In the Garden of Seduction (7 page)

At that point Cassandra found her anger.
“Are you mad?”

“I fear I must be—mad for you.”

“How dare you speak to me like that. If you
find you can’t respect me, then leave me in peace.”

The marquess pulled back from her, a look of
surprise clouding his vision. “I hold you in the highest regard.
Haven’t I made that clear?”

“What you’ve made clear, my lord, is that
you think I am the variety of woman who would welcome the advances
of a man I do not know. When you spoke to me at Mrs. Witherspoon’s,
I assumed you thought me lowly-born and, therefore, approachable.
But since you are now aware that the earl is my grandfather, your
conduct tonight would indicate it’s actually me you hold in low
esteem.”

“Why would I have thought you
lowly-born?”

Cassandra opened her mouth to speak then
shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Actually, in London it was a case of
mistaken identity. I saw a beautiful young woman, one I thought I
knew. After I realized my blunder in the Chinese parlor, I assumed
you were a lady. Mrs. Witherspoon did not tell me differently.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because it’s the truth.” He grinned at her
as though suddenly struck by inspiration. “And because I’ve already
said I won’t lie to you.”

“You propositioned me,” she said
indignantly. “How can you defend that?”

He shrugged. “Wishful thinking. Nothing
ventured, as they say. I certainly didn’t expect you to agree.
Frankly, it was you who gave yourself away.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“A lady of quality would have understood an
outrageous proposal when she heard one and treated it as such.” He
sighed as if he had encountered a puzzle. “We will have to rid you
of your Puritan ways.”

Cassandra stiffened. “What are you saying? A
lady can take an insult better than one who is not? I hardly think
that is something for which I should aspire.”

“No, not exactly,” he said on a chuckle,
“but perspective is not such a bad thing. Men have a tendency to
make fools of themselves over beautiful women. The sophisticated
female understands that. And if she decides the man pleases her,
she might even decide to give him some latitude.” He peered at her
expectantly, eyebrows raised as though he anticipated some of that
latitude.

He was so handsome and—dare she admit
it?—engaging, for just an instant she felt inclined to give it to
him. Fortunately, the insanity ended almost before it began.

Gathering all of her defenses, she looked at
him squarely. “I think, Lord Sutherfield, it would be best if you
and I did not socialize with each other. It seems pointless and,
quite frankly, I rarely engage in things pointless.”

There, she’d been direct. She could almost
feel proud of herself. Her attitude was confident, in fact bold.
Regrettably, she had not reckoned with the gentleman’s
determination.

He leaned down so his face was inches from
hers, his expression intensifying, narrowed eyes glinting
dangerously. He clenched his jaws together as he stared at her, his
lighthearted bantering clearly forgotten.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Miss
James.”

“Excuse me?” she ventured in a tiny voice.
Her bravado of a moment before gave way to uncertainty. She edged
away from him, pressing so tightly against the railing it jabbed
her painfully in the back.

He moved closer.

“I said I don’t think that’s a very good
idea. I’ve decided I like you and I’m not a man of easy decisions.
I’m afraid you are going to have to tolerate getting to know me,
for I am if nothing else, stubborn.”

Cassandra blinked at him, his provocative
words sending a quiver of excitement coursing through her body to
the tips of her toes and fingers. She must have looked as
bewildered as she felt, for his features softened, and he took her
chin in his thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t worry, my dear, I promise I don’t
bite. What I propose is that we take the opportunity to become
acquainted. And then, who knows…?”

A silence ensued as he slowly scanned her
face before allowing his gaze to settle on her mouth. He brought
his eyes back to hers, and the predatory glow illuminating their
blackness produced a delicious shiver along her spine.

Cassandra didn’t know when she first
realized he meant to kiss her, but of a sudden every nerve in her
body came alive. He leaned down, moving toward her with such
resolute deliberation, she was startled into submission.

He found her parted lips then, but only
just, as the smooth, satiny surface of his mouth barely grazed her.
She felt the light touch of his tongue, and an erotic thrill sent
her blood surging forth to roar in her head, to rush through her
veins, like warmed honey, thick and sweet.

