A False Proposal (7 page)

It pleased him that he’d seen evidence of desire in her expressive eyes and felt it in her body as it hungered against his. Christ, it had been all he could do to stop himself. He hadn’t expected Cass to respond so passionately. The extent of his need had been quite obvious, and she seemed more than willing to match it with her own.

But a gentleman couldn’t trifle with a lady he did not intend to wed. Especially one who also happened to be the sister of his closest friend. That was the simple truth. There were plenty of other women around for that. Lord, he needed a mistress. He’d never kept one, because he’d either been at war or traveling. This did not seem the most opportune time, however, unless he could find himself a rich widow willing to play political hostess and pour money into his cause. That brought an image of Leonora to his mind and he shuddered with revulsion.

But Cassie. What was he to do about her? He wanted her, plain and simple. But she was Jack’s sister, and still a virgin, he suspected. Though her enthusiasm was quite surprising and definitely arousing, it was apparent she had much to learn. Ah, but he’d love to teach her.

Abruptly, he sat up, pulling his feet in and setting them on the floor with a resounding thump. Out of the question. Adam had never seriously considered marriage. Was he not his father’s son? He might end up like the man, a degenerate. So debauched, Deborah had had to leave him, taking her younger son with her. What if he’d somehow inherited a proclivity for the same kind of lewd and depraved behavior? Maybe it revealed itself as one grew older. He’d never subject any woman to what his mother had endured before making the final break with his father, and he probably didn’t know the half of what Deborah had suffered.

And then there was the war. The horror of it had changed him. War in the abstract was most people’s experience; the real thing was something else again. While it had hardened his body, it had also put lines in his face and a whole litany of surreal memories in his mind, of men moaning in death, crying out for their wives or mothers, and not a damn thing he could do except hold their hands and promise to write to their loved ones. The agonies the men had endured before death claimed them haunted his dreams. He didn’t know if he could share his wartime experience with anyone, even Cass. Ending the war, if he gained a seat in Commons, was his most passionate cause.

Should he ask Deborah not to invite her to the house party? There was really no good reason for her to be included, other than the fact that she was Jack’s sister. Being thrown together with her for a week would be bad. Very bad. But Jesus, he wanted her there.

He was definitely going to tell his mother that under no circumstances should she invite Leonora, even if she had already extended a verbal invitation. He would no longer receive that woman into his home. Her cruelty to Cass was unforgivable, and he didn’t give a damn for her good opinion. Or her money.

Adam drained his glass and poured himself another, a short one this time. He drank and ruminated. What was Cassie thinking? Was she in her bed, dreaming about him? He snorted. For Christ’s sake, these were the thoughts of a lovesick mooncalf. After a few more swallows, he reached for his candle and made his way to his bedchamber, trying to summon the strength to put all thoughts of her out of his mind.

…

At half eleven the following morning, Adam summoned Deborah to the library to confer about the house party. After a general discussion of pastimes and outings the group might undertake, Deborah said, “And a ball. We must host a ball at the end of the week!”

Adam groaned. “I suppose you won’t hear any arguments against that idea?”

“My mind is quite made up, dear. The ladies will expect it. Talking about their gowns and jewelry and hair makes for lively discussion all week.”

“And the men will tolerate it.” Adam smiled. “Very well, have your ball.” He hesitated before broaching a more difficult subject. “Mother, I don’t want you to invite Lady Leonora.”

She looked nonplussed. “Why not, dear? She has a certain mystique about her. One always runs the risk of boredom among the guests, and Leonora would spice things up a little.” She paused a moment. “Quite comfortably circumstanced, too.”

“So you’ve said.”

“It doesn’t hurt to have wealthy friends when one is seeking political office, Adam.”

“I don’t want her as a friend, and if I have to beg the likes of Leonora for money, I’ll give up the whole scheme.”

“What has riled you, Adam? What happened?”

“She said some cruel things to Cass last night and I happened to overhear. Then she made the mistake of repeating them to me privately after Cass had left the room.”

“Perhaps a momentary lapse in good judgment?”

“No, Mother. That is her character, and I refuse to condone it. If other people in society wish to welcome her, I’m powerless to stop them. But I won’t have her at any event we are hosting.”

Deborah nodded. “Then we must not invite her.”

Adam glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel. Although it was currently only a few minutes past noon, it seemed their talk had been going on for at least a few hours already. He pushed on. “And I don’t want you to invite Cass, either.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. I don’t want Cass there.”

