In the Garden of Seduction (13 page)

“Rumors can be unreliable.”

“True,” Cassandra allowed. “A detective
appeared on my doorstep a few weeks ago, claiming I was the lost
granddaughter of the Earl of Whittingham. Papers left after my
mother’s death proved that to be the case.”

“It must have come as a shock.”

“Naturally, but I’m not going to let it
change my life. I know who I am. Just because someone has changed
the rules in the middle of the game doesn’t mean I intend to play
it that way.”

“Maybe you have no choice,” he said
thoughtfully. “Sometimes one cannot change the outcome no matter
how hard one tries.”

Cassandra set her jaw in a stubborn line.
“I’m going to return home as soon as possible, my lord. My
grandfather wants to manage my life but I won’t let him do it.”

Lord Sutherfield sent her a calculating
look. “You’ve answered my original question. You do not intend to
marry Morley.”

“Why do you care what my intentions are?”
she asked him testily.

“I’ve told you, Miss James, I like you. I’m
worried you might make a mistake.”

“You dare tell me how to avoid
mistakes?”

“Calm yourself, Miss James. It’s clear that
Morley is not right for you. Actually, I think he is more
compatible with Miss Ingram.”

Forgetting her desire to be angry with him,
Cassandra leapt on his statement. “You’ve noticed it, also?”

“They are the opposing sides of the same
coin. Meant for one another in my humble opinion.” There was no
mistaking the irony in the marquess’ voice.

“If only Grandfather would see reason, but
Roger will not help me.” In her enthusiasm, she grabbed hold of his
arm.

“Do you think Roger is aware of his own
feelings?” he asked, his gaze dropping to the slim fingers
clutching his coat.

Cassandra drew back her hand. “He has
admitted as much to me though he feels nothing can be done about
it.”

Lord Sutherfield pulled on the reins,
bringing the carriage to a halt, and turned on the seat to face
her. “Maybe I can help.”

“How?”

“I could pretend to be taken with Miss
Ingram. Maybe a little competition is the very push Mr. Morley
needs.”

Cassandra was not sure she liked that idea.
“Maybe,” she said slowly. “There’s no guarantee that Penelope will
be interested.”

“It’s not her interest that will worry
Morley.” He grinned shrewdly. “It’s
mine
.”

“It’s not right to toy with another’s
emotions, my lord. Penelope is not my favorite relative, but I
don’t want to see her hurt.”

“If all goes well, Miss Ingram will be very
grateful to us both. In this instance we will have to agree the end
justifies the means.” He raised his brows at her. “It is, of
course, only a suggestion.”

“Yes, well…you could be right.” All at once
she was nervous, for he was watching her through smoky, half-lidded
eyes. When he did that her thoughts scattered.

“You are especially fetching today, Miss
James.” His gaze turned blacker, dropping to her parted lips.

A sensuous smile lifted the corners of his
mouth, and she stared in fascination as his perfect white teeth
grazed his bottom lip.

He was going to kiss her, and she suddenly
found the idea very exciting. Was she disconcerted by the talk of
wooing Penelope? She closed her eyes.

Several tension-filled moments passed as
Cassandra waited for the marquess to perform as she expected. When
nothing happened, she peeked through her lashes. He was peering
into her tilted face, wearing a pleased look.

Cassandra felt her body flush with
humiliation. If her foot had not been injured, she would have
jumped out of the curricle and run the rest of the way home. She
must have looked as if that was her intention, for the marquess
reached out and grabbed her arm.

“Here now—” he began.

“Take me home, Lord Sutherfield.”

“Miss James, I’m sorry. I was merely
enjoying the view.”

“I said take me home.”

She could not look at him, instead staring
straight ahead. Cassandra sensed rather than saw him grasp the
reins, and the carriage lurched forward as the marquess once again
set the horses into motion. Mercifully, he remained silent.

Five minutes later they reached their
destination but it could have been forever, for that was how long
it seemed to Cassandra.

Again, Lord Sutherfield spoke. “Miss
James…Cassandra…”

She swung in his direction and glared at
him. “That is the last liberty you will take with me today, my
lord. I have not given you permission to use my name, and now I
think I never shall. For the sake of decency let me go so I don’t
further disgrace myself.”

