In the Garden of Seduction (15 page)

She had ignored her grandfather upon
returning the night before. He’d had nothing to say to her, either.
His attitude about the child had forced another wedge between them,
and she wondered if they would ever bridge the gap. As far as she
was concerned it had been a wasted effort from the start.

As Cassandra tethered her mount, the front
door was opened. Mr. Stiles stood at the entrance, a look of
surprise on his homely features.

“Miss James?” he ventured. “I thought I
heard a rider. What are you doing here at this hour?”

“Mr. Stiles, I apologize for disturbing you,
but I’ve been so worried about that little boy. I couldn’t tell my
grandfather he was here, or he would realize I disobeyed him. I had
to sneak away—”

“My dear Miss James, you will be in serious
trouble if Lord Whittingham discovers you have come.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t tell.” She smiled
at him hopefully. “Please, let me see the boy for a moment.”

He returned her smile and, after a brief
hesitation, nodded. “I suppose it can’t do any harm.” He drew back
from the door so she could enter.

“I’m sorry I woke you, Mr. Stiles,” she said
as she entered.

“Nonsense. Haven’t been to bed yet—on my way
there right now. I was passing through the main hall. That’s why I
heard you arrive.” He started to climb the staircase but turned to
look at her. “By the time the little fellow was settled, I couldn’t
sleep and neither could Simon.”

“Did you call the doctor?” Cassandra fell in
behind Mr. Stiles, following him up the stairs.

“Yes. You were correct, you know,” he said
as he reached the landing. “That child has a broken arm.” He led
her down a long hall, stopping at the last room on the right. “He’s
in here.” He opened the door and ushered her into the chamber.
Holding his index finger to his lips for quiet, he nodded toward
the bed.

Alone in the room with her host, all at once
Cassandra realized the impropriety of her mission. She sent Mr.
Stiles an embarrassed look.

“Perhaps I should not have come.”

Mr. Stiles dropped his gaze and coughed into
his hand. “No need to apologize, dear lady. I find your concern
admirable. You sit with him as long as you like, although we should
take care that you leave before you are seen. If you need me I’ll
be down the hall.” He left the room.

Cassandra pulled a chair to the side of the
bed and sat down, bringing her attention to the tiny boy as he
slept soundly, nearly lost in the plush bedclothes. His delicate
features were drawn and pale and even in sleep his suffering was
evident. Someone had washed his face, which brought to light a fine
sprinkling of freckles across his impish nose. The doctor had set
the broken arm with plaster from shoulder to wrist, leaving just a
small hand visible. She placed slim fingers on his forehead.

“He will be all right, you know.”

Cassandra stiffened. Her gaze flew across
the room to where Lord Sutherfield lounged against the doorjamb,
watching her. She had hoped not to see his lordship because he
always complicated matters. She glanced at the boy to hide her
confusion, refusing to allow the marquess to see how he had
disconcerted her.

“I’m more worried about where we go from
here, my lord,” she said finally. “Once he is mended do we send him
back to that cruel father? I could hardly sleep thinking about what
to do.”

Lord Sutherfield straightened and ambled
across the room. He looked as rumpled as the bedding he clearly had
come from. She supposed she ought to be used to him in that
disheveled state. Still she found it discomfiting.

He leaned against the fireplace, arm thrown
across the mantle, and studied her through narrowed eyes. “Have you
come to any conclusions?”

“No,” she admitted.

“Perhaps if the father knows he is being
watched…”

“That’s what my grandfather said, but Mr.
Bailey is an inebriate. Someone under the influence of alcohol
rarely has the sense to do what is right, even if there are
disagreeable repercussions. If this man is in the habit of
terrorizing his family, it is not going to end simply because we
don’t approve.”

“I believe you are right.” Sighing, he ran
his hand across his mouth. “I think we are going to have to take
this a day at a time. Let’s get the boy well. Then we will do what
we can to stop the abuse.”

He sounded confident and that gave her hope,
as he was in a position to have some influence over the situation.
She brought her gaze back to the child.

“Timothy,” Lord Sutherfield said.

“What?” She darted a look at the
marquess.

