In the Garden of Seduction (28 page)

Her involvement with the marquess continued
to deepen despite her resistance. It was a lot like being caught in
quicksand, she decided, because the harder she struggled the more
surely she was caught.

*****

“Did she agree?”

“Well, Lydia, let me put it this way—she did
and she didn’t.” Simon cast his lean body into his sister’s fragile
Chippendale chair, causing the piece of furniture to creak
alarmingly. “We can squire her around but we’re not to make a
fuss.”

“But I wanted to introduce her, give her a
small party,” Lydia protested from her seat on the settee.

“Most of all she doesn’t want that.”

“What is she afraid of, do you think?”

“I don’t know,” the marquess said grumpily.
He sat slumped in the chair, chin in hand. “I wish I understood
her. One minute I feel confident I can bring her around and the
next I’m convinced it will never happen.”

“I believe I can help you there.” Lydia
toyed with the stem of her wine glass. “Not all her thoughts, of
course, but enough to give you an idea.”

“I’ve known her these many weeks, and in one
short interview you can tell me what I’ve been unable to see for
myself?”

“Perhaps you’re too close to see what is
right in front of your face.”

“Enlighten me, sister dear.”

“Even though Miss James is a confident young
woman, she’s uncomfortable dealing with the aristocracy. Frankly, I
detect resentment on her part that all of this has been thrust upon
her.”

“Time and enough exposure to her peers will
ease that resentment.”

“I agree with you.” Lydia paused and took a
sip of her champagne, rolling it on her tongue. “That is not the
difficulty, not where you are concerned.”

“What do you mean?” He sat forward in his
chair, frowning.

“Miss James is attracted to you. I can see
it in her eyes. On the other hand, she doesn’t want to be.”

Simon relaxed and he grinned. “Oh well, if
that’s all it is, I can change her mind.”

“You are making a mistake if you take that
attitude, Simon. I suspect you’ve been heavy-handed in your
approach, and you’re losing rather than gaining ground. You cannot
force the issue simply because that is how you want it to be. Lord
Whittingham has been doing that very thing, and Cassandra ran away
from him. If you don’t want her to regard you as she does him, I
think you had best change your methods.”

“What do you suggest?” he asked, beginning
to feel morose again.

“Take your time. Don’t push her. Right now
the most important issue is trust. She doesn’t feel confident you
mean what you say.”

“But I do,” he protested.

“I know that because I know you, dear.
However, I don’t believe Miss James understands who you really are.
She sees a handsome nobleman who overwhelms her with his
lovemaking, and instead of being flattered she’s frightened.”

“Do you really think so?” Simon found the
idea that he was frightening Cassandra appalling.

“Miss James is a serious person. Not used to
frivolous attachments, I’d wager. She’s protecting her heart. If
you’re not careful you might find her marrying Mr. Morley just to
escape you.”

The marquess jumped to his feet. Until that
moment he had not appreciated how much he had to lose. He began to
pace the room.

“Simon…?”

He spun around to face his sister. “She’s
told me repeatedly she doesn’t want to marry Roger, but she never
says definitively she will not do it.”

Lydia raised her brows at him and shrugged
her shoulders delicately. “And…?”

“I thought the earl held something over her,
that she might feel she had no choice.”

“A possibility, of course, but unless she’s
willing to confide in you there’s no way of telling.”

“I’ll ask her,” he said.

“Simon, don’t put her in the position of
having to lie. Just be her friend for now. Without her faith in you
there is no hope. Deal with Lord Whittingham and his demands when
you are certain that is what she desires. You’re cooking the goose
before the bird’s been plucked, in my opinion.”

“Do you think it’s too late?”

“Absolutely not,” she asserted. “And just to
make sure you understand where my thoughts are,” she raised her
glass to him, “I believe Cassandra James will make you an exemplary
wife.”

Her declaration reassured him and his humor
returned. “All this you discovered in one brief meeting? I’m
impressed,” he quipped. “Either Cassandra is an open book or you
are a soothsayer. Which do you think it is?”

“I’d be a fool to tell you, love. Let’s say,
women have ways of communicating with one another that men do not
understand.” Pulling slim legs up on the settee, Lydia tucked her
feet beneath her. “How about a brandy to calm that edginess? You’re
as restless as a caged animal.”

