Authors: Denise Domning
It was a noble but isolating intention. Between looming disaster and the noise and closeness in the ballroom, Cassie’s head pounded. She opened her fan and plied it with vigor.
“You should make it your purpose to enjoy every moment,” Philana commanded Eliza. “It’s the duty of every beautiful young girl to wring as much gaiety from her day as she can.”
Cassie let her attention slip to the ballroom’s opposite end and the door that led to the earl’s drawing room, where the card tables were. She longed to be there right now, hard at winning what they needed to escape England. At the same time the thought of joining the gamesters terrified her. Because of that forgotten invitation she doubted she’d have the full two weeks to turn her twenty pounds into two hundred. Yet, if she made one mistake or won too consistently, someone would accuse her of being a sharp. The moment that accusation slipped from anyone’s lips Cassie would never again sit at a card table, and she and her family were doomed.
“Where did Sir Roland go, Cassie?” Philana asked.
“Hmm?” Cassie asked, rising slowly from the morass of anxiety she hid within her. “Papa? He went back to his chamber to retie his stock. He said it still didn’t look right. I fear he’s not tolerating his lack of a valet.” She smiled at her aunt. “Thank you again for sharing your maid with us, Philana.”
“Not at all. Betty enjoys the challenge and the chance to serve pretty women. My aged plainness bores her, I think,” Philana replied, then glanced behind her. “Ah, good. The musicians are returning.”
The men, dressed in black, their hair concealed beneath the wigs that belonged to the last century, worked their way past Cassie and her relatives. Grateful for any distraction, Cassie watched them wind around the next clutch of well-dressed gentlefolk on their way back to the chairs set for them in the ballroom’s corner.
“But if the dancing is to begin again where is Eliza’s next partner?” Philana asked, laughing as she caught Cassie’s sister by the arm, pulling Eliza close to her. “I shan’t tolerate any man abandoning you, my dear. Who is it? I shall go fetch him for you.”
Eliza grinned, having fallen as completely under Philana’s loving spell as Cassie. “Let me see,” she replied, consulting the pretty little brass-bound dance card that Lord Ryecroft had provided for all his female guests. “Why, it’s Lord Ryecroft who has this dance. Off you go, Aunt Philana. Bring him here by his ear, with apologies to me upon his lips,” she finished, shooting a laughing look from over the top of the tiny booklet only to straighten with a start, bright color flushing her cheeks.
“Oh! Lord Ryecroft. We were just speaking of you,” she stammered.
Cassie glanced behind her. Her heart lifted into her throat. Standing next to the darkly handsome earl was Lucien Hollier. Pivoting, her hand at her breast, Cassie stared at Lord Graceton, the man who’d broken a foolish girl’s heart.
Lucien looked even more handsome as a three and thirty-year-old widower than he had at twenty-seven. She didn’t remember him being so tall; Cassie’s head would barely reach his clean-shaven jawline. Lucien was no less fit, judging from the way his black coat clung to the powerful span of his broad shoulders. His snowy stock was the perfect contrast to his sun-browned skin and the golden streaks summer had burnt into the dark honey color of his hair. Above the rugged jut of his cheekbones the expression in his clear gray eyes was as intense as ever.
“Ladies,” the earl said, bowing.
Lucien neither bowed nor spoke, he only smiled, his full attention on Cassie. Every inch of her body came to wicked life. Her pulse pounded in her ears. His charming lopsided grin hadn’t changed at all.
“Why good evening, Lord Ryecroft.” Philana purred the greeting, coyly plying her fan. “And Lord Graceton. I had no idea you intended to participate in your cousin’s house party.”
Lord Ryecroft shot his kinsman a laughing look. “He wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t gone to that rustic hideaway of his and begged. I needed one more man to balance out the party.”
Lucien’s gaze never left Cassie. “More fool me for trying to resist him.”
Cassie shivered. How could she ever have forgotten his voice? It was as smooth and deep as dark velvet.
“Lord Graceton, do you know my nieces?” Philana asked, her voice tight with repressed humor. “The one you’re not looking at is Miss Elizabeth Conningsby. The one on whom your attention is so rudely fixed is Mrs. Marston.”