“Adam, I really must protest! Her brother and his fiancée will be invited. It would be rude to exclude her.”

“Nevertheless, that is my wish.”

“Without both Cass and Leonora, the numbers will be off. Too many gentlemen and not enough ladies.”

“I’m sure you’ll work it out.”

His mother stepped closer. “Whatever your reasons are, when weighed against the hurt you will cause Cass by excluding her, are you certain it’s what you want? To be so heartless? Cassandra is still vulnerable. Mere moments ago you revealed you are sensitive to that.”

That broke down his remaining resolve, and he held his arms up in surrender. “Oh, very well, invite Cass if you must.”

“You still haven’t explained why you don’t wish her to be there.”

“Nor will I, so don’t push me. Send your invitations, and include Cass.”

“Her existence is rather mundane, you know. She tutors her younger sister, no governess for some reason, so the child’s education is on Cass’s shoulders. And that relation of hers who trails her about—” Deborah shuddered dramatically.

“You’ve made your point, Mother. You may leave now. I have some work to do.”

Uncharacteristically, she didn’t utter another word. She simply dropped a kiss on his cheek and quietly left the room.

As much as it galled him to admit it, she was right. Excluding Cass would have been cruel. How could he have even considered it?

Chapter Eight

Cass sipped at her chocolate, more than a little preoccupied. She’d slept poorly last night. Over and over, she had re-lived the scene in the library, Adam’s kiss, and her own wild urge to devour—and be devoured—by him. Lord above, what had come over her? An indefinable feeling had taken up residence in her belly. Excitement and a lightness that made her feel buoyant. Whatever it was, it was both driving her to distraction and irritating her. She was having a great deal of difficulty focusing on anything else, even though she was trying to concentrate on accounts of the prime minister’s assassination in the morning papers.

Jack entered the room in high good humor, grating on Cass’s already frayed nerves. “You might have told me about Adam’s plans,” she blurted out.

Jack, busy heaping his plate with kippers, eggs, and toast, barely spared her a glance. “Good morning to you, too, dear sister. Pour me some coffee, there’s a good girl.”

In an under voice, Cass applied some not very complimentary terms to her brother, but did as he asked.

“Did you say something?” he said.

She glared at him.

At last settled, coffee cup in hand, he deigned to answer her. “I’m sorry, Cass. I should have. It all happened so fast, you see. And I thought you would not be interested in Adam’s affairs.”

“But you know of my interest in politics! Enlighten me, please.”

“The day after the Mainwaring’s ball, which was only a few days after I’d first run into Adam, we had a meeting at White’s. He asked for my backing for the Haslemere seat, and I agreed. That’s all there was to it, Cass.”

“It may not be as simple as you think.”

“What do you mean?”

“The other seat—Sir William Broxton has it in his pocket. What do you intend to do about his man?”

Jack waved a hand through the air, showing his utter lack of concern. “Apparently, he hasn’t attended the session in years.”

Cass nibbled at a triangle of toast. “I see. I hadn’t heard that. Sometimes those members are the most troublesome ones to dislodge. Their patrons are ridiculously loyal to them.”

“True. Adam’s riding down to see his father before joining the house party. He may know something. We talked about it last night. He’s hoping to get the lay of the land while there.”

“Mightn’t his father oppose the scheme?”

“Why should he?”

She shrugged. “No real reason, except you said they’d been estranged for years. He might do it out of spite.”

“Anything’s possible, I suppose, but it shouldn’t matter, in any case, unless Adam’s father wields a great deal of influence over Broxton.”

“From what Hugh told me during dinner, Benjamin Grey has allowed his estate to decline drastically, including the tenants’ cottages. I cannot imagine he would be very well regarded any longer, if he ever was.”

“Adam is not going to be pleased if things are as bad as all that. Of course, Hugh’s assessment may not be truthful, or accurate either.”

“Surely Adam must have an inkling.”

“I rather think not. If he suspected, wouldn’t he have mentioned it to me? By the way, in an attempt to be open and honest with you, I have posted a letter to Sir William about Adam, giving him my endorsement.” He gave her a sardonic look, but Cass didn’t rise to the bait. “He’s the only man Adam needs to sway. I say, will you pass me the newspapers?”

Philippa and Cousin Louisa swept into the breakfast room as Cass was handing the papers over. The child ran straight for her brother, nearly spilling hot coffee down the front of his shirt. “Whoa, there, poppet,” he said, pulling her up onto his lap. It wouldn’t be much longer before she would be too mature to behave in such a way, Cass thought. In a year, maybe less, the youngest Linford wouldn’t be caught dead sitting in her brother’s lap.

