In the Garden of Seduction (20 page)

“Simon…” his name fell from her lips on a
frantic moan. “Simon…”

“Yes, love,” he beckoned her, his voice
hoarse in his aroused state. “I’m here. Come with me.”

She heard his entreaty as if from a long
distance. Where did he want her to go with him? The mesmerizing
rhythm continued unabated, and with it her escalating excitement.
From deep in her brain, now clouded with passion, she wondered what
it would be like if there were no clothing between them where his
thigh rubbed her so intimately.

Without warning, Cassandra cried out as a
great coiling spring burst free within her, drenching her
stimulated body in rich, voluptuous sensation. Spasm after glorious
spasm shook her, before they gradually died away, leaving behind a
tingling warmth. Spent, she sobbed breathlessly, shuddered
uncontrollably.

Her knees buckled. She clutched at Simon’s
coat with trembling fingers but did not have the strength to hold
herself erect. He straightened and grabbed hold of her arms.

“My love,” he whispered thickly, holding her
close, “you don’t know how you please me. You exceed my wildest
expectations.”

Cassandra gazed up at him through misty
eyes. How had she pleased him? Did he understand the shocking thing
that had just happened to her?

“Please, take me back,” she said in a broken
voice, utterly humiliated.

“Can you stand?” Simon asked, his manner
turning brusque.

That dark, hungry look still masked his
features, and though his words were pinched with frustration,
Cassandra sensed his concern. When she nodded, he helped her into
the top of her gown with capable hands. That complete, the marquess
took a red curl which had come loose from her hair, and with
visible tenderness, placed it behind her ear. He drew in a heavy
breath that shook slightly and released it through his mouth. He
conveyed the impression that he was in control. Perhaps he was
not.

Cassandra, too exhausted to do anything but
follow, allowed him to take her elbow, leading her back in the
direction they had come from. Her legs were still unsteady, and she
leaned on his arm for support. Moments later they reached the
French doors of the morning room.

She turned to enter the house, her eyes
downcast, hoping to avoid speaking to him again.

He grabbed her wrist. “Cassandra, look at
me.”

Cassandra could not ignore the urgency in
his voice. She scanned his features, desperate to understand.

“What do you want from me?” she begged, now
close to weeping.

“I wish I could tell you, love. I’ve never
met a woman who so completely deprives me of my gentlemanly
instincts. All I know is that I don’t want you to go away from me
angry.”

His smile was gentle with understanding. He
raised his hand to her face, drawing his thumb across her eyebrow,
over her cheekbone, down her jaw. Simon’s gaze glowed with things
remembered.

“It was intense back there,” he said, “and
if I’ve distressed you, I pray you forgive me. I was sincere when I
said I don’t want to hurt you.”

Too late for that, she thought. Cassandra
nodded at him in agreement, though, because to tell him how she
really felt would have been too painful.

“I look a sight,” she said, changing the
subject.

“Hardly,” Simon countered, an ironical gleam
in his eye. “But we will probably have to explain why you’ve been
missing. Go back inside and lie down on the sofa. That will account
for your rumpled appearance. I’ll reenter the house from the front
door to insure no one sees me coming from here. Complain of a
headache. That’s a plausible excuse for leaving the party.”

It was a scheme as good as any, she thought.
Cassandra doubted seriously whether or not they could pull it off,
but she was so distraught, she’d stopped caring. She moved into the
morning room.

Simon stopped her again. “Cassandra.”

“Yes?” She sent him an indifferent
stare.

“This is not the end.”

She had the oddest impression that he was
informing himself as well as her. Since she could think of nothing
to say, she closed the door without responding.

Cassandra moved to the sofa and sat down,
taking her weight off weary legs. Lord Sutherfield didn’t know what
he wanted from her, but this was not the end.
Wonderful.
Exactly what did that mean?

Did it matter, really? Her grandfather
expected her to marry cousin Roger—Roger who was infatuated with
Penelope. The only thing she wanted was to run swiftly back to
London and her father. Life had become too complicated, too
overwhelming. She placed her face in her hands.