From the corner of her eye Cassie caught Lord Ryecroft’s grin. Behind her, Eliza tittered. Cassie couldn’t move, not while she was drowning in Lucien’s gaze.
The shift in Lucien’s smile said he recognized Philana’s taunt for what it was. He managed a swift glance toward Eliza. “A pleasure, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, then brought his attention back onto Cassie. “As for Mrs. Marston we are already acquainted.”
Eliza’s quiet gasp suggested an interrogation in Cassie’s future. Lord Ryecroft’s swift sidelong look at his cousin promised the same sort of inquiry for Lucien. Beside Cassie, Philana also shifted in surprise, her gown rustling.
“So we are, or were,” Cassie replied, giving them all the explanation they craved but couldn’t request. “Lord Graceton and I met during my season, eons ago.”
“Eons? Does it seem that long to you?” Lucien asked, still watching her as if she were the only woman in the world.
In that instant Cassie wished she were. It would be heaven to forget for just a moment that she stood at the edge of a horrible precipice, waiting for the gentle tap that would send her tumbling to her doom. She wanted to be the carefree girl of her season, the one who’d caught the eye of a handsome wealthy lord and dared to dream that he might offer marriage.
She told herself she shouldn’t. Wanting Lucien Hollier was dangerous. She’d learned that well enough six years ago. Not that his disappearance from her side had been unexpected, considering the sort of man her father had been and still was. What she hadn’t expected was that Lucien’s abandonment would be the first in a string of life-changing disappointments that persisted to this day.
“If not an eon, then a lifetime at least,” Cassie replied with a smile.
That made Lucien laugh, his amusement tinged with bitterness. Pleasure flared in his cool eyes. “Definitely a lifetime. Let me say that I renew our acquaintance with the greatest of pleasure, Mrs. Marston.”
Lucien extended his hand. Cassie laid hers into his palm. He brushed his lips across her knuckles. Her lacy gloves were no barrier. Her senses stirred sharply, filling with longing, the wicked, wonderful and totally inappropriate longing to feel his mouth on hers and his arms around her. However wrongly, however utterly impossible, Cassie still desired Lucien Hollier with all her being.
As Lucien straightened Cassie saw the mate to her attraction reflected in his eyes. “If you aren’t otherwise occupied would you consider joining me for the next dance?”
She hesitated. So far tonight she’d been out on the floor twice, only to find that her impatience to get to the card room left her incapable of enjoying the activity. Since then she’d refused all offers under the pretense of being Eliza’s chaperone, something that had outraged Philana.
Across the room the musicians tuned their instruments, preparing to begin their next set. Cassie knew the next piece was a waltz. It was a dance she loved, cherishing it above the usual jigs and promenades for the beauty of its movement.
Still, she commanded herself to refuse. Upstanding widows didn’t participate in waltzes, and Cassie needed everyone here to see her as an upstanding widow.
Nor did young women who hadn’t yet been presented to society.
Cassie’s refusal stalled on her tongue. Eliza wasn’t going to be presented to society and Cassie wasn’t an upstanding widow. She was a murderess who found Lucien’s presence here and his renewed interest in her too disorienting, unnerving and incredibly attractive to resist. To not have his arm around her and their bodies close was beyond bearing.
“Don’t be a fool,” Philana whispered. “Tell him yes.”
It was the gentle tap Cassie had so feared. She forgot everything: propriety, her threatened repute, the fact she’d killed an earl, that she needed to rescue her family. Instead, she went tumbling over the precipice, madly, wrongly, craving Lucien’s body close to hers.
“Yes,” she said, “I would like that very much.”
Cassie let Lucien take her hand. With Eliza and Lord Ryecroft following, they started toward the other end of the ballroom. As they went, more than one local woman in the knots and clutches of well dressed guests turned her feathered or flowered head to watch in disapproval. Their menfolk stroked their chins in new consideration as they eyed Cassie.
