In the Garden of Seduction (2 page)

This explained where the air was coming
from, he thought, for the shutters had been thrown open to the
night. Perhaps the person standing in front of the window had felt
the need to escape the heat just as he had. Reaching the screen, he
peered around the corner.

His lungs contracted.

Corinna!
Beautiful, wild Corinna. Had
she returned from France? Simon was astounded, for he’d never
thought to see her again, and here of all places.

She stood with her profile turned away from
him, head thrown back, her lovely throat exposed to the moonlight.
Having loosened the ribbon at the bodice of her gown, she had
pulled the neck wide, apparently taking advantage of the cool
breeze. Her hair, a deeper red than he remembered, was piled high
on her head as dainty tendrils blew gently about the side of her
face and along her jaw. Had she taken to using henna? He smiled to
himself. Corinna had always been vain.

On impulse—an action probably inspired by
that last glass of champagne—Simon edged silently behind his former
lover. Now at her back, he placed his hands to her waist and drew
her tightly against his chest.

“Corinna,” he whispered hotly into her ear,
“I’m delighted to see you. You are the very thing I need to end my
boredom.”

Simon felt her stiffen and could not resist
the desire to place his mouth to the delicate curve of her neck,
tasting the sweet, satiny skin. She smelled wonderfully of a scent,
light and floral, unlike the heavy cologne of his memory.

She did not move and embolden by her
acquiescence, he ran his palms over her hips and around to her
middle, splaying his fingers over her flat stomach. She had lost
weight. Her figure seemed firmer—younger? So caught up was he in
his sensuous exploration, Simon ignored a subtle alarm. Instead, he
continued his search, enjoying the feel of her body as he sent his
caress up her rib cage.

Only when he took hold of her breasts did he
realize his mistake. He heard her sharp gasp at the same moment
Simon knew he held the wrong person.

“I am not Corinna, sir. Please, unhand
me.”

At the sound of the injured words, Simon
fell away from her as though he were clutching nettles. No, that
definitely was not Corinna’s husky French speech.

“I beg your pardon—” he began, shaken by his
unbelievably awkward blunder.

“Just go, I beg you,” the lady interrupted
in a strained voice thick with emotion. She turned further away
from him as she gripped the top of her gown.

She didn’t want him to see her face that was
clear, and the gentlemanly thing would be to leave her alone.

“Please forgive me. I meant no harm,” he
said, moving quickly to the other side of the screen.

He left the room and walked down the hall,
his mind working furiously. Surprisingly, he wasn’t the least bit
disappointed that the redhead in the Chinese parlor was not
Corinna. Corinna was a part of his past and should undoubtedly
remain there. But then why had this woman hesitated until he had
thoroughly insulted her before informing him of his error?

Simon knew he ought to leave now, as he had
meant to do after he finished in the water closet. However, he was
no longer bored—he wanted to find out who the young lady was. He
wished he had seen her face, but with her distinctive red hair she
shouldn’t be hard to locate.

Having made this decision, Simon went
looking for Mrs. Witherspoon.

*****

Cassandra waited until she heard the door
close before she found the strength to move. How could such a
mortifying thing have happened? With trembling hands she pulled the
ribbon at the neck of her gown but, try as she might, could not
make her shaky fingers tie a presentable bow.

All she had wanted was a breath of fresh
air. The heat was oppressive and her head had felt light. Mrs.
Witherspoon had directed her to this small parlor, saying the
ventilation was much better at the back of the house.

The room was unoccupied, and Cassandra had
believed herself safe behind the Chinese screen. She had loosened
her bodice, basking in the night air that flowed through the open
window.

She had not heard anyone enter the parlor.
And more unnerving, she hadn’t been aware of the man’s presence
until he grabbed her from behind. She should have screamed or
offered some resistance, but she’d been too startled to react
quickly. Cassandra wondered if the man was still on the premises.
Would he recognize her? She felt almost positive he had not seen
her face.

She drew in a deep breath, filling her lungs
with the spicy air in the room. Nothing for it, she thought
morosely. She had no choice but to return to the party. Sophy would
be looking for her. Taking her courage in hand, she came around the
screen, walked to the door and stepped into the hallway.

