In the Garden of Seduction (25 page)

“The carriage has arrived, miss.”

“Thank you.” Then to Simon, “We shall be
taking our leave of you, my lord. It has been nice to see you
again.” She held out her hand to him in what she hoped was an
impersonal gesture.

“It has.” He gave her a knowing grin as his
large fist closed around her small one. “And Cassandra,” the
marquess said as he winked at her, “I look forward to our next
meeting. Miss Willis, it has been a pleasure.” He mounted his horse
and rode from the park.

“Didn’t you say you weren’t interested in
oglers?” Sophy burst forth moments later as they settled into the
carriage.

“I’m not,” Cassandra answered
cautiously.

“That’s the man from Mrs. Witherspoon’s
party last spring, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

“And he certainly ogled you that evening. I
remember clearly.”

“You have a convenient memory, Sophy,” she
muttered.

“Unfair of you, Cassandra, and you know it.
He is very handsome and hard to forget. He gives me shivers—nice
shivers, I might add.”

“That’s his calling card. Women toss
themselves at him, and he’s developed quite an ego because of
it.”

“Is that why you were cool to him?”

Cassandra moved irritably on the seat. “He’s
too forward and I don’t think I should encourage him.”

That was a disingenuous statement for
certain, as she had allowed that same forward gentleman to kiss her
only moments past. And she had kissed him back.

After a short silence, Sophy ventured, “It
seems strange that he would be friendly after all these weeks. He
was very familiar just now. I don’t understand because you said you
hardly spoke to him at Mrs. Witherspoon’s party.”

“He wasn’t that familiar, was he?”

“He used your given name.”

“Sophy,” Cassandra said in sudden
exasperation, “when did you become so observant? All right, I admit
it. Lord Sutherfield and I became acquainted while I stayed with my
grandfather. The marquess was visiting in the neighborhood, and he
and I attended some of the same functions.”

“You didn’t want to tell me?” Sophy sounded
hurt.

“You know it’s not that,” she said
soothingly. “We engaged in a light flirtation, that’s all, but it’s
over.”

“I don’t think Lord Sutherfield considers it
over.”

“Simon is a flirt. Wooing ladies is a sport
to him. I’m no more special than any other female.”

“So he’s Simon, is he?”

Cassandra’s patience snapped. “Lord
Sutherfield is a part of my past I choose to forget. I would
appreciate it if you would allow the subject to drop.”

They completed the ride to the Willis
residence without speaking.

Sophy descended from the carriage, turning
around to her companion. “You’re angry with me.”

Cassandra shook her head. “I’m angry with
myself. I’ve been very unpleasant company today. Please forgive
me,” she said, reaching out the door of the vehicle and taking her
friend’s hand.

Sophy’s face relaxed into a relieved smile.
“There’s nothing to forgive. If I had a Lord Sutherfield
complicating my life I’d be confused, also. I do think you ought to
consider why his admiration upsets you, though.”

Oh blast!
Cassandra thought as the
carriage pulled away from the curb. Why had her friend chosen that
moment to be shrewd? In her own way Sophy had said the very thing
the marquess had said. If she didn’t care then it wouldn’t
matter.

But she did care and it did matter.

*****

“Cassandra, love, beautiful as always.
Anyone who thinks that color rose does not wear well on a redhead
has not seen you in that dress.”

“Thank you, Papa. I’m rather pleased with it
myself,” she said, entering the drawing room.

Cassandra was gratified by her father’s
response because the dressmaker had been less than enthusiastic
with the selection.

“It brings out the bloom in your cheeks,”
Quintin continued. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, it’s been so long since I attended the
opera. I’m looking forward to it.”

Moments later they climbed into their
carriage. As Cassandra settled her skirts, her father coughed
nervously, an apprehensive sound that immediately caught her
attention.

“There is something I’ve been meaning to
tell you, my dear.” He cleared his throat.

“Yes, Papa?”

“We are to have a companion this
evening.”

“That’s nice. Who is it?”

“We’re on our way there now. I believe you
will like her.”