“You were wondering what his name is,
weren’t you?”

Smiling, she said, “It suits him.”

“I thought so.” Lord Sutherfield took the
remaining chair in the room and moved it to the side of the bed
opposite Cassandra. “He’s a brave little chap. I was quite
impressed.” Sitting down, he brought his warm regard to her face.
“Before the laudanum took effect, he asked me where the beautiful
angel with the red hair had gone.”

She felt her cheeks grow hot, for his black
eyes had taken on that sultry, suggestive look which always made
her pulse leap.

“That was sweet of him,” she said
dubiously.

“Oh, no, I think he’s the right of it.” He
paused, a half-smile easing his handsome mouth. “I want you to
answer a question for me.”

“What?” Why did she have to sound so
breathless, Cassandra thought in disgust?

“Have you forgiven me?”

He looked at her with such an expectant
expression, she couldn’t find it in her power to deny him. “I will
forgive you under one condition.”

He beamed at her. “Anything.”

“Would you try not to make me appear an
absolute fool? I find I cannot like it. Vain of me, I’m sure, but
there it is.”

“Miss James, you could never appear the
fool. And you know,” he confided, his manner ingenious, “I was
about to kiss you in that carriage. I was having such a pleasant
time admiring your lovely face, I simply didn’t get down to the
business at hand. I won’t make that mistake again.”

Cassandra smiled at him because she could
not prevent herself.

“Ah, Miss James, you warm my heart. I feared
I might never again feel the warmth of your approval.”

Cassandra raised one brow at him in
challenge. “I don’t know that you’ve ever felt it, my lord.”

His husky laughter filled the chamber. “What
a delight you are. I was right—I do like you.”

“Be quiet, please, you’ll wake the
child.”

She wasn’t certain whether she should be
pleased or dismayed by this sudden turn in the conversation.
Cassandra glanced uneasily at Timothy, but the boy continued to
sleep, oblivious. She searched for a change of subject.

“You know something of me, Lord Sutherfield,
but I know nothing of you.”

“It’s my history you want? I’m
flattered.”

“I’d rather you weren’t,” she muttered
ungraciously.

Again he laughed. “I have an older sister,
Lydia, another sister, Jillian, who is about your age, two younger
brothers, a wonderful mother and scores of relatives—some of whom I
hardly know. My father died nearly four years ago.” The marquess
sobered then. “I still miss him.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, his attitude philosophical.
“It’s the way of the world. We live and we die. The lucky ones are
those who leave mourners. It’s a sad thing to pass through this
earthly realm and no one cares.”

“Yes, it is.” Cassandra’s gaze drifted back
to the tiny form under the coverlet, and she felt a pressure around
her heart that was altogether unpleasant. She brought emotional
eyes back to the marquess. “Thank you, my lord, for helping
Timothy. You and Mr. Stiles have been very kind.”

“Then I’m going to ask a favor of you in
compensation.” He gazed intently at her.

She was suddenly wary. “I’ll try, my
lord.”

“On those occasions when we are alone, I
would like to call you by your given name.”

“We shouldn’t be alone, my lord.” She
skirted the issue, for it was risking a familiarity she shouldn’t
allow. She decided to ignore the fact that they were alone right
now.

“But in the unlikely event that we are,” he
pressed, “I would consider it a token of our friendship. And I
would like you to call me by my given name.”

Cassandra started to fidget in her chair.
She had stayed too long, she realized. Every time she was in this
man’s company he stalked her like a wily cat. And it didn’t help
that the prey was captivated by the hunter. On the surface, what he
asked was reasonable. It hurt nothing, really. But she believed
this was his way of pealing back the layers of inhibitions. Each
layer was so fine, so insubstantial, so seemingly innocuous, what
could she protest? But add those layers together, and she came
perilously close to disgrace.

“Lord Sutherfield,” Cassandra emphasized his
name, “you place me in a delicate position. I am grateful for your
kindness, and I wish to return the favor. Isn’t there something
else I could do?”

“No,” he said, his voice full of regret. The
marquess hesitated then as though suddenly struck by an idea. “Wait
a minute now. Perhaps there is something.”