Their reaction didn’t surprise Cassie. She knew their sort of folk. During her marriage to Charles she’d lived about a hundred miles south of here, on the other side of the Scots border. No matter how eager these folk were to emulate London’s fashions both in clothing and cant they remained what they’d been born: country folk with country opinions. To them Almack’s approval was no recommendation and the waltz remained a decadent, immoral dance certain to lead to the debauching of England’s children.
She and Lucien stopped on the area of smooth parquet flooring set aside for dancing. There were only five other couples beside them and Eliza and the earl. Cassie recognized all of them from London.
Lucien put an arm around her then clasped her hand in his. In that moment Cassie knew the waltz’s detractors were right. Although the requisite space remained between their hips she felt as if Lucien held her intimately against him.
The corners of Lucien’s mouth lifted into a slight smile. “I forgot to ask. You do waltz, don’t you Mrs. Marston?”
“I do.” Before she’d known how impoverished they were she’d hired a dancing master to help prepare Eliza for her come out. The waltz had been one of the dances he taught, so Cassie had learned along with Eliza. They still owed the man half his fee.
“They don’t approve,” Lucien said, his gray eyes warm, the lift of his chin indicating the glowering guests.
The nearest violinist lifted his bow in direction. The warm voice of the viola sang out, followed by the deeper toned cello setting the dance’s distinctive pace. Lucien’s fingers tightened against the small of Cassie’s back.
“Come then, let’s show them the error of their opinion,” he said and in tune to the swelling music drew her into the glorious, graceful movements.
The years hadn’t changed his ability to move about the floor. By their first circle Cassie had forgotten that her head hurt or the weight of the task that lay before her. All that mattered was the beauty of the music and Lucien’s nearness.
She felt the heat of his hand against the small of her back. Every breath was flavored with his sandalwood scent. His gray eyes were intense. His sun-streaked hair curled lightly against the collar of his coat, tumbling forward a little so that it touched the strong line of his jaw.
Another wave of attraction washed over her, the sensation potent enough to make her shiver. The cunning lift of Lucien’s lips said he noticed. His arm tightened around her ever so subtly.
He lowered his head. “Holding you this way is like a glimpse of heaven,” he said, his rich voice barely audible above the music.
It was an outrageous flirt, a reminder of their shared past when Cassie had punctured the arrogance of any man who tried to employ such flummery against her. Fighting a smile, she fixed him with her most chiding look.
“Surely my lord, you can be more subtle than that,” she said, using the same words she’d employed six years ago to tweak him.
He laughed, his face alive with delight. “You haven’t changed a whit.”
Would that it were true. Smiling, Cassie shook her head as they glided into another turn. “You haven’t changed either.”
“What liars we are,” he said with a little laugh. “May I offer my condolences on the passing of Mr. Marston?”
Sadness touched Cassie’s heart then receded. What she liked most about Charles was the gentle sweetness he’d always shown her in their home, and in their bed. Blinding herself to what Charles did outside their home had been a tactic she’d learned at her mother’s knee, one that had failed her when she’d returned to her father’s house after her widowing.
“And, I must extend my condolences to you for your loss. It’s double mine,” she said. How she’d ached when she heard Lucien had wed. His wife, Dorothea Radcliffe, was exactly the sort of woman she’d expected him to choose: pretty, the third daughter of an earl and an heiress. Lady Graceton had died giving birth.
Something flashed through Lucien’s eyes. He nodded, accepting her remark then heat flickered to life in his gaze. “Now that we’ve addressed the niceties what do you say we immerse ourselves in the moment?
“You asked if I could be more subtle.” His smile was taunting. “Trust me, Mrs. Marston, I’m no longer the callow youth you remember. I can be very subtle.”
Cassie read the message in his face. It was the same message he’d sent her six years ago, although then he hadn’t known he’d been sending it. He wanted her, not as his wife, but in his bed.
Had it not been for Lord Bucksden this might have upset her. Swinging that urn had altered everything. She had two weeks, if that long, before her life irrevocably changed. Rightly or wrongly, until her family sailed to America or the Runners came to take her, Cassie wanted Lucien’s attention. She needed his pursuit to hide that she was no longer Cassandra, the upright, responsible widow who suppressed her own needs to tend to her family but Cassie, the slayer of earls.