Her?
Cassandra’s stomach dropped like
a lead ball. “Do I know this person?” she asked.

“I don’t think so. I’ve known her for years
through my business. Her husband Sir Alfred Camden and I had
dealings from time to time. My relationship with Lady Camden was
strictly superficial until recently.”

She had to force her next question. “What is
it now?”

“Our relationship? Still in the early stages
but I have hopes.”

“And Sir Alfred?”

Her father turned in her direction, and she
could see his eyes shining in the darkness.

“It’s a long story, Cassie. Sir Alfred
killed himself last year over a financial reversal. He left Moretta
a widow in straitened circumstances. I befriended her at first.” He
hesitated briefly then finished, “Lately, things have become more
serious.”

“I see.” It was an inadequate response but
all she could manage.

“Have I upset you, dear?”

“You have the right to a life, Papa. I’m
more surprised than upset.”

It was the thing to say even if she did not
feel that way. Cassandra had been aware of a change in her father
since her arrival a week before and had been waiting for a
disclosure of some kind. No amount of preparation could have
readied her for this, however. She’d come home to reclaim her
father, and he had slipped through her grasp while she was gone.
This was the final indignity.

His voice interrupted her thoughts.

“I’m glad to hear you say that, Cassie. I’ll
not deny I’ve been a little unsure of how to approach you on the
matter. I know you will like Moretta.”

Approaching the door to Camden House several
minutes later, she decided to hate Sir Alfred’s widow. Not a
rational decision but wounded emotions left her feeling no need to
be rational. Therefore, her meeting with Moretta Camden was a
complete disappointment.

“Quintin, she is even more lovely than you
told me,” Lady Camden stated, greeting her guests. “Come in,
Cassandra. I’m glad to meet you. Your father speaks of you so often
I feel I already know you.”

Moretta Camden was tall and elegant with an
aristocratic bearing. Though not beautiful, she exhibited a
pleasant exterior with sable brown hair free of gray and sultry
green eyes. Moretta smiled affectionately at Quintin.

Yes, Cassandra was disappointed. She had
hoped Lady Camden was a shrew who wanted to plunder her father’s
bank account. After all, why would a female who came from the upper
class be interested in Quintin James, a
cit
, unless it was
for financial gain? Yet, Cassandra didn’t sense duplicity in
her.

Definitely disappointed, she thought.

“I’ve good news,” Moretta continued. “My
sister Amanda and her husband Lord Inglebert are still in the
country. Amanda said I could use her box at the opera. Won’t that
be fun?”

“You’re on display from there, Moretta. Are
you certain you wish to ‘announce’ our friendship in that way?”
Quintin asked gently.

Lady Camden turned an exasperated look on
his daughter. “I’ve told your father repeatedly that I have no
tolerance for anything so trivial, but he insists on worrying. I
married a man who had position and wealth, and see where I am
today? I’ve passed the half-century mark and I have little of life
left to me. Let the gossipers beware, for I intend to enjoy every
bit of the time remaining.” She sent her fond gaze to Cassandra’s
father. “I hope, Quintin James, that time includes you.”

Disappointed.

Cassandra hid her bruised feelings beneath a
layer of false merriment, joining in the festive occasion as though
her heart were in it. It was not. Ninety minutes after learning of
Lady Camden’s existence, she found herself seated in a comfortable
chair in Lord Inglebert’s luxurious box at the Royal Italian Opera
House.

The view from there opened up an entirely
different perspective on the theater from the one she had always
had from the pit. The boxes lining the upper portion of the opera
house were like small stages, each displaying its own drama.
Spyglasses were trained on other boxes rather than the performance,
and she began to understand her father’s fear that he would be
publicizing his budding romance by sitting there.

To her credit Lady Camden seemed perfectly
at ease, not at all self-conscious. She laughed merrily, touching
Quintin’s arm, whispering in his ear. If she was worried what
people might think, she hid it admirably.