“Where have you been?” Sophy Willis greeted
her as Cassandra entered the main drawing room. “I’ve been looking
everywhere for you.”

“I told you I was warm and needed some fresh
air,” Cassandra snapped. At the look of reproach on Sophy’s plain
face, she tempered her words. “I’m sorry. I
have
been gone a
long time. The heat made me feel unwell.” She wanted to tell her
friend about her frightening experience with the unknown man but
could not bring herself to recount the humiliating episode.

Sophy, ever forgiving, smiled. “Do you feel
better now?”

Cassandra dipped her head, her thoughts
elsewhere, unable to dispel the self-conscious mood that now
gripped her. She scanned the crowded room warily, searching for the
wolf that lurked among the sheep.

“What have you been doing while I’ve been
gone?” she asked absently.

“Watching people. I’ve never seen so many of
the quality in one place before.”

“Yes. I understand the ton has taken quite a
fancy to Mr. Plimpton.”

“Someone said the Duke of Ambrose attended
this evening for that very reason. Can you imagine?”

“What did he look like?” Despite herself
Cassandra was intrigued.

“I can’t say—never saw him. But I wish I
had, for I’ve never seen a duke before,” Sophy said breathlessly.
“I suppose I’ll have to be satisfied with knowing he and I were in
the very same room, quite possibly at the very same time. Won’t our
friends be impressed?”

Cassandra laughed. “Sophy, I wager a duke
looks fairly much like everyone else except perhaps for his nose
rising above the crowd.”

Sophy put her hand over her mouth, nodding
as she giggled into her palm.

At that moment, Mrs. Witherspoon came up to
her two young guests. “Girls, girls, can you believe the success of
my little party?” A self-satisfied smile brightened her plump
features, which were shiny pink with perspiration from the heat and
her own exertion.

“Quite a crush,” Cassandra said
politely.

“Indeed, but it does make the atmosphere a
bit sultry, doesn’t it?” Hanky in hand, Mrs. Witherspoon patted her
damp forehead. “Tell me, Cassandra,” she said nonchalantly, her
small, dark eyes flicking about the room, “what did you think of my
Chinese parlor?”

Cassandra felt her face grow red. “I—I
thought it was extraordinary.”

Mrs. Witherspoon’s gaze slid in Cassandra’s
direction. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” She linked arms with
both young women. “Come, I have someone I’d like you to meet.”

“You have?” Sophy asked.

Their hostess smiled coyly. “You’re
garnering notice in high places this evening, Cassandra.”

Cassandra glanced at Mrs. Witherspoon then
focused her attention on the gathering, curiosity aroused. Her
scrutiny fell on a tall, dark-haired man who lounged against the
doorjamb of the entrance to the drawing room. She would have looked
away, but he was staring directly at her. Allowing her gaze to meet
his, she found herself drawn in by a pair of smoldering black eyes.
Her heart began to flutter queerly.

She turned her head, ending the eye contact,
but quickly realized Mrs. Witherspoon was conducting their
footsteps in that same man’s direction. Cassandra wanted to dash
from the room. Unfortunately, that was not a dignified response to
the sudden misgiving flooding her chest.

As they reached the man, he straightened
from the doorjamb and Mrs. Witherspoon began speaking in a feathery
voice. “Lord Sutherfield, I would like to introduce you to Miss
Sophy Willis and Miss Cassandra James,” she said. “Girls, this is
the Marquess of Sutherfield.”

He was a marquess!
Cassandra sent the
handsome nobleman a surprised look and he grinned, his gaze resting
on her for just a moment longer than necessary.

“My pleasure, ladies,” he said on a bow.

“My lord,” Cassandra acknowledged
nervously.

Sophy merely opened and closed her mouth
like a landed fish, gasping for breath.

“Now, Sophy, you and I shall find ourselves
some refreshment. I’m parched, how about you?” Mrs. Witherspoon
grabbed hold of Sophy’s arm, dragging her unceremoniously away.

Mrs. Witherspoon’s ploy was so obvious and
so clumsily done, all Cassandra could do was watch in embarrassment
as the two women left her standing alone with Lord Sutherfield.