“You call that subtle, my lord?” she chided. “Hardly. Why, you’re practically leering at me.”
His eyes widened as if in innocence, but lurking behind the pretense was surprise, pleasure and desire. “I’m certain I don’t know what you mean.”
“If that’s so, my lord, then I fear I must revise my opinion of you. The years have hopelessly dulled your intellect.”
Lucien threw back his head and laughed. Cassie laughed with him, enjoying herself. The heady sensation was as seductive and alluring as the nobleman with whom she danced.
His smile roguish, Lucien lowered his head near her ear. His attraction to her enveloped her along with his scent. Cassie’s body responded on its own. Three years was a long time to go without a man’s touch for a woman liked that sort of thing.
“Why bother with subtlety, Mrs. Marston, when I’d much rather prefer to grab what I want.” His fingers shifted against her back, making it clear what he wanted to take.
“Grabbing is frowned upon by we better sort of people, my lord,” she sniffed, toying with him just as he toyed with her. “So, what do you want so badly that you must grab for it?”
His eyes sparked, recognizing that she moved their game to a new level. He answered as they made another turn by tightening his hand at the small of her back. Their hips almost touched. A thrill shot through her.
“Passion,” he whispered.
“Ah yes,” Cassie agreed, all innocence. “Passion is a fine thing to feel. I’m passionate about art. Why, earlier I wandered Lord Ryecroft’s gallery. I vow the paintings done by his father fair stole my breath. What stirs your passion, my lord?”
Pleasure and desire filled Lucien’s gray eyes at her coy question. “At this moment I find I’m passionate about the curve of your lips. No statue, no painting,
no objet d’art
has ever so deeply moved me.”
As he spoke they made another a turn. Lucien used the movement to again draw her closer. This time their hips brushed.
Glorious heat tumbled through Cassie. She pushed herself back to a safe distance in his embrace. Lifting her hand from his shoulder, she held up a warning finger as the music reached its final crescendo.
“Retreat this moment or you’ll leave me no choice but to abandon the field. Where would that leave you, but wholly unsatisfied and in need of another woman to pursue?”
Amusement and surprise flashed through his gaze, but he loosened his arm around her then brought them to a halt as the dance ended. Keeping her hand in his he drew her fingers to the center of his chest.
“I quail at the thought,” he said, shaking his head. “Madam, we have failed.”
Cassie blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Didn’t we set out in this dance to convince observers that there’s no harm in the waltz?” he asked. “We failed. These yokels are right. The dance is decadent. Its movements must cause momentary madness, for nothing save lunacy could have caused me to confess my attraction to you. Tell me you won’t shun me because of my honesty.”
Laughing, Cassie took her hand from his and opened her fan. She peered at him over its lacy top. “You really are doing it too brown, you know.”
Lucien nodded, not in the least concerned that she wasn’t playing the part of a woman flattered beyond sensible thought. “I know. Forgive me. It’s just that I’m enjoying this so much I’m finding it hard to stop.”
Charmed, intrigued, flattered beyond sensible thought, although vaguely concerned about the strength of her reaction to him, Cassie snapped her fan shut and let it dangle from her wrist. “Enough! Take me back to my aunt.”
Lucien sighed and offered his arm. “If I must.”
They found Philana alone. Eliza had traded Lord Ryecroft for Colonel Egremont. Lucien released Cassie and stepped back. The distance that opened up between them felt like a chasm.
“Thank you for a most amazing dance, Mrs. Marston. Were I given the choice I’d have no one but you in my arms from this moment until eternity.”
Philana gawked at the outrageous blandishment. Cassie swallowed a giggle. A smile tugged at the corners of Lucien’s mouth. He bowed and excused himself.
“What was that?” Philana gasped when he was out of earshot.
“What was what?” Cassie asked blandly.
Philana almost stamped her foot. “Lord Graceton! What did he mean by what he said?”
“Oh, that.” Cassie idly examined the tips of her gloved fingers. “He means that he’d very much like to attempt a seduction.” Cassie glanced at Philana to gauge the effect of her words.
