Cassandra looked bewildered. She smoothed the rosettes on her dress.
“Thank you.”
“Not like bottle green.”
Cassandra's eyes flew open. She was instantly alert. What can the man have meant?
Miles elaborated. “I must say, my love, a dress is infinitely preferable to knee beeches. Remind me to tell Vallon to get rid of my childhood vestments. They've got darns in them.”
Cassandra gasped, his meaning now quite clear. “You knew?”
“Do you take me for a fool?”
There seemed no suitable response to this. “I ... It is just ...”
“No need to explain. Do you have any idea, my love, of the agony you've put me through? Can you imagine how I felt when I discovered you'd left the safety of my chamber and waltzed off by yourself to the docks? One would have to be very blind or very drunk not to recognize the beauty you are beneath those breeches!”
Cassandra blushed, tears stinging her eyelids. How she must appear to the duke! A veritable wanton. He would be within his rights, now, to take her honor. There was nothing she could say in her own defense.
He tucked his hand under her chin. “Darling Cassandra, don't, I pray you, look so woeful. Do you not know that I must have loved you from the very first moment I set eyes on you? Yes, all blackberry-stained on the Greensides land. I could have killed Harrington when I came on him in the arbor with you. Perhaps I should have done, after all the trouble he's caused. And your hands! Your poor, dear, darling hands! When I saw how that rascal Jake had tied you, I could have throttled the man!”
Miles's voice became serious, and he relaxed his grip. “It would not have been long before he discovered the truth, and what then? I cannot bear to reflect! The risks you have taken, my angel! My dear, brave, wonderful girl!”
Cassandra was overcome. Instead of shame, he was covering her in glory. He was murmuring to her words of love, not of disgust. She dared look at him. His eyes were tender. He opened his arms. She came to him. Somehow, their lips touched. At first gently, then urgently. Her body just melted against his.
Such joy, such pure happiness. Cassandra gave herself up to it, unaware that Rupert had looked in, grinned, and quietly closed the door behind him. It was a long time before the pair became disentangled enough to speak. When they did, Cassandra found she was seated on the duke's lap, her hair tumbling relentlessly from its ribbons.
“Leave it!” That was an order. Cassandra stopped fumbling, ceasing her vain attempts to tie it back. The earl touched a strand. Cassandra quivered at his touch. His voice was deep and husky, his tongue just caressing her ear. “You don't know how I've longed for this, my love. How I've yearned to touch the softness of this mane of gorgeous hair and unpin it from all its clips and ties. As for that hat, that damn, dratted, godforsaken woolen hat! Burn it! I never want to see it again!” The command was imperiously given, but tinged with the strongest hint of laughter.
Cassandra disengaged herself from the duke's tongue and took leave to chuckle impudently. “You cannot know how much I loathed that hat! It was all scratchy and smelled far too distinctively of rotten fish.”
The duke looked at her, then burst out laughing. “I know. Consider it a punishment, you naughty widgeon! You are many things, but not a good liar, I'm afraid to say. Which reminds me... .”
“Yes?”
“Next time Max barks it would not be wise to start coughing. Not a good cover, my dear.”
“You knew?”
“Of course I knew. Those scamps get away with murder. They have been caring for him well, though, so one of these days I might rescind my edict. I'm not such an ogre. The thing is, my dear, you must learn to trust me.”
“But you didn't say where you were going or why. You just mysteriously walked out of here without a word.”
“I knew that if I didn't get your brother back right as nine pence, I wouldn't have a hope of marrying you. You would have gone off to that odious Plum woman, and I would never have laid eyes on you again.”
“She is not odious!”
The duke afforded her a steely glare. “Do not interrupt, I beg. Odious! You would have given me a million and one arguments why you couldn't wed me. You would have insisted you were entrapping me, that I only offered out of honor, that ...”
“But it was true!”
“Listen to me, Cassandra. It was not true! If I can't marry you I'd rather starve in a garret! Since I have no wish to spend the rest of my remaining days hungry, marry me for goodness' sake!”
Cassandra prevaricated. “I still don't see why you rushed off to save Frances like that.”
Miles looked exasperated. “All right, I'll tell you.” His face grew serious. “I wanted you to know that I was not offering out of misguided charity. I had a notion that if your reputation, your home, and your brother were restored, you'd begin to believe me. I made inquiries of the foreign office and discovered Frances's whereabouts. I also had a pretty strong suspicion that Harrington would not stomach his return in good faith. I had no idea the lengths to which he would go, but I determined to fetch Frances back anyway. I had a feeling that the
Prince Regent
would offer him a more comfortable passage than he might have got otherwise. The rest is history.”
“So simple.”
“So simple. And now, my dear Miss Beaumaris, will you please marry me?”
“What about the cards and the dice?”
