Almost Perfect (27 page)

Lord Bucksden was raging. Not that anyone but Cassie would have known it. He sat very quietly in his chair, no expression on his face. He didn’t tap his fingers, his toe, or even move a ring on his finger. Instead, he blinked. Not rapidly, but slowly and with such precision that it wasn’t natural. Every so often he turned his neck, still trying to escape his binding neckcloth.

“She’s quite the player, isn’t she,” Squire Kerr said in admiration, his accent so thick it took a moment for Cassie to decipher his comment. Like many of those watching, he’d lost himself to the tension of the game, moving closer with each hand until he almost leaned over Cassie’s shoulder. No one sat in the chairs any longer, including Philana. Two hands ago she’d come to whisper her regrets in Cassie’s ear, saying she needed air then left the chamber. She hadn’t yet returned.

“That’s an understatement,” Mr. Percy offered, standing between the seated Lord Ryecroft and Colonel Egremont. The dandy grinned. “Look at her hold her own against Bucksden!”

“I did warn Lord Bucksden of her skill,” Lucien said, his voice harsh and low.

That won him Lord Bucksden’s first burning glance of the game. The earl instantly turned his gaze back onto the cards he shuffled. He returned to his methodical blinking.

Cassie glanced at Lucien. He hadn’t moved since the partie began, but like Lord Bucksden he revealed his emotions in his body. So much tension filled the lines of his shoulders and legs that he seemed ready to explode into motion at any instant.

It was happening again, Lucien’s nearness and her confusion over what she felt for him feeding her skill. She could practically read Lord Bucksden’s hand through the backs of his cards, knowing almost before he did what he’d discard and what he’d keep. The edge had served her well. As they began their sixth and final hand of the partie, Cassie had a total of eighty-seven points while Lord Bucksden had accumulated only seventy-three.

Across the table the earl began to deal. Cassie bit her lip and watched her cards slide to a halt before her. She left them where they lay until the last one was dealt, then cupped her hand over them and sent a prayer heavenward, asking for a pique. That was only possible if there were cards worth a total of thirty points in this hand. The pique then doubled that score. Sixty points would give her an edge over Lord Bucksden that he could never beat.

She picked up her hand. Hope stirred. She had possibilities in clubs.

She chose her five discards, set them aside, then lay her hand atop the eight cards that made up the talon from which she would draw five to replace what she’d thrown. The sad certainty that there was nothing higher than a jack in that tiny stack flowed through her. Praying she was wrong, she took her five, looked at them, then begged for death.

Luck was happening. All she had in her hand was a quint in clubs, a series of five, and a quartorze, four queens. And she’d thrown all the defensive cards she needed to block Lord Bucksden’s play. If, and that was a great if, Lord Bucksden didn’t have more points than she did, the total point value of her hand was twenty-nine, one less than she needed for a pique.

Across the table Lord Bucksden held his cards close to his chest as he’d done all night. He didn’t like anyone staring into his hand and the press of Lord Ryecroft’s guests bothered him. He’d complained until the duchess finally demanded that Lord Ryecroft order his guests to move back from her precious earl. Even the duchess had retreated, taking a chair near his side and only daring to glance into his hand from time to time.

Whether he held his cards close to his chest or at arms’ length, Cassie had no trouble reading his hand. He had spades, of that she was certain, because she had none except her queen. But how many did he have?

She waited for him to show her the answer. Confidence began to radiate from him. Its intensity told her all she didn’t want to know. He had all the spades except her queen.

Then the corners of his mouth relaxed. He had better than seven spades. He had three more high cards, perhaps kings or aces, and most likely three of them. That left his last two cards small, eights or sevens.

Her heart broke into a thousand pieces. She’d lost. He had more points in his hand than she did, which meant she would gain nothing in the declaration. Then, he’d decimate her as they played. Desperate and doomed, she watched Lord Bucksden, waiting for him to set aside his two small cards, replacing them with two from the talon’s remaining three cards.

Instead, he chose three to discard. Surprise tore through Cassie’s despair. What was he doing? He’d broken his septieme, his series of seven. Who did that? It wasn’t worth trying to draw his fourth high card for his quartorze. Nor would he get it, not in that talon.

He lifted his discards out of his hand. Eleanor peered over his shoulder to see what it was he threw even though the knowledge did her little good, not when she couldn’t see what he kept in his hand. The duchess watched, hoping for a glimpse of the new cards he drew then leaned back into her chair.