Her aunt’s brow creased as though struggling to add sums. “Too soon. What to do, what to do?” she muttered.
“There’s nothing to do,” Cassie replied, a little put out that Philana wasn’t shocked by what she’d said.
“Of course there isn’t,” Philana assured her with a touch of pique in her voice. “I know you. You’re far too proper to consider a liaison with Lord Graceton. More’s the pity.”
“Philana!” Cassie cried with all the shock she’d meant to elicit from her aunt.
Her voice was loud enough that those around them turned to see what was amiss. Philana smiled and waggled her fan at her neighbors. Not so Cassie. She again studied her fingers, waiting for their interest to wane.
Philana felt no need for such circumspection. “You misunderstand me, sweetheart,” she said. “I didn’t mean to suggest you should allow Lord Graceton to have his way with you, only that you take advantage of his attraction to you. Let him chase you, keeping him at arm’s length. The longer you let him pursue the greater his attraction to you will grow until he’s in a proper frenzy to have you. More than one woman has found her way to the altar by this tactic.”
Cassie might have gaped if her mother hadn’t long ago beaten the unmannerly expression out of her. She hadn’t expected Philana to be so obvious in her matchmaking, or so deluded. “Philana, Lord Graceton will never marry me.”
Philana frowned. “Why not? You make a handsome couple. I watched you dance. I saw the way he smiled at you. I’ve arranged stranger matches than this one.”
Cassie shook her head. While it was true that Philana had coordinated a number of matches that became successful marriages, she was wholly mistaken this time. Unfortunately, once Philana decided she was right about a couple she could be dogged about forcing the match to its conclusion.
“It doesn’t matter what you saw, you’re wrong,” Cassie said, stifling a sigh. “Trust me, for I know this better than any other woman in this chamber. Lord Graceton has no marital interest in a widowed gentlewoman with an impoverished wastrel for a father.”
Philana’s jaw set stubbornly. “And I say Lord Graceton will follow his heart, and his heart leads him to you.”
“You’re mad,” Cassie snapped, her voice made harsh by her own bitter experience with Lucien. Six years ago he’d worn his heart on his sleeve, displaying his interest in her so boldly that Cassie had forgotten to be sensible. She’d begun to listen to her own heart’s promises that he loved her.
“Trust me, Philana. Men of his rank don’t wed down, no matter what their hearts may say. Please, no more matchmaking, not for me,” Cassie added. “I cannot bear it now, not when I already have so much upset in my life.”
Philana’s jaw softened. Remorse filled her eyes. “So you do, dear. So you do,” she said, then added to herself, sotto voce, “which is why you must marry Lord Graceton.”
Cassie’s head began to throb, this time in earnest. She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to ease it.
“Ach, you poor dear. Is your head hurting again?” her aunt asked.
Cassie nodded. “I’ve a powder for it in my room.”
“Go, take it and rest for a bit,” Philana urged. “That way you’ll be restored in time for the evening meal.”
“Will you tell Eliza and my father where I’ve gone?” Cassie asked, wanting nothing more than to retreat to her bedchamber and pull the bedclothes over her head. Instead, the time had come to begin playing cards.
With a grimace Philana said, “I forgot. Your father returned while you and Lord Graceton danced.” She fell silent, twisting her hands and looking so hesitant that Cassie frowned at her.
“Is something wrong?”
Concern darkened her aunt’s face. “I’m sorry Cassie, but he slipped around the edges of the room as if he didn’t want you to see him making his way into the card room.” She sounded helpless and worried. “I considered stopping him, but it really isn’t my place to interfere, is it?”
Concern tore through Cassie, but she quelled it. Roland had been different since they left London, quieter, a bit humbled. He hadn’t once overindulged in drink along their route.
Most importantly, he didn’t have any money. Did he? Concern nagged. Oh, Lord but she hoped his purse was empty.
Burying her new worry, Cassie offered Philana a reassuring smile. Whatever happened she didn’t want her aunt blaming herself. “He can do no harm.”
Philana smiled in relief. “Thank heavens. Now go, take your powder.”