In the Garden of Seduction (18 page)

The same thought had occurred to her with
regard to the earl’s servants when she had spoken to Mr. Fennigan
earlier in the week and then Annie tonight. She wondered when she
began to feel that way. Was it possible that she might actually
belong? What’s more, did she want to? Somehow it seemed disloyal to
her father.

And then she saw him.

The Marquess of Sutherfield stood by the
double doors leading to the balcony, watching her. In that moment
she was back at a party given by Mrs. Witherspoon. A dark
gentleman, much too handsome for his own good, stared avidly at
her, not bothering to hide his interest. Something different
colored his expression tonight.

For an instant he was unmasked.

He snared her with his gaze, although he did
not toy with her as he had on that first evening many weeks before.
Cassandra saw the hunger in his eyes, the exposed desire. He sent
her a silent message across the crowded room, and a strange
throbbing burgeoned deep within her in response.

Then it was if it had never happened. He
nodded at her and turned his attention to an attractive brunette on
his left. So completely did his attitude change, she wondered if
she had misunderstood.

The marquess ignored her after that. He made
the rounds, stopping to chat with the other guests. He was a
charismatic socializer and divided his time equally between the
ladies and the gentlemen. Cassandra tried not to notice how the
women were drawn to him, how they flirted, how they vied for his
attention.

Only once did she catch his gaze on her as
she conversed with another gentleman, a Mr. Haseltine. Mr.
Haseltine had monopolized her for twenty minutes, making plain his
admiration until she was thoroughly embarrassed. She saw Lord
Sutherfield’s eyes narrow slightly as he looked first at her and
then her companion, but his expression was unreadable.

Moments later he took Penelope into
dinner.

As prearranged, Roger approached Cassandra
at that time to take her into dinner, saving her from Mr.
Haseltine. She could not believe how happy she was to see her
cousin’s sanctimonious face. Cutting off Mr. Haseltine
mid-sentence, she grasped the excuse Roger provided and pulled him
into the dining room.

Roger steered her toward a small table where
Penelope sat alone, waiting for the marquess to return with food
from the buffet. Cassandra didn’t understand why Roger chose to sit
there, although she had detected his displeasure at the attention
Lord Sutherfield was showing Penelope.

Penelope, however, was more than gratified
to have caught the notice of the marquess. She sent Cassandra a
self-satisfied smile.

“Isn’t Lord Sutherfield the most handsome
man?—and such a gentleman, too. Cassie, you believed he was
interested in you.”

Roger interrupted. “Lord Sutherfield is not
the sort of man to be interested in any woman seriously. I suggest
both of you remember that,” he said in a sour voice. “What would
you like to eat, Cassandra?”

“You choose. I really don’t care.”

And she did not. Penelope’s vanity and
Roger’s discontent had robbed her of her appetite. To make matters
worse, Lord Sutherfield was threading his way through the crowd,
balancing a plate of food in each hand as he approached their
table. Now she would have to talk to him.

Roger gave the marquess a curt nod before
turning to leave. Cassandra sensed the animosity emanating from her
cousin, which increased her apprehension. At least he was
exhibiting some emotion besides the sulks, she thought.

An odd little smile played on Lord
Sutherfield’s mouth. “I don’t think Mr. Morley cares for me,” he
said when Roger was out of hearing distance. He placed the plates
on the table and sat down.

“I’m certain you are mistaken,” Penelope
said. “Roger likes everyone, doesn’t he, Cassie?”

Since Cassandra had come to believe Roger
liked almost no one, she could not give the expected answer. She
found herself looking to Lord Sutherfield for guidance.

He lifted his gaze to hers and grinned
mischievously. “Doesn’t he, Miss James?”

Cassandra felt the heat rise to her face.
There was no reason she should be embarrassed except his black
stare held something so insinuating, she began to squirm in her
seat. She hated that he could fluster her with such ease, always
putting her on the defensive.

“There are those people Roger likes, and
those he does not. I’m not certain what category you fall into, my
lord.”

The marquess laughed, a great bellowing
laugh that caused heads to swivel in their direction. He looked at
Penelope. “Your cousin takes much delight in putting me in my
place. So refreshing, don’t you think?”