Miles looked at her for a moment, then a mischievous twinkle appeared in his eye. Cassandra was to learn to be weary of that particular twinkle. Before she knew what he was about he'd lifted her off her feet, flung her over his shoulder, and marched her up to his desk. There he unceremoniously deposited her and administered a light but nonetheless definite spanking with the back of the mahogany hairbrush he'd been saving as her wedding gift. He would delight in brushing those tresses!
Amid indignant screams of laughter and protest, he set her down on her feet once more and smoothed down the back of her ruffled dress. This done, he exasperatedly inquired, “What were those games I played with Mr. Marshall? Do you think I played them for nothing?”
“You mean you played them for the wager?”
“Of course I did! Why else would I while away the time at dice? Do you think I have nothing better to do?”
“Well, I don't know ...”
The words were never finished, Miles's mouth once more blissfully upon her own. A great many moments later, he looked up at her and smiled.
“Perhaps if I ask you like this!” He dropped to his knees, his hands dipping into his waistcoat and emerging with a blue velvet box. “Open it, Cassandra.”
Wonderingly, Cassandra did. Embedded deeply in the white satin was a ring. An elegant contrivance of heavy gold filigree work adorned only by a single, solitaire diamond that flashed blue with purity. The stone sparkled light, its facets refracting the brilliance in a radiant cascade.
Cassandra stared.
“It was my mother's. The last duchess of Wyndham. It is fitting now that it be passed on to the next generation. To the new duchess.”
Cassandra could not speak.
“Here. Let me do this.” The ring was slipped on her finger in a trice. It felt cool and unfamiliar, yet it flashed fire. A reflection of her feelings. The duke was still on his knees, his eyes infinitely tender.
“Now will you marry me, Cassandra? I have won the wager and you have won my heart. For your honor I choose marriage. Will you have me?”
There was no longer any doubt. “Yes!” Cassandra wanted to shout yes and keep on shouting. The ecstasy was too great. Miles stood up and swung her in the air.
“Let us tell the others. The twins will be in seventh heaven, I know! You are quite a hit with them, Miss Beaumaris!” She smiled. “And I daresay Rupert may have an inkling ...”
“Yes. And Frances! I suppose you'd better ask his consent!” Cassandra gurgled at the thought.
“I already have!”
“What? When?”
“This morning when you were out riding. He was not asleep all day as you seem to have imagined. What is more, my dear, I can only say he was not in the least surprised! Said he'd guessed it the first night we rescued him.”
Cassandra looked indignant. “Well! What a cheek! He never said anything to me!”
The duke took her in his arms. All else was forgotten. The future duchess of Wyndham gave herself up to the most improper of advances. Moments later, the library door clicked open. The giggles of the twins and the mock sighs of their lordships Viscount Lyndale and Earl Surrey went unheeded. The gathering was forced to come to the very definite conclusion that the couple was beyond hope. Moonstruck beyond repair. The door quickly clicked shut.
TWENTY
“What is it, Everett?” The duke took pity on his long-suffering secretary and sat up with a sigh. This is not to say that his hold on his affianced lessened any more perceptibly, or that the necktie he'd been at pains to tie that morning in the most impeccable rendition of “The Cascade” looked any more likely to be retrieved from the floor.
If anything, he had to be admonished by his young mistress, who was not so lost to her sense of propriety that she did not seek, with belated modesty, her pins that lay scattered in the velvet folds of the great chaise longue. Seeing her confusion, Mr. Everett coughed once more and found himself apologizing for the intrusion that even a veritable nodcock of the first water would know to be unwelcome.
He was sincerely relieved when the duke favored him with the roguish grin that had not blessed his face for many a long year. His dark, unconsciously saturnine look had yielded to the hidden depths within himself. He appeared most unrepentant as his lady love scolded him for his conduct and gently eased her waist out from his tightening grip. Regaining her customary composure, she welcomed the duke's secretary with a likeable smile and a gracious offer of her hand.
“How do you do, Mr. Everett? I believe I have you to thank for the trouble taken over my missing brother, Frances! No! Do not disclaim! The duke has informed me where the credit lies, and I find myself quite irredeemably in your debt!” Her eyes sparkled merrily as they came to rest on the portly gentleman hovering indecisively in the doorway.
“Come on in! We were just admiring the fine morning, were we not?” She cast careless appeal to her suitor. He rose admirably to the occasion, discoursing for quite half a minute on the fortuitous state of the weather. Since this gentleman had never before waxed lyrical on the subject, Mr. Everett found himself agreeing that the afternoon promised a rare sunny day with some degree of bemusement.
The duke sympathized with his plight, reflecting with wry humor that his well-ordered household would never be the same again. If the Honorable Miss Beaumaris could bring around his crusty old bachelor secretary, she could do the same again with his servants and his wards.