“Your sister is eagerly awaiting her lessons,” Louisa said, casting a sharp glance at Cass.

“Indeed? Is that true, Philippa?”

“No,” the little girl said without a moment’s pause. “Cousin Louisa is funning you.”

A smothered laugh came from Jack. As well they knew, “funning” was not a part of their cousin’s character. Cass stabbed a few raspberries, washing them down with the rest of her chocolate. “Cousin Louisa is right. It’s time to get started.”

“What are we doing today, Cassie?”

“I believe you have some French grammar and a translation to work on. Then penmanship, and if you work hard, we might read some myths before luncheon. This afternoon, your pianoforte tutor is coming. How does that sound?”

“Boring,” Philippa proclaimed as Jack plopped her onto the floor.

Yes, I quite agree
. Cass rose from her place and took her sister’s hand. “Come along, dearest.” As they left the room, she turned and smiled at Jack. “Thank you for explaining. About Adam.”

“Of course. Please accept my apologies for not keeping you informed.”

Cass could tell by the mocking look in his eyes that his sincerity was in question. At least she’d made her point, though. “What news of…?” Her voice tapered off as she realized she shouldn’t speak of the Prime Minister’s murder in front of Philippa.

Jack cast her a knowing glance. “We’ll talk of it later,” he said.

In the schoolroom, Cass reviewed irregular French verbs with Pippa and then got her started on a translation. “When you’re done—and I don’t expect you to be done for at least an hour—come and find me. We’ll review your work together.”

“All right,” her sister said in her most tortured voice. “I wish I could paint with watercolors. Do something fun for a change.”

“I’ll tell you what. If you do a good job on your translation, tomorrow we shall paint in the morning and visit a museum in the afternoon. And maybe get an ice at Gunter’s.”

“Oh, could we, Cassie? Do you mean it? You’re not teasing me?”

“No, I’m not.” Impulsively, Cass reached out and drew the little girl into a tight hug. Sometimes—most of the time, lately—she hated being Philippa’s governess instead of simply her sister. She stroked the length of her long blond locks, loving the silky feel. This hair would delight a very fortunate man someday, she thought. And that immediately sent her thoughts to Adam, and him kissing her hair and saying how beautiful it was.

“Cassie, let me go,” Philippa squealed.

“I love you, little sister.” Before releasing her, Cass plopped a kiss on her cheek. “Now, get to work. Pip-pip!”

“Hooray!” the little girl shouted. It was something they’d started long ago, and her sister still delighted in it. That would probably only last a few more years, too, until Pippa would view herself as much too sophisticated for such childish nonsense.

Instead of heading for the drawing room, where her cousin would be settled, Cass decided to work on mending some books in the library. It was a hobby she’d developed over the years, at first assisting her father. Then, under his tutelage, she had learned how to reinsert pages that had fallen out and how to repair broken bindings on her own.

It was here, as a small girl, she’d first heard the ancient tales of Zeus and the Olympians, and all her father’s favorite myths. Demeter and Persephone, Apollo and Daphne, Athena and Poseidon, and Ajax, her brother’s namesake, known for his strength and courage. And the story of her namesake, Cassandra, given the gift of prophecy by Apollo. When she hadn’t returned his love, he’d put a curse on her, so that no one believed her prophecies. She had a great gift, but he had rendered her powerless.
Ha! It smacked of modern-day male-female relationships
. Men usually held all the power—as well as the purse strings.

She and her father had always been comfortable in each other’s company, and from an adult perspective, Cass understood that learning the art of mending books had been a way to be close to him. He had been scholarly and somewhat reclusive. Now she found a measure of peace in the work and in remembering her father’s resonant voice telling her the stories. She’d no sooner gotten her work table arranged, tools set out, glue pot ready, needle threaded, than her cousin whisked through the door.

“I thought I might find you here.”

Botheration!
After Cousin Louisa’s comment last night, Cass was feeling excessively annoyed with her.

“Is Philippa working—?”

“On her French, yes, of course she is. I’ll check it when she’s finished.”

“How you can bear to fuss with these ancient old tomes is beyond me. You should improve your skills with the needle or practice your music, like other young ladies.”

“
Hmm
. I believe you’ve expressed that view before, Cousin. You know those things do not interest me, nor do I possess aptitude for them. And I am improving my skills with the needle. Just not the kind you’re referring to.”