Lord Bucksden stared at his hand for a moment, rearranged the cards then folded them. With his free hand he pushed away his discard pile. It was the earl’s one nervous table habit, and he did it with every hand. Cassie hadn’t yet discerned the meaning behind his seemingly fussy need to move his discards.

Once the cards he’d thrown were pushed to the side the earl shifted his folded cards from one hand to the other and pushed them around a bit as he reopened them. “Declarations?” he asked Cassie, looking at her from above his fanned cards. Confidence still wafted from him.

She frowned at him, undone by her own weak hand and his strange behavior. “Point of five,” she said.

“Not good,” he returned with a shake of his head. “Point of seven.”

Cassie’s breath stopped in her lungs. Stunned, all she could do was shake her head. He couldn’t have a point of seven. There were only eight cards in the suit. She had one and he’d thrown away one in his discard. All he had was six.

He frowned at her. “Mrs. Marston?”

Lucien shifted in his chair to look at her. Cassie strained to make her voice work. Nothing happened. She wanted to grab Lucien by his lapels and scream about what the earl was doing. Instead, all she could do was gape at him.

As if Lucien heard the words she couldn’t speak, vicious pleasure came to life in his gaze. Cassie’s breath rushed back into her lungs. Lucien believed Lord Bucksden had just cheated. His confirmation of what she’d seen freed her locked tongue.

She looked back at the earl. “You can’t have a point of seven,” she gasped. “You threw a spade.”

Her charge rang in the tense room. Someone gasped. Others began to mutter. Mr. Percy’s eyes jerked wide. His hand went to his stomach as if it hurt him. Colonel Egremont’s gaze narrowed in blazing anger.

Behind Lord Bucksden the duchess’s face paled until she was almost as white as her dress. She pressed a hand to her breast. The earl’s face could have been carved from ice.

“You’re wrong,” he growled, then tilted his hand away from his chest so all could see. He carefully fanned his cards so all the spades were exposed while keeping the rest of his cards tucked behind them, hidden from view. “There are seven here. Only an idiot would throw a spade when he has seven in his hand.”

“I’m not wrong,” Cassie insisted. “You dealt yourself seven spades then you threw the smallest one, hoping to replace it with a high card to make a quartorze.”

The earl started as she revealed to him exactly what he’d done. His surprise vanished beneath rage’s cloak. He roared to his feet and turned toward Lucien.

“God take you, Graceton! I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to this. You set a sharp on me. These cards are marked. No more! My original wager is legitimate. It will stand!” His words thundered in the quiet room.

Lucien came to his feet, moving like a man who had to fight to control himself. Those creases reappeared at the corners of his eyes. His mouth was tight.

“Mrs. Marston isn’t the sharp in this room. Every man here will attest to that. What she just did to you at this table she did to me two nights ago.”

“She did, indeed,” Lord Ryecroft agreed, his hands folded behind his head as he leaned back in his chair. Although his pose was casual there was a subdued tension to his form that hinted at an anger as deep as Lucien’s. “More to the point, how can you accuse Lord Graceton of trapping you when it was he who warned you about Mrs. Marston’s skill? No one forced you to disregard his warning,” he finished with a shrug.

“Lord Graceton speaks the truth. Mrs. Marston is no sharp. We all saw that the other night,” Squire Kerr seconded. Other men in the room echoed him.

“We did, indeed,” called Lady Barbara as she pushed past the squire, then worked her way around the table to her mother’s side.

Eliza followed Barbara, only to stop beside Cassie’s chair. Desperate hope filled in her gaze. The only response Cassie could give her was to grab her hand and hold on for dear life. No cheater was going to take her sister.

Lord Bucksden’s control over his expressions collapsed. He gaped openly as he was confronted by people vowing that his opponent was no sharp. Mr. Percy slammed his fist against the table.

“If Mrs. Marston says you discarded that seve, then you did it,” he almost shouted, his handsome face dark. “If we’re looking for sharps in this room, then I think we must look in your direction.”

Cassie caught a terrified breath. She’d better be right. Mr. Percy had just risked his life on what she’d alleged.

“Do you dare!” Lord Bucksden roared, pivoting to face the younger man, his cards still in his hands. As he turned his back the duchess leaned over to take his discards.

“I do,” Mr. Percy said, bowing. “Name your weapon, my lord. I am at your convenience.”