“I can’t imagine why Mrs. Witherspoon did
that,” she said, unable to look at him directly.

“Because I asked her to.”

Cassandra gaped at him. “I beg your pardon,
my lord?”

Lord Sutherfield stared down at her, an
unfathomable expression shading his intense black eyes. Once again
she noticed the overwhelming magnetism of his regard. He did not
speak, but his gaze drifted down the slope of her shoulder to the
soft swell of her breast. It was a bold, appraising look and she
shivered despite herself. Before she could react, he moved nearer
and coiled a few strands of her hair around his index finger. He
made a point of examining the silky threads.

“I’m very fond of this shade of red.
Amazing, though, not a freckle to mar those exquisite features. I’m
entranced.”

“Stop it!” she whispered. “Someone will hear
you.”

“You could be right,” he said slowly as if
considering her point. “Perhaps you would like to join me where we
could be a bit more private.”

Cassandra felt the blood drain from her
complexion. “What do you mean?”

“Would you like to share a midnight supper
with me?”

She stepped back swiftly as though he had
slapped her. “I think not.”

“Why?” He gave her a boyish grin. “It’s
harmless enough, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it depends on which side of the
social spectrum one resides, my lord. From my point of view, it
would be a disaster. I can’t speak for you.” Cassandra was so stung
by his transparent lack of respect, she felt her vision cloud.

He stared at her for several seconds,
apparently reassessing the situation. “I apologize. I thought—”

“You thought,” she interrupted in an acid
voice, “I would be flattered by the attentions of a titled
gentleman. Believe it or not, my lord, even those of us who
populate the lower classes do have some moral standards.”

“Now wait a minute—” he began.

Cassandra leaned close to him again and
looked him directly in the eye. “There is only one reason a man of
rank approaches a woman of my station. Please forgive me if I seem
less than grateful.”

She spun away from the marquess intent on
leaving, only to be stopped by a sudden burst of intuition. Turning
slowly around, she glared at him.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” she said
tightly.

The expression on his face was closed and he
did not respond. Impatient and unwilling to wait for an answer, she
gave him her back and went in search of Sophy.

“But, Cassie, why must we leave?” Sophy
complained a few minutes later as her friend herded her to the
front entrance. “You haven’t told me about the marquess.”

At the mention of that wayward gentleman,
Cassandra could not prevent a backward glance in his direction as
she moved to the front door. He stood where she had left him, and
he was watching her still.

She half expected him to appear angry, but
she didn’t detect that in his manner. Instead, he took a slow sip
of his drink as he scrutinized her over the top of his glass, a
calculating look on his lean, swarthy features.

He nodded at her but nothing flirtatious
showed in the gesture this time. She wondered if the hurt she felt
showed on her face. She hoped not, for pride was the only thing
sustaining her at the moment. Cloaked in what remained of her
dignity, she stepped over the sill, following Sophy into the
night.

*****

Sometime before dawn Simon came to stand on
the walk outside Mrs. Witherspoon’s town house, one of the last of
her guests to go home. Strange he had stayed so long when he’d been
determined to leave hours before.

He gazed at the stars overhead, winking at
him from a cloudless, blue-black sky, and for several moments he
permitted his thoughts to rest on Miss Cassandra James.

He had a difficult time erasing the image of
the wounded look in her expressive blue eyes. And it troubled him
to admit his lack of sensitivity was the direct reason for her
distress. She certainly had given him a royal set-down. He hadn’t
much liked it, but in all fairness he supposed he had deserved
it.

Somewhere in the city she was sleeping. That
thought conjured an enticing image alive with lush red curls
splayed on an ivory satin pillow.

His breathing accelerated.

Simon hadn’t lied when he told her he liked
her hair. He had, in fact, a partiality for redheads. Miss James
had an abundance of luxurious auburn tresses and fine-looking skin,
clear and unblemished. A fine straight nose and a full luscious
mouth accented a pair of the most incredible deep blue-green eyes
he had ever seen. And her body, well, what could he say? She was
made in the manner that pleased him most—slim, yet voluptuous.