“Do you wish me to help you inside?” he
asked her quietly.

He looked as though he regretted his earlier
behavior, but it was too late. If he touched her now she would
begin to weep, and she would despise herself even more. It was her
fault, she thought miserably. He had made her feel foolish on more
than one occasion. Anyone as gullible as she deserved what came to
her.

“The footman will help me.”

Cassandra waved over the young man at the
front entrance, and when he reached the carriage she climbed down
into his arms. Lord Sutherfield mercifully refrained from offering
any assistance. The butler opened the door, and she disappeared
into the house to nurse her battered ego.

*****

Cassandra dabbed impatiently at the moisture
on her brow. She had been sitting in the blazing sun in an open
carriage for nearly an hour, her only company the coachman. She was
growing angrier by the moment.

This was her first outing since the picnic,
Roger escorting Penelope and Cassandra to the local village. But
two hours of walking made her foot swell. Unwilling to risk further
damage, she had offered to sit in the landaulet until Penelope
could complete her purchases. It seemed her cousin was in no
hurry.

Two weeks had passed since the picnic when
Cassandra had quarreled with the Marquess of Sutherfield. Even now
she flushed with shame when she remembered how she had fallen into
his trap. Cassandra wondered if she could ever forgive him. What
did it matter? He had probably gone back to London and forgotten
her.

She glared at the shop across the street
where Penelope had entered thirty minutes before. At that moment
the door opened and her female cousin emerged, followed by Roger
who teetered under a load of packages. Penelope waved and sailed
into another shop. Roger sent Cassandra a look of apology before
turning and stumbling after the petite blonde.

And there, Roger, is the rest of your
life.
Sighing, she asked, “Are you as tired of waiting as I am,
Fenn?”

The coachman swung around to look at her.
“Just doing my job, miss. Sometimes that includes waiting.” He
shrugged his shoulders, however, his expression was one of
sympathy.

“It’s so warm,” she complained.

“I think we’ll be on our way soon.” Fenn
motioned toward the couple now crossing the street.

Sure enough, Penelope and Roger were
returning. Cassandra smiled but was once again angered when she
realized that her cousins were merely depositing their packages in
the carriage in preparation for another foray on the shops.

“Roger’s been so gallant,” Penelope gushed.
“I’ve two more places I want to visit and he has promised to carry
my packages. I don’t know what I would have done without him.” She
bustled back across the street and into the haberdashery.

“Roger,” Cassandra said through gritted
teeth, “I want to go home. I don’t care how you do it, but convince
Penelope that she wants to go home as well. I’ve been patient long
enough.”

Her cousin gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing
nervously up and down his throat. “Of course, my dear. I’ll see if
I can hurry her up. It is sultry out here.”

Now there was an understatement, Cassandra
thought. She watched as her cousin retraced his steps, and ten
minutes later Penelope came stomping out of the shop, a sheepish
Roger in tow.

“That’s most unsporting of you to bring an
end to my shopping, Cassandra,” she said, reaching the vehicle.
“After all, my foot is quite all right.”

“Let’s be thoughtful, Pen. It’s an awfully
hot day,” Roger said. “The sun is turning Cassandra’s cheeks
pink.”

“I can see you are correct,” Penelope
responded spitefully. “Being a redhead…how dreadful.” She clambered
into the carriage with Roger’s help and, once seated, crossed her
arms militantly over her bosom.

Oh lord, now they would be treated to one of
Penelope’s sulks. Cassandra winked at Roger in commiseration, for
he looked dejected. As a rule she had little in common with her
cousin, but today she felt sorry for him.

Roger gave her a halfhearted smile then
turned his attention to his fingernails. Since neither cousin
showed any desire to talk to her, she sat back and enjoyed the
ride.

Several minutes out of the village Cassandra
yelled at Fenn to stop the carriage. Something on the side of the
road had captured her attention and, before the vehicle came to a
complete halt, she stood ready to descend.

“Cassie, what are you doing?” Roger
asked.