“Can’t. Harry Stiles arrived in town today.
I didn’t expect him for a week but he sent a note. Said the quiet
made him daft so he came early. I agreed to meet him at White’s
this evening.”

“You’ll let me know when we are to begin our
campaign with Miss James?”

Simon swooped down on her, giving her a
quick hug. “Immediately is not soon enough, Lydia.” He
straightened, giving her an affectionate smile. “Lord, what would I
do if I didn’t have you to help me? I always fancied myself a hand
with the ladies. Harry won’t even recognize me tonight, my ego is
so battered.”

Lydia laughed aloud. “Go confidently,
brother dear,” she told his retreating back. “You’re not a broken
man, yet. You still have that handsome face to lead your way.”

*****

Cassandra shifted on the sofa again,
nervously picking at her skirts. Being dressed early was a mistake.
Waiting for her escort to arrive made her look too eager. The
marquess should wait for her. That’s how a fashionable lady
conducted herself. She guessed she didn’t have the “fashionable
lady” role perfected quite yet.

She was, however, looking forward to the
evening ahead. Tonight’s party would be an intimate gathering at
Vauxhall Gardens. Sophy had a special invitation from Lord
Sutherfield and Cassandra was in complete charity with him. Her
father had departed to pick up Moretta and Sophy fifteen minutes
before. Since Simon wanted to escort Cassandra, she had stayed
behind to wait for him.

Her introduction to the polite world had
begun ten days earlier, but the fuss was kept to a minimum—no
special parties, no announcements. Sophy had not been part of the
proceedings because, as Lady St. John had explained, “She won’t be
accepted. It would be unkind to expose Miss Willis to the
snobbery.” Guilt made Cassandra wince inwardly, but generous Sophy
was thrilled by her friend’s success.

She heard the carriage arrive but remained
where she sat while the butler answered the door. She recognized
Lord Sutherfield’s deep voice before the servant ushered him into
the drawing room. She rose to her feet and extended her hand as he
entered.

“Miss James,” he said, taking her cool
fingers, “I’m anticipating a fine evening.”

“Thank you, my lord, for including Sophy.
You can’t know how much this means to her.” She looked at him
shyly. “And to me.”

“What is important to you is important to
me.” The sincerity in his words rang true. “Come, Lydia is waiting
in the carriage.”

Cassandra greeted Lydia as Lord Sutherfield
helped her into the vehicle moments later. “Your brother tells me
it was your idea to visit Vauxhall Gardens and to include Sophy.
She’s spoken of little else for days.”

“She should feel comfortable in our little
group—you and your father, Simon and me. Lady Camden, naturally,
and Lord Eastwick if he’s able—who else?”

“Harry, my dear,” the marquess piped in.
“Can’t forget good ol’ Harry, can we?”

“Mr. Stiles has come back to the city?”
Pleased, Cassandra asked, “When did he return?”

“More than a week, I think,” Lydia said,
looking at her brother, a question in her eye.

Lord Sutherfield nodded.

“Did he bring Timothy with him?” Cassandra
asked.

“Yes,” he said, “and young Tim is doing
quite well. I’m going to send him to my estate in Suffolk. I have a
head groom there with a gentle but disciplined hand who will turn
the lad into a first-rate tiger. There’s a problem, though.”

“What is that?” This time Lydia posed the
question.

“The little bugger wants me to hire all his
sisters and brothers, and there’s thirteen of them, for God’s
sake.”

Cassandra snickered, putting her hand to her
mouth to hide her amusement. “That is a problem,” she said,
composing her features. “I think aiding one Bailey at a time is
generous enough, my lord. You’ve been more than fair.”

Simon grunted his agreement.

Tell me,” Cassandra asked, “why haven’t we
seen Mr. Stiles?”

“Harry doesn’t go out much—to the clubs
sometimes. He’s not fond of being alone but he doesn’t enjoy a
commotion, either. I had to twist his arm to come this evening, but
I told him Lydia would have my hide if I didn’t bring another male.
After several threats he graciously said he would be
delighted.”