Across from Cassie Eleanor held up the earl’s thrown cards. There were only two, not three cards. The duchess closed her eyes and bowed her head. Barbara leaned over her shoulder, whispering. Eleanor shook her head then sent a hard-edge look at Cassie, as if she couldn’t bear the thought of having to support a commoner’s claim over that of a noble. She came slowly to her feet.

“And what of me, my lord? Will you call me out as well when I also name you a cheat?” she asked, her age-deepened voice cutting through the explosion of outraged comments.

Silence was immediate. It thundered in the room, louder than any sound. Lord Bucksden made a garbled sound and whirled to face his patroness.

“What nonsense is this, Your Grace?” he demanded.

“This nonsense,” Eleanor snapped and tossed the two cards onto the table so they lay face upward. It was an eight and seven of diamonds. “One seems to be missing, and that one happens to be the seven of spades. I know this because I watched you as you lifted it from your hand. You palmed the card.”

Colonel Egremont took a step toward the earl. “I think I shall have to beg a little of your time after you finish with Percy, my lord,” he said. Gone was the soft, plain young man who’d played charades with Eliza. A capable soldier stood in his place. “I suddenly find myself thinking that this might not be the first time you’ve done such a thing. Indeed, I find myself remembering that game we played, the one that cost me almost a thousand pounds.”

“I fear I see a trend forming, Bucksden” Lucien said, his harsh voice filled with hints of vindication and triumph. “How many more challenges will follow, my lord, as men begin to ask what happened when you sat at their card table? Tens? At least fifty.”

Lord Bucksden turned a sickly green beneath his bruising. Without a word, he left the table, starting for the door. Lord Ryecroft’s guests moved aside, forming a corridor so he could pass. To a one they watched his departure, their faces filled with disgust.

“Good riddance to him,” Eleanor sniffed. “His mother must have slept with the stable master. No true nobleman cheats.”

Eliza’s grip on Cassie’s hand opened. She dropped to her knees, sobbing. Cassie wanted to lean down and console her, but she lacked the will to move. Instead, she sat frozen, capable of nothing but staring at the card table’s surface, at her losing hand, and forcing herself to breathe.

It was over. Eliza was safe. And, she was as well. Lord Bucksden wouldn’t dare strike out at her, not after what he’d done here.

Squire Kerr lifted Eliza to her feet. “There, there, lassie,” he crooned, doing what Cassie couldn’t.

That freed Cassie to take her first full breath. Slowly, she turned her head to look at Lucien. He hadn’t moved. He still stood with his arms crossed, but his eyes were closed. Relief radiated from him.

As she read the message from his body her understanding stabbed through her. The ice shattered. Coming to her feet, she grabbed Lucien by the arm then yanked until he turned to look at her.

His gaze met hers. Grim satisfaction filled his eyes. She read the rest of his message.

“You used me!” she cried out, anger stirring anew at him. “You and Lord Ryecroft tricked him into agreeing to this game, expecting him to cheat!”

The noise in the room died, all except for Eliza’s now gentle sobs. Everyone turned to look at her. The satisfaction on Lucien’s face mellowed until he was again the man who’d greeted her in their bed this morning. Then, he smiled. The movement of his mouth was filled with love for her. Cassie stared at him, anger giving way to confusion.

“We did,” he agreed with a nod. “It was unfortunate but necessary, my love.”

My love? That he used the endearment in front of all these people punctured Cassie’s anger. The last of the tension that had sustained her over the past hours crumbled, leaving nothing but confusion. Her knees weakened.

He caught her by the arms. Emotions flicked through Lucien’s gray eyes, compassion, gratitude, but behind it all was love. Love for her.

Turning her, he put his arm around her then looked at their audience. “If you will excuse us? We need a private moment,” he said to the room.

The duchess made a disgusted sound, but a good number of the women laughed. A few men chuckled. As Lucien drew Cassie around the table and toward the French doors, Lord Ryecroft laughed.

“And the curtain falls,” he called after them.

Cassie felt as if she walked on stilts, her pace jerky, her footing uncertain as they exited into the warm and windy day. He led her around the house’s corner. It took her a moment to realize he was going to the alcove they’d used for their kiss that night. She balked.

“No, I won’t go there,” she cried, pulling her hand from his and backing away from him. “Nothing you do or say can change the fact that you used me to revenge yourself on Lord Bucksden. You put Eliza into danger. What if he hadn’t cheated?” Terror coursed through her at how close she’d come to losing the game.

