In the Garden of Seduction (34 page)

Moments later Timothy brought a large
earthenware bowl brimming with his stew and placed it under
Cassandra’s nose. Returning to the pot, he repeated the process,
this time for Simon’s benefit.

“Thank you, Tim,” the marquess said. “Looks
very, er…hearty. Is it the same stew you made yesterday, or is this
a new batch?”

“No, milord. This is fresh as can be,” the
boy vowed. “If you’re done wif me, I got chores outside.” He backed
away from the table, his clear blue eyes wide with innocence.
“Should take me hours to finish—way into dark, no doubt.” Timothy
turned and dashed outside, closing the door on the surprised
couple.

Cassandra found herself staring at her bowl
of stew with an enthusiasm her stomach denied.

“Well, well, the lad is intuitive, I’ll say
that.” Simon remarked at last, shaking his head. “Can’t give him
high marks for subtlety, though.”

Cassandra slid a glance at him from the
corner of her eye but meeting his gaze was a mistake. The humor she
saw lurking in his warm regard caused her to smile at him
sheepishly.

Simon popped a large piece of beef into his
mouth and began to chew…and chew…and chew. “Whew,” he said over the
leather-like lump, “we must teach Timothy the fine art of
tenderizing his creations. As it is we’ll be into next week before
we finish off that kettle.” He gathered his courage and with
visible effort swallowed, forcing the meat down his gullet.

Cassandra started to laugh, and as her eyes
teared, she laughed some more. The marquess joined her. Before many
moments, the large kitchen was alive with merriment.

Simon reached out and took her hand across
the table. “I’m not a coward, but I don’t think I can make myself
eat the whole bowl. I consumed a substantial serving last night,
however, at the time I was drunk as a lord. I’m afraid I’m not up
to it sober. I assume that’s the reason my jaws ache today.”

Cassandra clapped her hand over her mouth.
“Oh dear,” she said, trying to control her amusement. “You said he
could cook.”

“Right then,” he acknowledged, “except for
stew.”

“What are we to do? We’ll hurt Timothy’s
feelings if we don’t eat.”

Simon’s eyes took on a considering light.
“Do you suppose he’ll notice if we put it back in the pot? It’s
worth a try, isn’t it?”

Before she could finish nodding, the
marquess had sprung from his chair. He seized the bowls, one in
each hand and, moving with a speed born of desperation, dumped the
congealing mess back into the kettle. He returned to the table and
set her empty dish in front of her.

“There,” he said, replacing his bowl and
sitting down, “the boy’s feelings are spared and so are our
bellies.”

“My hero,” Cassandra teased. She batted her
eyelashes at him and, though Simon winked at her in return, his
expression sobered.

Sighing, he said, “I hate to end this
pleasant interlude but the outside world awaits. When did you say
Lydia is returning?”

“At dusk. I’m to ride with her to
Sutherfield.” She paused. “That is, if you want me to.”

He scowled. “You’d best believe that’s what
I want. We have a marriage to plan. Something small and intimate.
And I don’t think we should waste any time, either. Today could
have consequences.”

Cassandra looked at him in confusion. “What
do you mean?”

Simon cocked his brows at her, his brows
turning suggestive. “Didn’t anyone tell you how babies are
made?”

Now why was she embarrassed at the mention
of babies after what had transpired between them only a short while
ago? But she was, and she stared at him nonplused.

“Frankly, sweetheart,” he continued, more
seriously, “it’s more than expediency—I don’t want to wait.”

Her expression relaxed into a shy smile.
“Nor do I.”

“A special license at Sutherfield with our
closest friends and family will please you?” he asked. “I like the
idea of doing this quickly, but I don’t want you to be
disappointed.”

“I’m not a person tied to ceremony, Simon,”
she said. “As long as my father is there. And Sophy,
naturally.”

“What of your grandfather?”

Cassandra hesitated. “I think he’ll come. I
hope he does.” She shrugged fatalistically. “We’ll simply have to
see.”

Simon rose to his feet and, taking her hand,
pulled her from her chair. He took her in his arms and kissed her
long and tenderly. When he raised his head his dark eyes swirled
with renewed desire.

“Soon,” he muttered roughly, “I mean that,
Cassandra. I don’t have the stamina to wait. Now,” he said, putting
her away from him, “before my resolve fails me help me gather my
things. I want to be ready to leave when Lydia arrives.”

*****

“Who is that horrible little boy with the
angel’s face?” Outraged, Lydia stood in the middle of the great
room of her brother’s hunting lodge, hands on hips. “He nearly
tackled me to keep me from coming in here.”

Simon sent a secretive wink to Cassandra
where she waited by the front door. “That’s our young Tim,” he
explained. “You’ve heard me speak of him, Lydia.”

“Then I suggest, brother dear, when you
teach him to be your groom, you also teach him some manners. I
expected a cowed child, grateful for his condition, not that bold
little person.”