To his astonishment, he found himself looking very much forward to the time he'd be living under the cat's paw. Well, that was a turn up for the books to be sure! His lady love caught the glint of amusement in his dark eyes and responded in kind. Fluttering open her pale feathered fan, she very properly engaged Mr. Everett's attention while throwing His Grace a delicate but decidedly saucy wink.
His most gracious lordship, accustomed as he was to the sycophantic civility of his underlings, found the experience most novel. Indeed, if truth were accurately to be told, the earl of Roscow, baron of the Isles and duke to boot was quite undone. He doubled up in mirth, leaving Mr. Everett uncustomarily bereft for words. The poor man felt strongly that he should leave, but really, the matter was most pressing!
Cassandra resumed her scolding as she presented St. John with a sheer, starched handkerchief of the finest lemon lawn. He did not miss the significance of this act and cocked his brow appreciatively. Wiping his eyes with the said item, he quite deliberately placed it in the pocket of his tightly fitting morning coat before diverting his attention to his long-suffering employee.
“Speak up, James! Am I being dunned by my tailors?”
“Your Grace!” James was shocked at the suggestion, however humorous the tone.
“My nieces in the mire again? I hear the Lady Georgina has an eye to my new roan.” The duke's eyes gleamed.
“No, Your Grace!” James denied, then qualified his words with a cautious enjoinder, “Well, at all events not mischief of that kind!”
A gurgle of happy laughter escaped Cassandra. The duke rounded on her suspiciously. “You know what the young rapscallions are up to now, I'll bet my best nag!”
Miss Beaumaris looked prim. “What, another wager so soon, Your Grace?”
The eighth duke of Wyndham chuckled but was not deterred. “I reckon it's a safe bet, my lass!”
“Possibly!” Cassandra's tone altered. “But I'll not be carrying tarradiddles, Your Grace!”
His Grace groaned. Clearly the little varmints had a new champion in the house. Vallon would be as mad as fire! He had to admit, however, that his fastidious valet would find no fault with his bride. Indeed, quite the reverse if he judged his fine French taste aright. Miss Beaumaris looked enchanting in her cool, lemon-trimmed jonquil cut enticingly low at the front. His eyes moved to the pale flesh that promised such sweet delight, then turned once more on the waiting Mr. Everett.
“Come on, James. I know it must be important. You'd not knowingly disturb me for a trifle.” His voice held a slight hint of impatience that was not missed by Miss Beaumaris. She, it must be said, was engaged in examining the handsome effect of a set of fine muscles, ill concealed behind a tight-fitting shirt of the sheerest silk. When her thoughts strayed to the immaculate fit of his snowy morning pantaloons, she blushed scarlet and looked up straight into the knowing eyes of her lord.
His Grace delivered of himself a wide, impudent grin before returning to the more serious affair that his able secretary felt himself at such pains to impart. “It is the small matter of the Lady Suzannah, Your Grace.”
“The lady who?”
Mr. Everett shuffled his well-polished boots and coughed deprecatingly. He cast a miserable glance at Miss Beaumaris before suggesting in a sotto voce somewhere between a whisper and a rasp that perhaps His Grace would like to accompany him to the sanctuary of his office.
Miles declined with alacrity. He had too much catching up to do with his lady love by far! A quick review of his latest paramours inclined him to believe with a fair degree of certainty that the name Suzannah did not feature among the somewhat lengthy list. Besides, he had sent his latest cher d'amour a fabulously generous gift upon the occasion of his second encounter with the enchanting Miss De Laney.
“Spit it out, James!”
Mr. Everett polished his spectacles, then replaced them with care upon the bridge of his nose. “Your Grace will recall that your great aunt Eltheaâthe dowager marchioness of Langford ...” He stopped as the duke struck his hands dramatically to his face.
“Curses and double curses! Aunt Elthea!” Mr. Everett bowed, relieved that the implication had finally struck his employer.
“Quite so, Your Grace.”
Cassandra looked intrigued. She had taken up a stitching hoop and was idly selecting a thread of flamingo pink, which she deftly wound around her little finger. As her hands hovered over the silks, she could see consternation written clear over the duke's chiseled features. She held her peace, but listened with growing bewilderment to the conversation that ensued. She was no more enlightened, however, by the time Mr. Everett had received his instructions and bowed himself from the room.
“Well, Miles?”
His Grace grimaced as he plucked the stitching frame expertly from her grasp. Ignoring her protest, he slipped his arms around her waist and began resuming where he had formerly left off.
Miss Beaumaris wriggled free. “Miles!”
“What?”
“Tell me what that was all about!”
“That was me being recalled to my arduous duties, ma'am!” He made a face.
“Oh?”