Lucien caught her face in his hands. Cassie clamped her hands around his wrists, intending to force him to release her. His thumbs brushed her cheeks. All the strength left in her hands. Sensations flowed through her in an all too potent reminder of the joy they could make between them.

His skin was warm against hers. As it always did his nearness reached out to envelop her. His gray eyes softened.

“You’re right,” he said, his voice gentle, “I did use you. Tit for tat. Didn’t you admit to using me? As for your sister, I wouldn’t have let Bucksden have her, although to keep her from him I would have had to expose that story you told me. It wasn’t something I wanted to do. Now, don’t nag, Cassie. My little trick worked and he’ll live out his life on the Continent.”

His expression softened again, once again becoming the man in her bed this morning. “Cassie, marry me.”

It wasn’t a request, but a command. Her head swam. It was all too confusing.

“But I thought,” she started, only to let her comment fade into silence. How could she have been so wrong about him?

He smiled. “I know what you thought. You’re not the only one who reads others,” he said, then lowered his mouth to brush his lips across hers in a brief caress.

Cassie shivered, then pulled his hands from her face and stepped back, still holding his arms by the wrists. She collided with the statue’s base. “You were so cold when we left your lodge, and when you came to Ettrick House.”

Lucien laughed then stepped to close the gap between them. “Shame on you for having so little trust in your husband,” he said and again brushed his mouth across hers in gentle caress.

Cassie lost herself to the sensation. Her mouth softened beneath his. He made a pleased sound and freed his hands to pull her closer. That brought her to her senses. She braced her hands on his chest, holding him away from her.

“But you weren’t and aren’t my husband,” she told him. “How was I supposed to trust you?”

Lucien touched his lips to the spot beneath her ear. Cassie’s reluctant defenses against him strained, sorely tested.

“Of course I am, was, will be your husband,” he murmured against her throat. “Didn’t I tell you last night that we’d been married these past six years?”

Cassie couldn’t stop her laugh as he reminded her of their fantasy union. Her defenses sighed and melted, although she still craved an explanation for what had happened. She tilted her head to the side, giving him more of her neck to kiss.

“Six years, is it?” she asked.

He moved his mouth down to nuzzle at the place her throat and shoulder met. She shivered. He straightened.

“Marry me,” he repeated, again commanding, not asking.

Even besieged by her emotions Cassie refused to give way before she understood all. “If you weren’t disgusted by the tale of my father’s wager, then why did you turn your back to me in”--she caught herself before she said our bedroom--”your lodge?”

He grimaced. “Must I explain that?”

Cassie fought her smile at his chagrin. Whatever it was that had made him turn it wasn’t her or her tale. “Yes,” she said, commanding him this time.

He turned her so her back was toward the alcove then step-by-step, as if they were dancing, began to move her toward it. Cassie didn’t resist him this time. How could she when she wanted both the man who’d first taken her to that alcove and what Lucien intended to happen there? Her back came to rest against the alcove wall. Lucien almost leaned against her, the sensations awakening at their nearness strong enough to send Cassie’s need for him spiraling.

“I’m not a man who likes to make a show of anger,” he said, his expression a little guarded. “I knew Bucksden would want to hurt you after what you’d done to him and that left me wanting to howl in rage. I didn’t know how to protect you. My only purpose in turning away from you was to regain my control. Before I could, your aunt came and took you away.”

It was all the explanation Cassie needed. Her heart filled with him, almost aching with joy. Then the longing to once again be at his lodge, in their bed, rushed over her. She slipped her hands into his coat, resting her palms against his chest. The thick silk of his waistcoat felt rough against her skin.

“Now answer me,” he demanded, once again touching kisses down the length of her neck.

She shook her head, refusing him once again. “Explain to me why you had to behave as if you didn’t know me when you and Lord Ryecroft came to Ettrick House.” She thought she understood, but she needed to hear him tell her and she needed to prolong this moment.

He straightened and caught her face in his hands. Amusement filled his gaze. “You intend to make me work for my answer.”

Cassie gave a tiny nod, fighting her smile. She clasped her hands at his nape and pulled herself against him, teasing him. Heat flared in his eyes.

“Trust me. I have a very good reason for it,” she whispered, touching her lips to his in playful kisses.

When he could bear it no longer, he kissed her, filling the caress with all the passion he’d showed her this morning. His arms slipped around her. Cassie felt his desire for her against her hips.

At last he paused. “Bucksden couldn’t know there was a connection between you and me. If he had, he would never have accepted your challenge. Answer me,” he insisted at a whisper.