Penelope merely stared at him in open
fascination.

“Oh, hush!” Cassandra was mortified, and yet
the warm admiration on his face sent a shiver of excitement racing
through her vitals.

Roger returned, his features pinched with
disapproval. “This certainly is an unruly table,” he said, taking a
seat.

“Thank you, Mr. Morley, for reminding us of
our manners,” the marquess said. “We shall try not to upset you any
further.” He then lavished attention on a very receptive
Penelope.

The tiny blonde was fetching in a lavender
gown of watered silk. She giggled and flirted with Lord
Sutherfield, ignoring the other two people at the table.

Cassandra nibbled at her supper, fighting
the unpleasant sensation of jealously. She should be relieved his
lordship was directing that powerful personality at someone besides
herself, but she was irritated.

She suspected Lord Sutherfield was executing
his plan to make Roger admit his feelings for Penelope. If dark
looks and muttered oaths were any indication, it seemed Roger was
falling victim to the plot. The young man became so sullen and
ungracious, Cassandra began to fear there might be an
altercation.

She also had the uncomfortable notion the
marquess was trying to expose someone else’s feelings.

The small orchestra in the parlor started
playing again and the music drifted into the dining room, signaling
the return of the dancing. Roger took his fork and placed it on the
table. He came to his feet.

“Miss Ingram,” he stated in an ominous
voice, “I believe you and I have the first dance after dinner.”

Penelope stared at him. “Are you certain?”
she asked, confused. “Perhaps I’d best check my dance card.” She
fumbled with the card dangling from her wrist.

“I remember perfectly. Come,” he said, his
manner now commanding.

“If you really think so, Roger.” Penelope
raised limpid eyes to his face and, without another word, rose from
the table and placed her hand in his.

Cassandra watched the couple leave the room,
Roger leading the way and Penelope meekly following.

“What do you think?”

She brought her wary gaze to Lord
Sutherfield. “What do I think about what?” she asked
cautiously.

“Why, Mr. Morley and Miss Ingram, of course.
If Mr. Morley ground his teeth any more, he would be eating gruel
for the rest of his life.” He chuckled. “There’s a man who is lost
whether he wishes to be or not.”

“I think you underestimate Roger’s resolve,
my lord.”

“And that means…?” He raised his brows at
her in question.

“He has admitted to me that he has feelings
for Penelope. He has also said that won’t stand in his way as he
plans his life. There is a price he has to pay to have what he
wants, and if it includes marrying me, then so be it.”

The marquess rested his elbow on the table
and placed his chin in his hand. “Tell me, Miss James, do you
intend to go along with this scheme?”

“Of course, not,” she snapped. “It is one
thing to begin a life without affection, something else entirely to
despise one’s spouse.”

“Then you are humoring Lord Whittingham,
allowing him to believe you will marry his nephew?”

“I’ve told my grandfather how I feel.”
Cassandra paused, unsure how much to confess. “There is a chance I
may have no choice.”

“Would you like to explain that?”

Something in his voice caused her to look at
him sharply. “It’s nothing.” She shook her head, unwilling to
continue with the painful subject. Eyes unfocused, she gazed at her
plate with its uneaten food.

“No one has come to claim you for this
dance.”

Grateful that he had changed the subject,
Cassandra flashed him a brilliant smile. She looked at her dance
card.

“This explains it.” She felt a bubble of
laughter rise in her throat as she showed him the card.

“Ah…Roger’s dance, is it?” Lord
Sutherfield’s sultry eyes warmed with appreciation. “Then I have
you all to myself. Would you care to take a stroll with me?”

“There is no one waiting for you?”

“Miss James, there is only one woman I want
to spend time with, and I’m looking at her. I haven’t signed any
dance cards this evening.”

“What a flatterer you are, my lord.” she
said faintly

He stood up and gave her his hand. “It’s not
flattery to speak the truth,” he said. “Come. We need to show Miss
Ingram and Morley that you and I are not nursing broken hearts over
their desertion.”

He smiled at her in that way that made her
heart flutter with equal amounts of dread and anticipation.
Slipping her hand in his, she glanced at him shyly as she eased
from her chair.