The duke placed a feather-light kiss on her nose, but it missed, landing instead on her rather endearing cheek.
“Miles!” Cassandra brought him up short. “Be serious!”
His Grace's eyes twinkled mischievously. “Are you always this persistent, my love?”
Cassandra relented for a moment and replied with her customary humor. “Always!”
His Grace chuckled at this sally, which annoyed her curiosity excessively. She stamped her foot. The duke's eyes glinted as they fell on her neatly turned ankle. “Do you know, my dear, that is the prettiest sight confronting me in a long time?”
Gasping at his effrontery, Cassandra somehow found herself entangled in his strong grip. Since he smelled so positively, deliciously masculine, and since his shirt strained so invitingly across his broad chest, she gave up the ghost and snuggled deeply into his waiting arms.
It was only much later on in the day that the mistress Cassandra was apprised of St. John's intention of escorting his aunt to her country seat at Shropshire. Sensing there was something more to this venture than immediately met the eye, she probed a bit further. She was more than a little disconcerted to discover that somewhere in England there was a young lady other than herself who cherished ambitions of becoming the newest duchess of Wyndham.
When she tentatively voiced this, His Grace quirked his eyebrow ironically. He informed her with due emphasis that she had better reconcile herself to the idea, for there were several young ladies who could fit that description. Lest she thought him vain, he added with cynical sarcasm that most of them he had not yet even met, nor was ever likely to. She giggled appreciatively, but understood the note of resigned exasperation in his tone. “The title holds the most nonsensical attraction,” he informed her with a deceptive shake of the head. Instinctively, she understood.
When he teased her about her own ambitions, she was indignant. She told Miles with a fair degree of asperity that she was not wishful of the title at all. His Grace was perceptive enough to believe and love her for this, but he did not pass up the opportunity to roast her a little. He very unchivalrously demanded to know exactly what it was that she did desire of matrimony with him. When she colored up delightfully, he declared that they would need the special license sooner than she thought if she wished to remain at all respectable.
Cassandra sobered. Her active imagination led her to believe that the announcement would be a most mortifying blow to the absent Lady Suzannah. While she realized that an offer had not actually been made, her sense of honor could not allow her to accept a proposal that would come at the expense of severe disappointment to one less fortunate than herself. Perhaps her recent experiences had made her more sensitive to the plight of others. Whatever the case, she repressed the deep feeling of chagrin that seemed to whelm up from her depths and shook her head at the man who had now become so dear to her.
“It won't fadge, my dear!”
His Grace took up his position by the bay window and looked down at her with mild surprise. “What won't?”
“A harrum scarrum marriage that you might well come to regret! Your aunt, Elthea, will not like it, and I daresay a whole brace of relatives won't either!”
The duke looked into her wide, intoxicating eyes and thought them delightful. Privately, he wished all his relatives in bedlam, but he chose not to say so. Instead, he caught up her well-sprigged bonnet and began making sense of the tangles. He cast his mind back to that other time he was engaged in this activity and grinned.
“Frills and furbelows! I see you need a man's help!” He playfully wagged his finger at her and his ruby signet gleamed. She longed to take his hand, but resisted the temptation with an effort. He was being annoyingly, endearingly, frustratingly obtuse! Talking of head wear when she felt the world likely to cave in! There he went again ... his fingers were so nimble and firm... .
“However do your bonnets get in this unseemly state of disarray? I could swear there are any number of knots in these ribbons!”
“Miles! You are not paying attention!”
He looked her up and down, from the tips of her toes to the crown of her head, and she felt a delicious shudder suffuse her body. He grinned wickedly. “I am, my dear, I assure you I am!”
“You are what?”
“Paying attention, you goose! What else?” His eyes were velvety as they rested on hers. “You were saying? Ah, yes, I recall. Some addle-pated nonsense about my family deploring our match. Why ever should they? Your antecedents are impeccable. Not even the most toplofty, exacting of my exasperating family could ever find fault!” The duke was emphatic.
Cassandra bit her lip. “That is a matter of dispute, Your Grace. Your great aunt clearly had other designs for you. Besides, a hasty, nimble-shamble union is not what is owing to the consequence of His Grace of Wyndham! Not to mention your numerous other titles that date back to goodness knows when!” She drew breath, and the duke availed himself of the opportunity to stem her flow.
“A nimble-shamble, harrum-scarrum marriage, as you term it, would be just the thing for me! Only think how detestable it will be if we have to wait for the petrifyingly pompous ceremony the ton will no doubt insist on according my position!” He dropped his hand and watched her, his eyes never leaving hers for a moment. “The endless invitations, the countless carriages arriving from who knows where for who knows how long, the bickering over what honors should be bestowed where, who takes precedence over whom in the seating arrangements, which choir will preside, which archbishop shall be in attendance ... the mind boggles!”