“He’s looking after my interests. Forgive
me, but I’d have it no other way. I like my servants loyal.” Simon
crossed to his sister’s side and placed an arm around her. “Don’t
be irritable with me, my dear,” he said expansively, squeezing her
shoulders, “for I’m especially happy with you right now. Cassie and
I are to be married.” He sent Cassandra a warm smile.

“It’s about time you two came to your
senses,” Lydia announced, but her smile was satisfied. “We’re on
our way to Sutherfield. I hope you’ll be coming soon, Simon,
because I’m certain Cassandra will appreciate your support. You
know how Mother can be.”

“Indeed,” he said dryly. “I’m packed as we
speak. Timothy and I will leave within the hour.”

Lydia linked arms with her future
sister-in-law and moved into the yard. Simon followed and helped
the ladies into the coach, closing the door as they seated
themselves. He glanced up to see Cassandra watching him from the
carriage window and his expression softened.

“I’m right behind you, love. Wait for me,”
he said.

Cassandra nodded, blowing him a kiss with
the tips of her fingers. She sat back on the seat as the carriage
pulled from the yard, a feeling of contentment washing over
her.

The countess smiled. “My brother certainly
looks pleased with himself.”

Cassandra’s only answer was a fiery
blush.

“Oh heavens, I’m not going to ask.” Lydia
patted her arm.

Cassandra gave a shaky laugh, relieved that
her companion was not only perceptive but discreet. She took
Lydia’s hand and squeezed it affectionately.

“Thank you, Lydia. I don’t know what I…we
would have done without you.”

Straightening her skirts, the countess
nodded sagely.

*****

London, 1809—Christmas

“Are you all right, love?” Simon leaned over
in the pew, closely inspecting his wife’s pale features.

Cassandra smiled wanly. “I’m fine.”

“You’re still feeling queasy, aren’t you?”
he demanded. “I told you we shouldn’t come. Everyone would have
understood.”

“I couldn’t miss Penelope and Roger’s
wedding, Simon. I promised Grandfather I would attend. If he thinks
this will give the appearance of family unity then I think we were
obligated to try. In his own pig-headed way he’s been making an
effort.”

Simon grunted, clearly unconvinced.

Cassandra glanced around the cavernous
church, drinking in the majesty of the place. The nuptials had just
ended, and the guests were filtering from the building, although
she and Simon remained seated.

“Penelope was beautiful, don’t you think?”
she asked.

“For a brat she dressed up nicely.”

“Simon!”

“You asked,” came the implacable reply.

Yes, she did. “It was a lovely ceremony,
though, wasn’t it?” Cassandra asked.

“Too much ceremony for me, if you must
know,” he muttered. “I prefer the way we did it. Quick and to the
point and then on to more important things.” Simon raised his brows
at her suggestively.

“Yes, and look where I am because of it,”
Cassandra said in mock disapproval, discreetly patting her
stomach.

His expression became serious as he took her
chin in his hand. “Any regrets?” he asked gently.

“Never,” she stated. “I’m happier than I
ever thought possible. And the baby makes everything perfect.”

Simon’s eyes glowed with satisfaction and he
nodded.

The atmosphere in the church grew hushed and
somber with the last of the guests filing out the great cathedral
entrance, and an icy blast blew down the aisle as the door closed
for the final time. The candles on the altar flickered wildly,
creating dancing shadows on the vaulted ceiling overhead.

A penetrating, otherworldly stillness
followed.

“In a way this is better,” Cassandra
whispered, awestruck.

“How do you mean?”

“Just you and me in this wondrous place.”
She gave him a dazzling smile. “I’m glad we came.”

Simon took her hand and squeezed it. “Are
you up to a reception?” he asked, unable to mask his concern. “We
don’t have to, you know.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.” She came to her feet.
“With the baby due in June, this may be my last opportunity to
enjoy a party for quite a while. I’m feeling better.”

Simon stood and helped her into her
fur-lined cloak. They stepped from the pews, and he paused.

“Wait here,” he said.

Sprinting to the front of the church, he
plucked a rose from one of the arrangements gracing the altar. He
turned and trotted back to her.

“Simon, thank you. I’ve come to love roses
more than any other flower,” she said mistily, running the dainty
pink bloom under her nose.

“As have I, my love, as have I.” His gaze
turned black with memory. He took her arm and slowly they headed
down the aisle toward the exit. At the door he stopped and gathered
her into his embrace. “I love you, Cassandra Fitzgerald.”

His words were husky and warm, and Cassandra
experienced a shiver of anticipation.

“And I love you, Simon Fitzgerald.”

“Show me,” Simon growled, taking her
mouth.

For several long moments they shared their
love in that holy place, and then Lord Sutherfield and his lady
walked into the brightness of London’s winter sun.

*****