They entered the parlor but rather than
joining the dancers, they took a slow turn around the perimeter of
the room. The marquess took her arm and pulled her close to him, a
little closer than he ought, and a mellow groan rose from his
chest.

Strange, Cassandra thought. That sound
mimicked exactly the way she was feeling. She wondered if his heart
was pumping as erratically as hers was right now.

“Perfect,” he murmured against her ear.

She peeked up at him through her lashes. “My
lord?”

“You and me, arm in arm. I’ve strolled with
many ladies over the years, though you fit me best.” As if to prove
his point, he drew her nearer to his side, his dark eyes
deepening.

“People will begin to comment.” Her protest
was a feeble one. She objected because she thought she should, not
because she wanted him to comply.

“Yes, they will.” Lord Sutherfield concurred
as he pulled her nearer. “They will say what a handsome couple we
make. The room will be filled with envy.”

“If we’re to judge by the scowl on my
grandfather’s face, it will be filled with something else, my
lord.”

“Does it worry you? I don’t wish to cause
you trouble.”

She peeked furtively at her grandfather.
These last weeks she had done her best to oppose the earl, but
lately the desire to do so had eased. If she defied him, she would
have to admit it was something besides childish rebellion that
motivated her.

“I should be allowed to talk to you. I see
no harm in that, do you?” she said as the last notes of the music
trailed away into the stuffy air of the parlor.

“To tell you the truth, Miss James, I don’t
know.”

Cassandra expected to see that crooked smile
the marquess wore when he bantered with her, but his expression was
serious. He dropped her arm and stepped back.

“Are you known to trifle with the ladies?”
she asked, teasing him gently.

“And if I am?” No hint of amusement shaded
the question.

She stared at him, nonplussed.

Smiling, the earl bowed slightly, turning to
leave.

Cassandra touched his sleeve. “I’ve not had
a chance to talk to you about Timothy.”

His glance shifted to something behind her,
and Cassandra peered over her shoulder. The earl was still watching
them, and his anger was unmistakable. Lord Sutherfield brought his
gaze back to her.

“Lord Whittingham does not trust me.”

“That’s true,” she acknowledged.

“If you will join me outside in one half
hour, perhaps we can talk for a few minutes uninterrupted.” The
words came out in an urgent whisper, and he looked as though he
expected her to refuse.

Cassandra knew he was issuing a challenge by
the way he tossed the suggestion at her. It was brazen to ask her
to meet him clandestinely.

And she was tempted.

“Where?”

Lord Sutherfield’s eyes lit with eagerness.
“There’s a stone bench in the rose garden. It’s a small garden off
the west wing. Go out through the French doors in the morning room
at the rear of the house. No one will see you, and the garden is
only a few steps from there.”

She nodded. “One half hour, my lord.”

He surveyed her features for one more
intense moment and then strode from the room.

The music had started again, and a
pimply-faced young man with orange hair came to stand at
Cassandra’s elbow.

“Mr. Beverly, is this our dance?”

“Yes, it is.”

Mr. Beverly gave her a wide grin comprised
of upper teeth resting noticeably on his bottom lip. Grabbing her
with sweaty hands, his enthusiasm only outweighed by his
clumsiness, he spun her around to the frolicsome melody of a
country reel. Several minutes later—it seemed much longer—the music
stopped, and Cassandra made a mental note never to allow Mr.
Beverly another dance. Her next trip onto the dance floor was with
the doting Mr. Haseltine, who was no more adept than poor Mr.
Beverly.

Thus she whiled away the time, anxiously
watching the clock on Mr. Stiles’ mantle. The marquess had
disappeared. Cassandra had not seen him since they had spoken, and
she was curious as to where he had gone. If he were not waiting for
her when she reached the rose garden, she would never forgive
him.

She returned to the dining room on the
pretense of getting herself a glass of punch, but she was
determining the whereabouts of her family. The earl was nowhere to
be seen, and she assumed he had gone to the card room in search of
better entertainment. Penelope and Roger occupied a settee to one
side of the parlor, apparently mourning their status as
star-crossed lovers. Cassandra doubted they had given her a
thought.