She shook her head again then touched tiny kisses along his jaw. “But you couldn’t have known I would challenge him,” she breathed against his skin, wanting Lucien as much as she’d wanted him this morning.

“You’re right, I didn’t. I arrived too late to discuss it with you, which was my intent,” he replied, his voice hoarse. “I don’t know how Devanney managed to keep a straight face when you made your challenge. I had to bend behind Percy’s horse so no one saw me grin. Why won’t you answer me?”

Cassie shifted to touch a light kiss to his lips, withdrawing as he tried to make the meeting of their mouths more passionate. She did it again, then again, because it fed her need for him.

“Because,” she said, punctuating her words with these tiny kisses, “the moment I tell you yes everything will change. You’ll take me back inside and announce our engagement then my aunt will take me home. We won’t be alone again until we say our vows. There’ll be no kissing, and only the briefest of touches, when I find myself desperate to know what it’s like when you bear my weight.”

Lucien groaned. He caught her mouth with his, his arms around her tightening. This time she didn’t deny him the passion of this morning. Her desire for him, glorious in its hunger, consumed her. They were both panting when Lucien broke their kiss.

Smiling, Lucien leaned his brow against her forehead. “I cannot wait to show you,” he murmured.

She shifted against him, earning a gasp of pleasure from him. “This is Scotland, not England. We can marry as we please,” she whispered, praying he’d accept even if the haste of their union would be unseemly. She was willing to do anything if it meant a swift return to their bed.

He slid a hand between them to trace the square neckline of her bodice against her skin. Cassie shivered, and cursed the conservative cut of her dress. He slipped his hand down until it rested atop her breast, then slid his palm over its peak. Her corset and gown didn’t allow much in the way of feeling, but just the suggestion of his caress was enough to make Cassie gasp.

“Not this time,” he said with a quiet laugh. “This time I think I want a grand ceremony.”

“Ahem,” Philana said from behind them. “Lord Graceton, this is twice today that I find you doing heavens knows what with my niece.”

“No,” Cassie cried, her arms tightening around Lucien, not ready to release him.

He gave a hoarse laugh. “I hope that wasn’t your answer, love.”

“Then, I now pronounce you man and wife,” said the vicar of Ettrick Village’s tiny church.

Wearing a hastily constructed pale blue gown and a fine new bonnet decorated with brightly colored ribbons and orange blossoms, Cassie turned to face her husband, resting her hands on his chest. Lucien looked wondrous in his black attire, wearing the waistcoat that was the color of his eyes, his sun-streaked hair brushing his collar.

Her heart filled with love for him, the emotion so intense that tears touched her eyes. He smiled, the bend of his mouth as happy as she felt. He didn’t wait for the vicar to suggest a kiss, but caught her face in his hands and took her mouth with his.

There was nothing subtle about his kiss. His need for her was enough to make her knees weak. Then again, four weeks without Lucien in her bed had been excruciatingly lonely. His nights had been no less empty, or so his lips told her.

It wasn’t much of a kiss needed to seal a marriage. Theirs stretched far that point. Their witnesses began to chuckle. Lucien smiled against her lips. He retreated a bare inch.

“I need you. We go straight to my lodge,” he breathed. “They can have the celebration without us.”

“Yes,” Cassie whispered in return, then they turned to be presented to the guests they intended to abandon.

The tiny chapel was filled. Philana, Eliza and Roland occupied the closest pew on the bride’s side. Lord Ryecroft and his sister sat on the other. All of the house party’s local guests filled the rest of the church, many of them applauding. The only one who was not participating in the joy was Lucien’s sister. Lady Milicent Waybourne shared the same raw-boned features and gray eyes as her brother. Where they lent him a rugged handsomeness they made her look formidable and austere. Nor was she particularly happy about her brother’s choice of wives, neither she nor the rest of high society. Cassie didn’t care a whit, not as long as Lucien loved her.

As they stepped off the altar step, Eliza bounded forward, the first to greet them, hugging Cassie and shaking Lucien’s hand. Now that Lord Bucksden’s threat was only a memory she looked like the girl she was. Eliza’s return to carefree innocence was premier among the many things for which Cassie was grateful to Lucien.

Roland replaced her. His arm was yet bound in a sling. He’d shed at least two stones over the past month. Although they’d had his clothing altered the garments still seemed to hang from him. Shame and gratitude filled his face as he shook Lucien’s hand.

“My lord, I cannot thank you enough for what you’ve done for my daughters,” he muttered.