What had happened out there in Mr. Stiles’
garden? How could she have acted so wantonly? And what, oh, what
beguiling sensations had overcome her treacherous body to make her
forget herself?

The door to the morning room burst open and
Roger, followed by her grandfather, shot into the room.

“Cousin, we’ve looked everywhere for you.
Where have you been?”

Cassandra ignored Roger, directing her
answer to earl. “I have a headache. I thought it might help if I
rested for a little while. I’m sorry if I worried you.”

Her grandfather studied her through
suspicious eyes. “I was in here not long ago, Cassandra. You were
not on that sofa.”

“You don’t say!” Roger looked shocked.

She sent him an irritated glance, before
bringing her attention back to her grandfather. That took a
precious moment, which was a good thing because she needed time to
think.

“I was ill,” she lied.

“Ill?”

“Yes. The pain in my head upset my stomach.
I’m afraid I lost my dinner in the retiring room down the hall.
Perhaps when you came in here, that’s where I was…i-in the retiring
room, that is,” she stammered.

Cassandra was very glad the lighting was
dim, for telling lies always made her face red. At the moment, her
cheeks burned. However, it seemed she had picked the one reason
that would require no further explanation. Both men stared at her,
each wearing the same appalled expression.

“My dear…” The earl cleared his throat. “I’m
sorry you’ve been unwell. I think we need to take you home and to
your bed.”

“Have I caused an uproar?” she asked
cautiously, dreading the answer.

Her grandfather looked embarrassed. “We did
not raise the alarm because, quite frankly, I didn’t know where you
had gone. With Lord Sutherfield here and all, well…you understand.
He hasn’t exactly made a secret of his interest, and you were
talking with him earlier.”

Cassandra wanted to challenge his distrust
but he was so close to the mark, she could not bring herself to
deny his suspicions. Now was not the time to be outraged,
especially after her little episode in the garden with the
marquess. The earl had a right to be concerned. She was truly
concerned herself.

She moved into the hall flanked on either
side by her male relatives. Penelope met them in the entry.

“Cassie, where have you been?” she demanded
in a shrill voice, loud enough to attract the attention of several
people in the vicinity.

“Penelope, I would rather you not publicize
your cousin’s disappearance,” the earl said severely. “She’s been
ill and resting in the morning room. Let’s leave it at that, shall
we?”

“That’s what Lord Sutherfield thought might
have happened.”

Cassandra sent the tiny blonde a look meant
to kill. “How clever he is,” she said through clenched teeth,
refusing to acknowledge the piercing glance her grandfather sent
her way.

A disturbance outside created a welcome
diversion. Shouting could be heard coming from the front lawn. Mr.
Stiles pushed his way to the hall entrance and yanked open the door
with a number of his guests following closely behind him.

Cassandra was one of the first people to
step outside, and she searched for the source of the trouble. Mr.
Bailey! Oh, no, she thought in despair. What else could go wrong
tonight?

The man was reeling, drunk as always it
seemed. A groom tried to subdue him, though clearly Bailey was
having none of it.

“What is this?” Mr. Stiles barked.

“You’re the gent what’s got my son, and I
want ‘im.” Timothy’s father pulled free of the groom and lurched up
to the step. “You may be quality, but there’s still a law against
kidnappin’.”

“This would be better discussed in the
morning when we all have clearer heads,” Harry said.

“You think to put ol’ George Bailey off, do
you?” Bailey belched, revealing his contempt. “I don’t think so.
For me this is as good as it gets.”

“I wouldn’t doubt that for a moment. Still,
I consider tomorrow a more appropriate time for the rest of us. I’m
afraid you are going to have to go along with my decision.”

“To bleedin’ hell with your decision,”
Bailey exploded. “I want Tim and I want ‘im now.”

“Excuse me, maybe I could be of help.”

Cassandra recognized Lord Sutherfield’s
voice as he separated himself from the other guests and approached
the intruder.

“Oh, yeah? And what’s a prime blood like you
gonna do for the likes o’ me?”

“Let’s not fool ourselves, Bailey,” the
marquess said in a cool voice. “I have no desire to help you. My
concern is for your son. He was in poor health when he came into
our hands. He had been beaten severely and his arm was broken. I
admit I’m very reluctant to send Tim back into the same conditions
from which he was rescued.”