That sent the occupants of the carriage into
peals of mirth, setting a merry mood for the remainder of the ride.
Cassandra realized that she liked the brother and sister. She felt
part of them. If only she could feel as relaxed with Simon when she
was alone with him.

He’d been different lately, not as
aggressive. In fact, he had been a perfect gentleman and that had
caused her to wonder. Was his interest waning?

Everyone was at the appointed place when the
trio arrived except for Mr. Stiles and Lord Eastwick. After
greeting her father and Lady Camden, Cassandra approached Sophy,
took her arm and whispered in her ear.

“I’m glad you came. Without you I could not
enjoy myself.”

“I’ve told you not to worry,” Sophy said,
also in a lowered voice. “I know you’ve not forsaken me.” Giggling
behind her fan, she added, “Now having said that, I’m desperately,
madly excited to be here—and with a real marquess in our party.”
She slanted an admiring glance at Simon then returned her gaze to
Cassandra. “You are very fortunate.”

Cassandra opened her mouth to contradict
her, but suddenly it seemed absurd. Lord Sutherfield did look
marvelous, dressed all in black, even his vest. His shirt had no
ruffles and his coat, severely cut, emphasized broad shoulders and
a trim, muscular physique. With his elegant appearance and
dignified manners, she could not help imagining what it would be
like if he occupied a more permanent place in her life. She also
could not help the rush of fear that washed over her.

Lord Eastwick, tall and graying, walked up
at that time. Lydia gave a cry of delight. “Albert, you came. I had
my doubts you could pull it off.” As she took her husband’s arm,
she turned to the gathering. “Albert is with the foreign office and
he had an important meeting this afternoon.”

Eastwick’s blue eyes crinkled at the
corners, emphasizing humor lines. “I made it clear to my superiors
that my wife had an evening planned, and I’d better not disappoint
her.”

Lydia laughed and slapped at his wrist. “You
did not.” She sobered then, glancing around. “I wonder where Mr.
Stiles is. I think we ought to find a table. I suppose he’ll have
to look for us when he arrives.”

The night was lovely, balmy, with a clear
moonlit sky adding to the mood. Lord Sutherfield played the host,
seating Cassandra next to him. The importance of that gesture was
lost on no one.

Harry Stiles appeared as the waiter uncorked
the first bottle of champagne. “Please forgive me,” he said. “I
spent the day reading and lost track of the clock.”

“Not to worry, Harry—just in time,” the
marquess greeted him. “Come, meet our guests.”

The introductions were made and Mr. Stiles
pulled up a chair, sitting next to Sophy as Lady Eastwick directed
him.

Cassandra could not remember a time when she
had enjoyed herself more. Everything seemed perfect—the weather,
the food, the company. She didn’t want the evening to end.

Her awareness of the marquess as he sat next
to her did not abate. She was conscious of the cuff of his coat
where it accidentally grazed her arm. Cassandra found herself
staring at his hand, his long fingers casually curled on the linen
table cover. She remembered when that hand had touched her—and
where—and a wave of longing caused an ache in her throat.

Occasionally, Simon would turn a look on her
so warm, so intimate, she felt the heat suffuse her face. Curious,
she stared around the table, wondering if anyone else had observed
his marked attention.

Perhaps Lydia knew, for Simon’s sister sent
her a secretive smile, but otherwise no one seemed to notice. Her
father was clearly entranced by his partner Lady Camden. And oddly,
Cassandra felt that Mr. Stiles, in his own understated way, was
flirting with Sophy.

Sophy looked bedazzled. Her plain face was
almost pretty as she stared at Harry through bright, shining eyes.
Cassandra glanced at Lydia again, and the lady winked at her. Why,
the woman had planned this from the beginning, she thought,
squelching a bubble of laughter. And Harry was kindly playing his
part. Too bad he was a confirmed bachelor, but for tonight Sophy
could feel special.

Her mood was light as a puff of cotton, and
she supposed it had something to do with all the champagne she’d
consumed. Bottle after bottle had been opened and poured, and she
had drunk her share. Her thoughts were fuzzy but the attending
euphoria made her confusion a moot point. She felt happy,
exceedingly happy, blissfully happy. Cassandra wanted to stand and
twirl on her toes with her hands waving above her head. Better not
drink anymore, she thought suddenly. Well, except for this last
bit.