Cassandra felt a lonely figure—in attendance
but not included. She was glad when the lights were lowered so she
could relax the stiff, insincere smile on her face. Under ordinary
circumstances this evening would have been exciting, but a heavy
depression blunted her pleasure. She retreated into the darkness,
wishing she could disappear altogether.

Intermission brought up the lights again,
and Cassandra sent her listless gaze roaming to the boxes on the
opposite side of the theater. She had the uncanny feeling that
someone was watching her, had been watching her for some time. Her
regard shifted uneasily then stopped abruptly, eyes focusing.

Simon!

The marquess lounged casually in his seat,
right elbow on the arm of his chair, chin resting in his hand. He
was indeed staring at her and, even across the distance, Cassandra
spied the slow smile that lit his features when it became clear
that she recognized him.

Lord Sutherfield’s presence was an exciting
revelation, but immediately her enthusiasm was dashed when she
realized that he was not attending the opera alone. A female,
beautiful with very black hair, sat next to him, languidly fanning
herself. The marquess leaned over and spoke to his companion, and
the woman stared directly at the occupants of the Inglebert
box.

Cassandra looked away from the disturbing
scene, desperate to bring chaotic emotions under control. She
didn’t care—she absolutely refused to care, she told herself. It
was enough that she must deal with the sadness caused by her
father’s defection. She had no intention of allowing Simon to
affect her as well.

Yes, that was what she told herself.

*****

“Lydia, I think I’ll take a walk and stretch
my legs.”

“This walk wouldn’t have anything to do with
that lovely redhead across the way you’ve been eating with your
eyes, would it, Simon?”

“Dear sister, you are too clever for your
own good.”

“I should have known it would be a redhead.”
She gave him a penetrating look. “Is it serious?”

The marquess smiled ruefully. “I’m hopeful.
I’ve a bit of wooing to do if I am to pull it off, so wish me
luck.”

Lydia nodded her head, dislodging a glossy
black curl. “Mother will be thrilled,” she said, smoothing her hair
with a delicate hand. “That is, of course, if the young lady is an
eligible match.”

Simon ignored this last as he stepped
through the draperies and into the passage. His eagerness over the
last hour went beyond his enjoyment of seeing Cassandra. The man
with her must be her father Quintin James. This was the perfect
opportunity to meet him. Simon didn’t know the third individual in
the James’ party, but the woman seemed vaguely familiar.

The marquess greeted the occasional
acquaintance as he wended his way to the other side of the hall,
but he did not stop to chat. He surprised himself with his
single-mindedness, for normally he embraced life a day at a time.
Since his decision to marry Cassandra, however, he had taken on a
more disciplined approach to living.

On reflection maybe the change was not all
that sudden. He’d not been himself for a while now, thus the time
was probably ripe for a new chapter in his life. Instead of the
usual depression these weighty thoughts brought him, Simon was
filled with a fevered anticipation.

The marquess stopped outside a box and
peeked through the draperies, making certain he had found the right
one. He saw Cassandra but she was alone. He slipped into the small
compartment.

“Miss James, it’s a pleasure to see you this
evening.”

She shifted around in her seat to stare at
him, though she did not seem surprised by his presence. The sparks
that lit her eyes was militant.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“I wanted to pay my respects. If I’m not
mistaken you are attending tonight’s performance with your father.
I thought it would be a suitable time for me to meet him.”

“That’s not a good idea,” she said.

“Come, Cassandra, you know it’s part of the
process.”

“What is part of the process?” She came to
her feet, sending him a shriveling look.

He could not help himself—he grinned
broadly. “I have to meet your father if I’m to pay you my
addresses.”

“Do you think me a fool?”

The words were spoken harshly, and Simon was
taken aback.

“No, but right now I’m thinking you’re
ungracious.” Her rejection had an unexpected sting.

“I’m not obligated to accept your advances,
my lord.”

Why was she angry? He could have sworn she
was of a different mind when he kissed her in the park several days
ago. Had something happened between then and now to upset her? He
opened his mouth to ask her, when the drapes moved behind him and
two people entered the box.