As quickly as the contact began, it ended.
He drew back from her, and Cassandra was dismayed by a stab of
disappointment. Her legs had grown weak and she tightened her
knees, afraid she might tumble to the ground at his feet.

“Let me pass,” she demanded in a stricken
voice.

She pressed her forearm against his middle
she brushed past him, but she refused to look him in the face. The
thought of the mockery she felt certain she would see on his dark
features kept her from chancing a peek.

Cassandra thought she heard him whisper her
name, but her courage had completely deserted her. She dashed from
the balcony to the safety of the ballroom. Probably not a bad
decision all things considered, for on that balcony lurked a
dangerous, albeit fascinating, destiny. She’d be the greatest fool
alive even to think about a journey down that seductive path.

*****

Simon watched Miss James leave, his narrowed
gaze trailing along her lovely back. He was disconcerted and he
disliked the sensation. Somehow he had lost control of the
situation.

He had wanted to arouse the lady, and on
that score he sensed he had been successful. On the other hand, he
had found himself drawn in as well, and that had not been a part of
his plan. His sudden lack of control was troubling. But Miss James
excited him, made him act out of character, and he had no intention
of allowing this opportunity to slip away as it had in London.

Simon refused to think what this opportunity
could mean, for then he would be forced to give his motives some
serious thought. Suffice to say, tonight had brought Cassandra
James back into his life, and he meant to take advantage of it.

*****

Cassandra knew her face burned like a
beacon, announcing her embarrassment to every curious eye in the
room. She had managed to totter a few steps into the ballroom where
she made an effort to check her ragged breathing. It was difficult,
though, for every time she thought of the gentleman on the balcony
her chest tightened again.

“Cassandra, where have you been?”

“Grandfather, I…” she began, shocked by the
earl’s sudden appearance. “Have you been looking for me?”

“You disappointed Roger when you refused to
go into dinner with him.” Was that censure in his voice?

“It’s been a stressful evening, sir.” That
was the truth, though she had trouble meeting his gaze. “I couldn’t
bring myself to eat. I needed some fresh air and a few moments to
gather my composure.”

“You’ve been on the balcony?”

Cassandra looked at her grandfather because
an odd inflection shaded the old man’s words. His pale eyes were
trained on something beyond her, and she felt her stomach lurch as
she turned to peer over her shoulder. Lord Sutherfield had chosen
that moment to emerge from the gloom of the balcony.

The marquess lingered in the doorway where
he pulled at the cuffs of his coat with casual indifference, while
lazily surveying his surroundings. His glance fell on Cassandra,
and it sharpened noticeably before he looked past her to Lord
Whittingham.

For several moments Lord Sutherfield’s
expression remained unchanged, his scrutiny flicking back and forth
between the earl and Cassandra. Then the ghost of a smile eased his
mouth, and he nodded almost imperceptibly in their direction.
Having done so, he showed them his back and slowly sauntered from
the room.

Cassandra could feel her grandfather stiffen
beside her.

“Do you know that man?” he demanded of
her.

“Only to meet.” She cocked her gaze in her
grandfather’s direction, wondering what he would say if he knew she
had just kissed that brief acquaintance. In all fairness, she
really hadn’t kissed the marquess—he had kissed her. Still, she
knew she had been involved in something highly improper.

“Who is he?” he asked.

“I know who he is.” Roger interrupted the
conversation.

Unaware of his approach, Cassandra turned an
irritated look on him. The one thing she had gleaned about her
cousin was that he “knew” a little about everything.

“Yes, I know him,” Roger continued, his nose
pinched in disapproval. “He is the Marquess of Sutherfield, and
I’ve heard he’s not to be trusted with the ladies.” This last was
said presumably for her benefit.

Cassandra gritted her teeth.

“That’s Sutherfield’s heir?” her grandfather
asked. “I invited him tonight. I wouldn’t have done so had I known
of his reputation.” He turned to her, concern etched on his
features. “Cassandra…?”