“Help me, please. We passed something back
there, and I want to see what it is.”

“I thought your foot hurt you, cousin,”
Penelope put forth.

Cassandra grimaced at her. “It does but I’m
still going to have a look.”

Roger helped her out of the landaulet.
Lifting her skirts, she trotted down the dusty road. Her foot did
hurt. Cassandra felt a twinge in it each time her sole came in
contact with the ground, but she did not pause.

She stopped and peered down into the tall
grasses at the edge of the road. Something was there. She knelt
beside what appeared to be a small bundle of clothing. The bundle
moved and a cry tore from her throat. Sobbing as though his heart
would break lay a tiny heap of fragile humanity curled into a tight
ball.

“You poor little thing,” Cassandra
exclaimed, her voice breaking at the sound of the pathetic weeping.
“What has happened to you?”

Roger, who had followed, came upon her.
“What is it, Cassie?”

“Oh, Roger, it’s a little boy.” She stood
up. “I think he’s been hurt. Have Fenn move the carriage here so we
can get him to a doctor.”

“I’ll do no such thing.”

Cassandra spun around to look at him. Roger
was staring at her in repulsion, and for a moment she could not
speak.

“Why would you refuse to help?”

“He’s a filthy little beggar boy. I strongly
suggest you do not touch him. He might have vermin. Come, it’s time
for us to return home.” He backed away then turned and started
toward the carriage.

Cassandra came to her feet and sent a look
of sheer loathing at Roger’s retreating back. She had to restrain
the urge to run behind him, using her fists to pommel him on the
head and shoulders.

She would have tried to reason with him, but
in that moment she realized he was not worth the effort. Picking up
her skirts again, she limped to the landaulet, passing Roger on the
road. Her foot had begun to throb in earnest.

“Fenn,” she called, “there is a small boy
who has been hurt. I want you to move the carriage back there so we
can pick him up more easily.”

“I forbid it,” Roger stated as he came to
stand next to her.

“And I will tell you, Mr. Morley, if you
cannot be of help, get out of the way,” Cassandra snapped at him.
“Fenn, please do as I ask.”

The coachman looked first at his young
mistress and then at Roger. He scarcely hesitated before setting
the horses into a backward motion.

“Now see here,” Roger insisted, but no one
was listening. Cassandra raced to the injured child, ignoring the
shouts of protest that emanated from the landaulet. Not only was
Roger upbraiding her from the road, now that Penelope knew what was
going on, she had joined in.

“I’m not riding with that disreputable
creature,” she yelled.

Cassandra pinned her with a look as Fenn
brought the vehicle to a halt. “That’s too bad, cousin, for you
will find it a long walk home.”

“Well, I never!” Penelope sputtered, her
face flushing a dull red.

After that Cassandra ignored both her
cousins, turning her attention to the child. He had stopped crying
and was watching her with something akin to awe. Great blue eyes
stared out at her from a pitifully thin, pallid face. He appeared
to be about six years of age with nearly white hair, and he was
extremely dirty. But beneath all the pain and filth lurked the most
beautiful child she had ever seen.

“Can you stand?” she asked him gently.

“I was on me feet ‘til I got here,” he
said.

Tears clouded Cassandra’s vision with his
attempt at bravado. “Come on, let’s see about getting you into the
carriage over there.” She reached down and took his arm to help him
from the ground.

A piercing scream caused her to stiffen in
shock. The child’s features were contorted with agony, and then she
noticed the odd angle of his scrawny arm. Cassandra drew back and
covered her mouth in dawning horror.

“Fenn,” she spoke through a throat thick
with emotion, “please help me. I’m not strong enough to get him
into the carriage without hurting him further. I’ll climb in and
you can hand him to me.”

This time the burly servant did not
hesitate. “Yes, miss,” he said, lumbering down from his bench.
After seeing his mistress settled into her seat, he turned to the
boy.

Cassandra watched as the huge man with the
meaty hands stooped over and tenderly picked up the injured child.
He closed the distance between himself and the carriage in a half
dozen easy strides. The boy moaned feebly as Fenn placed him on the
seat next to her, and she and the coachman shared a look fraught
with pity.