She felt herself tense with anticipation.
All she could manage was a wide-eyed stare, waiting for him to
enlighten her.

“I would settle for that kiss we almost
shared in Harry’s carriage.”

Cassandra stood abruptly. “That does seem
less intimate than sharing names,” she said caustically. “I think
it’s time I went home, my lord.”

He caught her as she stomped angrily toward
the door. Grabbing hold of her upper arms, he pulled her up against
his chest. “Oh, come, Miss James—Cassandra—you were prepared to
kiss me before. Why not now? Such a small request.” The marquess’
voice had turned to a gravelly whisper and his dusky eyes gleamed
at her meaningfully.

She tried to speak, but couldn’t. She meant
to struggle, but didn’t. Instead, a dark excitement deep in her
belly burst forth and radiated through her body. She relaxed
against him, the fight completely deserting her. Her only denial
was a vague shaking of her head.

Her lids drifted downward, and briefly she
wondered if he would do to her what he had done before. She need
not have worried. His mouth came down on hers as if he were
thirsting for her.

Cassandra’s heart rattled with such force,
she feared it might explode. A great welling of sensation surged
forth immersing her in its sweetness. Nerve endings came alive in
places she had never acknowledged, a delicious feeling steadily
increasing to a pulsing warmth.

A soft whimper escaped her. It shocked her
but she could feel the marquess feasting on her excitement, drawing
from her his own gratification.

He did not let her go, instead wrapping one
arm around her waist while bringing his other hand to the base of
her neck. Snaking his fingers into her hair, he dislodged the
ribbon, loosening the red curls.

She melted into his embrace as his fiery
mouth continued its relentless exploration, moving aggressively
across her parted lips, forcing her to respond. And then his tongue
found her, tasting her, pleasuring her.

All at once the marquess released her mouth,
although he continued to hold her fast against him. Breathing
harshly, he stared down at her, his dark features contorted by
lust. His stimulated body was pressed indecently against her
hip.

“See what you do to me?” he growled. He made
it sound like an accusation.

Cassandra looked at him, stricken. She was
reeling, not only from wounded sensibilities, but a raging passion
gone out of control. This was dreadfully wrong, and still she had
not wanted him to end it. If he kissed her again she was lost.

For several long moments he held her, his
gaze traveling over her fevered face. The examination seemed
unending, and she stared back at him because his compelling eyes
would not free her.

At last he spoke. “Are you angry with
me?”

“No, my lord, but you’ve made my point,” she
forced the words through a throat gone tight with emotion. “We
should not be alone together.”

Lord Sutherfield brought his hand from the
back of her neck and set his index finger beneath her chin, lifting
her face to his. He ran his thumb across her bottom lip, his eyes
taking on a predatory glow. He chuckled softly.

“Ah, Miss James, what an intriguing woman
you are. You never fail to entertain me. We do have something in
common, you know.”

“We do?”

“Yes, indeed.” He gave her a slow smile. “We
are both fighting a burning desire for the other. You do desire me,
don’t you, Miss James?”

Was he taunting her? His attitude did not
appear derisive. His words did bring her around, though. She felt
as if she were surfacing through the sensual layers of an erotic
dream. She began to struggle from his grip.

“I may be naive, Lord Sutherfield, but even
I know desire does not have to mean anything. I refuse to pretend
there is more to it than that.”

The marquess dropped his arm from her waist,
and she stepped away from him.

“The man who loves you had better protect
his ego,” he said in a dry voice, “for you won’t make it easy.”

“You are the most insufferably conceited man
I’ve ever met. You don’t need me to confirm your self-worth.”

“Maybe not, but for some reason it’s
important to me.”

He looked deadly serious, but Cassandra was
afraid to trust him. She sent her troubled gaze across the room to
Timothy. The child slept despite the charged atmosphere in the
room.

“I shouldn’t have come. I was so worried
about the boy and so angry with my grandfather, I didn’t
think.”

“Hindsight,” he conceded. “Though I, for
one, am glad you did.”

“You will let Timothy know I was here?”