken winnings closer to her.

Lucien caught her by the wrist. “No.”

“No, what?” she asked, looking into his face, her heart breaking. She’d thought losing his respect destroyed her. She was wrong. Having him think she was a card sharp was even worse.

His expression darkened until he looked as dangerous as Lord Bucksden. “No, I won’t excuse you. I want the chance to win back some of what you’ve taken from me.”

It was no request. If she didn’t agree Lucien would publicly accuse her of being a sharp. That couldn’t happen. Cassie needed to be able to play cards. Thirty pounds wasn’t enough to save her family. But how could she stop him?

As Cassie strove for some way to avoid his threat, someone tapped on her shoulder. She glanced behind her. It was Eliza. If not for the pink ribbon at her waist, Eliza would have looked like a specter for she was as pale as her white dress.

Cassie forgot the peril Lucien presented. She wrenched her arm from his hold and shot to her feet. “What is it?” she asked, pulling Eliza close.

Trembling like a leaf, her eyes alive with fear, Eliza put her mouth near Cassie’s ear and breathed, “Mr. Percy and Colonel Egremont were talking just now. Mr. Percy saw Lord Bucksden in the city of Hawick, no more than thirty miles from here.”

The earth shifted beneath Cassie’s feet, so great was her relief. The earl wasn’t dead. She wasn’t going to hang.

Terror followed. A living Lord Bucksden was far more dangerous than a dead earl. He’d come for them with revenge burning in his heart. She didn’t know why he hadn’t already appeared at Ryecroft Castle’s door, but he soon would. They had to leave England this very night! But, how? All she had was thirty pounds?