Louisa plunked down on the sofa, and Cass realized with a sigh that she was there to stay. “I came to tell you that the invitations arrived for the house party. One for each of us, except for Philippa, of course.”

“Ah.”
What am I to say?

“I am of the opinion that you should not attend, Cassandra. Depend upon it, Deborah Grey is using this as a way to look over prospective brides for Adam. It’s nothing to do with you.”

Thank you, Cousin, for dismissing me so readily from that select group
. Cass chose her words carefully. “I have not made up my mind as to whether to attend. I must think about it.”

“Philippa can hardly spare you for a whole day, never mind a week,” the older woman argued. “She’s such a poor student, I sometimes despair of her learning anything!”

At that, Cass turned and looked squarely at her cousin. “Louisa, please refrain from describing her in that way. What if she overheard you? Philippa is not a poor student. Indeed, she possesses a keen mind. Left to her own devices, she would find hundreds of things to learn about. She’s simply not very interested in the usual areas of study.”

“Just so. It is up to you to develop her interest in things ladies need to know.”

Cass couldn’t help heaving an audible sigh. “I am doing my best to see to that.” She busied herself preparing to reunite a book with a page that had fallen out. With great care, she laid the book open and placed a sheet of paraffin paper on top of the page. Then she opened the glue pot, found a fine brush, and began to apply glue to the edge of the page to be inserted.

“You are not setting your cap for Mr. Grey, are you, Cassandra? That would be very foolish indeed.”

The brush slipped from Cass’s hand and fell directly onto the open page of the volume she was working on, spreading glue onto its surface. She bit back the curse she wanted to utter and quickly grabbed the brush before it could do any further damage. Dipping a rag into some solvent, she dabbed lightly at the mess. In as calm a voice as she could muster, she said, “Why do you ask such a thing?” Then a horrible thought struck her. With relentless self-control, she managed to force her voice into the range of normality. “Did someone say that about me?” Deliberately, she neither looked at her cousin nor stopped her work.

“I noticed last night that the two of you were absent from the drawing room at the same time. No doubt others noticed as well.”

“I was upset over the news about the Prime Minister, because it brought back a whole slew of unhappy memories. The room was close, and I needed some air, that is all.” Should she deny that she’d had any contact with Adam? Probably best to stick with the truth, or partial truth. Her cousin had an uncanny way of ferreting out lies. “Adam was concerned, but when I told him I was fine, he returned to his guests.”

“
Humph
. He knows about Bentley, then?”

“He does.”

“That gossipy mother of his must have told him.”

“What difference does it make how he knew? All of town knows! Only consider, Deborah was a very gracious hostess last evening. She made a point of telling me she was happy to see me back in society.”

“That doesn’t signify,” Louisa said, her face pinched and obstinate. I am only concerned that you do not forget the promise you made to your dear mother on her deathbed, that you would look after Philippa until she makes her come-out.”

Fury was building in Cass’s chest, burning and seeking release, but she did not want to lose her temper with her cousin. That would make her look guilty, and would certainly give Louisa the upper hand. Now she turned and faced her unswervingly. “I assure you, Cousin, nothing could persuade me to renounce that commitment. Nothing.”

Cass bent to her work, and after a few moments, when she heard the door click shut, her breathing eased. Louisa had succeeded in one thing. The buoyancy Cass experienced earlier had evaporated, replaced by a crushing weight pressing on her chest.

When the family sat down for a midday repast, Louisa unwisely raised the question again, with Jack present.

“I am of the opinion that Cassandra should not attend the Grey’s house party. It is to be an opportunity for Mr. Grey and his mother to look over potential brides, a sort of marriage mart, albeit a private one. What do you think, Jack?”

“And you feel Cass is unworthy of consideration as a bride for Adam?” Jack asked, raising one supercilious brow.

Cass gawped at her brother. Of course the idea was ridiculous, but nevertheless, she appreciated Jack’s words.

“We all know the unfortunate incident with Bentley assured her spinsterhood. Why should she put herself forward like any other young girl seeking a husband? She’s not like any other young girl—”

“I have never considered her to be ‘like any other young girl,’ Cousin. I have always thought Cass to be in the first stare of beauty, intelligence, and kindness, and I’ve been very gratified to see her begin to take her place in society once again.” Jack looked at Cass, and she saw genuine emotion in his expression. If she was not mistaken, tears glossed his eyes. For the first time since Bentley’s suicide, she understood the toll it had taken on her brother, as well as herself.