How irksome that she had been put in a
position of having to reassure him. If she had needed to convince
Quintin James, she would have put her arm around her father and
told him not to worry his dear old head on her behalf. But this was
different. She did not know the earl, and she resented having to
answer to him. Her feelings for the marquess, nonexistent as they
were, belonged to her. She risked a little rebellion.

“The marquess and I are just met—there is
nothing more to it than that.” Her tone was haughty and
dismissing.

A thundercloud gathered on the earl’s brow.
“That’s a good thing, for I guarantee that man has no place in your
future.”

Her heart skipped a panic-stricken beat.
What in heaven’s name had he meant by that remark?

“I’m afraid I don’t understand you, sir.
Even I’m not in a position to guarantee my future. There are many
decisions still to be made, and I am quite capable of doing that
myself when the time comes.”

He had frightened her. Cassandra admitted
that to herself since her heart had not yet resumed its normal
rhythm. But she wasn’t a coward, either. This was the very thing
her father had warned her about, and she’d better take a stand
right now or this man would own her life.

Lord Whittingham’s next words made it clear
how difficult a task she had in front of her. “Make no mistake,
Cassandra, you will do as you are told. Whether you like it or not,
with your birth comes certain obligations. You will do your
duty.”

That tears it!
For the second time
tonight a man had issued her an ultimatum, and her nervousness was
replaced by outrage. The only difference was her response to the
marquess’ forward behavior, rather than anger, was a guilty
excitement. But she had felt extremely uncomfortable on both
occasions, and she’d had enough.

“Grandfather, I can see this is becoming an
area of contention for us both. I regret that, but I’m not going to
let you plan the rest of my life. I already have a parent who
serves that purpose well, thank you very much.”

A deadly quiet followed, and Cassandra
flinched inwardly at the queer look, utterly devoid of emotion,
that entered Lord Whittingham’s eyes. Roger, a witness to the
exchange, shifted at the edge of her sight, and she sensed her
cousin’s unease as well.

“It would seem, my dear, your red hair is
indeed an indication of your temperament.” The earl’s vision
cleared as he spoke, and to her amazement he smiled.

She knew what he was doing. He was placating
her. Why, that was as bad as nearly scaring her to death, but he
had made a concession, and good manners meant she could do no less.
Cassandra was surprised by the effort it took to respond in
kind.

“My father has mentioned that on more than
one occasion,” she put forth in a bland voice. “It’s been a long
day and I suspect I’m tired. Please forgive my rudeness.”

There, she had done what she must, although
by referring to Quintin James again she had subtly held her ground.
She was afraid sometimes, but she was determined not to give in to
her fear. So, having risked renewing the fight, the relief she felt
when she realized the earl had decided to let the matter drop was
humbling. Perhaps she wasn’t quite as brave as she had
imagined.

Lord Whittingham merely smiled again, but
his eyes remained cool and distant. He took her arm. “Come, my
dear, we’ve neglected our guests long enough.”

*****

“You know, Harry, I think I’m of a mind to
extend my stay. Would you find it an inconvenience if I decide to
prolong my visit?”

Harry rolled his eyes, a suspicious grin
lurking on his thick lips. “Of course not, old man, but I’m
surprised. I believed the peace and quiet of the countryside to be
wearing on your nerves.”

“Now why do you say that?” the marquess
asked. “I’m having a fine time.”

The hour was late with dawn approaching, and
Simon tossed off the last in a series of strong beverages he had
imbibed throughout the evening. Though pleasantly mellow, he wasn’t
drunk. Harry, who did not hold his wine as well as his friend, had
stopped drinking some time ago.

They had left Lord Whittingham’s party
several hours before, for once Simon realized he could not approach
Miss James, he was no longer interested in the festivities. Harry,
congenial as always, had offered no resistance, meekly following
his friend home. Once there, they went to Harry’s library and spent
the remainder of the night in friendly conversation.