“See ‘ere, now. I don’t know nothin’ about
no beating.” For the first time, Bailey seemed aware of the people
who had spilled from the house, and his glance shifted uneasily
about the gathering.

“Let’s not bandy words. I have a proposition
for you and I would appreciate if you would give me a listen.”

Simon’s voice sounded neutral, almost
indifferent, but Cassandra knew he was angry. Something about the
way his hand curled into a slow fist warned her. If Tim’s father
were wise, it would warn him, too.

“I’ll listen.” Bailey’s posture was still
hostile, but he also watched Lord Sutherfield’s clenched hand.

“I would like you to give up your parental
rights to Timothy. Now wait a minute.” The marquess raised a hand
when Mr. Bailey began to splutter incoherently. “There’s more. In
exchange for your promise to give over the care of your son, I will
pay the sum of one hundred pounds.”

“Wh-what? Do you mean it? A hundred quid?”
Bailey looked dumbfounded.

“Yes, I do. There will be papers to sign. I
want it legal.”

“That’s no problem, no problem at all.”
Bailey’s attitude took a complete reversal with the promise of
unexpected wealth.

Thus Cassandra and the rest of the company
watched in silence as Lord Sutherfield negotiated the purchase of
Mr. Bailey’s son. One hundred pounds was an astonishing fortune to
a man of George Bailey’s background, she thought sadly. Yet she
felt dismayed by his willingness to barter away his child even
though she assumed extreme poverty could bring out the worst in a
person. These were the harsh realities of life, she knew, but
somehow it was easier to ignore them when glimpsed from afar.
Tonight she had gotten a close and very personal view.

With the promise to return the next day to
finalize the arrangements, Mr. Bailey turned to leave. As an
apparent afterthought he looked back at Simon.

“Hey, you’re not one of those blokes what
likes young boys, are you?” He shook his head. “Don’t matter. I
s’pose he could have a worse life than that. Starvin’s worse,
that’s for sure.” He laughed raucously as he stumbled into the
gloomy night.

“Filthy bastard!”

Lord Sutherfield had said aloud what
Cassandra could only think. From the expressions on the faces of
those around them, she and the marquess were not alone in their
assessment.

Simon looked as though he wanted to rush
after the drunkard and throttle him. In fact, he took a step in
that direction before Mr. Stiles placed a cautionary hand on his
friend’s arm.

“He’s not worth it, Simon. You’ve done a
fine thing here tonight. Let it go at that.”

Simon nodded. Squaring his shoulders, he
came back to the gathering. He searched the crowd, and Cassandra
knew instinctively that he was trying to find her. When he did, his
gaze lit with recognition, and he sent her a silent message that
she interpreted as regret.

She wanted to be distant with him but sensed
his distress over what had happened. Cassandra was overwhelmed by
his generosity, and she couldn’t bring herself to reject him. The
marquess wished to share the painful moment with her, and it caused
a constriction around her heart that was painfully gratifying.

She gave him a look filled with sympathy.
She wanted to throw her arms around his neck, tell him how proud
she was. Unhappily, their situation did not allow them to be more
than casual acquaintances. Even now, she was aware of her
grandfather’s watchful gaze.

“Was that me da?”

Every eye in the company turned in the
direction of the fair-haired child who had appeared in the doorway.
His arm, still encased in plaster, hung heavily from his
shoulder.

“Timothy, what are you doing out here?”
Simon strode toward the boy. “You should be in bed.”

“Couldn’t sleep, milord. It’s very noisy,
and I coulda swore I heard me da.”

“He’s gone now,” Lord Sutherfield said,
clearly ill at ease. “What say we get you upstairs?”

“He’s not comin’ back for me, is he?” There
was no self-pity on the lad’s young face, only a quiet
fatalism.

Cassandra shared another wrenching look with
the marquess before he came down on his haunches next to the
boy.

“No, Timothy, I’m afraid he’s not.”

“Don’t worry, milord.” Timothy patted Simon
on the shoulder. “He didn’t much care for me, anyhow. It’s better
this way.”