In the Garden of Seduction (29 page)

She drained her glass.

The meal at an end, the marquess stood from
the table and everyone followed his lead. Cassandra was slightly
dizzy, and she clutched at Simon’s arm for support. He turned a
questioning gaze on her, and a strange expression settled on his
dark features.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

She smiled at him inanely. “I think so,” she
said, speaking carefully.

His lips twitched. “I see.”

Her father and Lady Camden approached from
their side of the table. “Quintin and I want to listen to that new
singer everyone has been talking about. I understand he is on the
program tonight,” Moretta said. “Is there anyone who would like to
join us?”

One and all agreed to the plan. All that is
except Simon. “I think Cassandra could do with a brisk walk and
some fresh air,” he said. “If you have no objection,” this to her
father, “we’ll just stroll the paths for a short while.”

Quintin nodded. “She’s not much of an
imbiber. I noticed she drank more than usual.”

Cassandra’s temper flared. Why were they
talking about her as if she were a child? She started to protest,
but her brain and tongue no longer seemed connected.

*****

Simon knew Cassandra was angry by the way
she tensed next to him. He took her hand, placed it in the crook of
his arm and led her away.

“Why did you do that?” she asked peevishly
as they moved down the path. “Afraid I might say something I
shouldn’t?”

“You’ve had too much to drink tonight,
Cassandra. One thing about being intoxicated, words are said that
are often regretted, usually the next day and accompanied by a
massive pain in the head and a queasy stomach. If you’ve never done
that you are better off.”

“I s’pose,” she said.

“Let’s not be out of sorts with one
another,” he said huskily, pulling her closer. He placed his lips
close to her ear. “We haven’t been alone for a long while, and we
don’t have much time. I’d rather talk pleasantries, wouldn’t
you?”

Cassandra turned a pale face to him, looking
through eyes so dilated the blue-green irises appeared black. She
swallowed and he watched the muscles move in her lovely throat. All
at once he wanted to place his mouth upon the smooth, translucent
column, to taste the hollow at the top of her collarbone.

They stopped beneath a colored lamp on the
deserted path. His gaze slipped to the exposed flesh peeking from
the bodice of her gown, and his respiration intensified. He
remembered her soft breasts, the turgid tips and how they had felt
against his tongue.

“Am I dessert, my lord?” A subtle expression
shifted over her features, going from uncertainty to something more
provocative, more inviting.

Simon chuckled. “In my most wanton dreams,
love, you are a ten course meal, an epicurean delight.” He took
Cassandra’s chin in hand and set his mouth upon hers, drinking in
her sweetness. He tasted champagne on her lips and felt the
eagerness in her response, and only gentlemanly caution kept him
from mauling her on the spot. He drew back, breathing ragged, and
studied her through lust-filled eyes.

Her lids fluttered open and she returned his
stare. “Why do you always stop when things become most
interesting?”

“Not always, Cassandra,” he murmured hotly,
“not always.”

Her tipsy gaze focused with memory. “No, not
always.” She paused then, her cheeks growing pink under the dim
light. “Am I very bad for desiring more?”

Simon knew the champagne was talking for
her. She would never have said such a thing if she had not been
intoxicated. The confession warmed his blood, nonetheless.

“I can promise you will feel much more,
sweetheart,” he growled, linking arms with her and pulling her
tightly against him. “I think we’d better walk now, unless you wish
an innocent person to stumble across our lovemaking.”

“A kiss is not a bad thing, is it, my lord?”
she ventured, her expression guileless.

“Why do you insist on being so formal with
me?” he asked, controlling a sudden annoyance. “Is that your way of
keeping a barrier between us? You know I want you to call me Simon
when we’re alone.”

Cassandra glanced at him sideways through
dark lashes, clinging heavily to his arm. “Well, Simon, I can
honestly say I do not wish for a barrier between us right now.”

She was doing it again. When she gazed at
him like that, he didn’t know whether he was the pursuer or the one
being pursued—like that night in Harry’s rose garden, he thought.
Either way it didn’t matter. Cassandra wasn’t a casual flirt. Even
under the influence of drink, she would not encourage him
falsely.

“What
do
you wish?” he asked.

Simon studied the top of her burnished head
as he waited for her answer, the soft curls shining in the faint
light cast by the myriad of colored lamps. They were wandering
deeper into the secret recesses of the park, with the path becoming
darker and the voices of the revelers receding into the
distance.

“I wish what every woman wishes,” she stated
obliquely then shrugged her shoulders.

A sudden explosion over their heads made
Cassandra jump. “What was that?” she gasped.

“Haven’t you seen the fireworks before?
Vauxhall is famous for them.”

“Of course. How silly of me,” she said,
looking at the sky. “Oh, I love it,” she exclaimed as another
incandescent blast lit up the night. “This is so exciting. Let’s
sit on that bench over there. I want to watch the whole show.”

Simon allowed her to take his hand and drag
him to the stone seat. The spot was in an alcove nearly hidden from
the walk, and he wondered if it would not be more prudent to return
to the crowds. He sat down and, to his astonishment, Cassandra
plopped onto his lap, wrapping her right arm loosely around his
shoulders. Good lord, she truly must be smashed.

She glanced at him, her eyes shining with
merriment. “This is rather cozy, don’t you think?”

She was teasing him, tempting him. He didn’t
mind—quite the opposite—for her actions proved that she was not
indifferent. Her supple backside pressed against his thighs was as
intoxicating as the champagne they had imbibed a short while
earlier.

“You’re a witch,” he stated thickly as he
embraced her slender waist.

She smiled at him and turned to the
cloudless sky overhead, staring at the fiery exhibition.

Simon could not take his gaze from her
beautiful profile tilted toward the heavens. The sparkling
fireworks cast a pastel reflection in hues of pinks and blues and
yellows across her lovely features and he was entranced.

As the last explosion died out, Cassandra
looked at him. “That was the most marvelous thing I’ve ever seen.
Thank you.” She smiled again and leaned down, touching her lips to
his. His heart thumped madly. Her initiating the contact made the
moment considerably more arousing.

“For what?” he asked when he felt able to
speak.

Her gaze grew bold and assessing. “Love me,
Simon,” she whispered. She touched his face then slipped slim
fingers into the hair at his collar.

Simon’s scalp began to tingle. Did he
understand her correctly? He put his hand to the back of her head,
forcing her face close to his.

“Do you know what you are asking?” he grated
out.

“It’s time, don’t you think?”

He knew it—Cassandra was drunk. Simon had
longed to hear those words, but could he trust her sincerity with
her judgment impaired? If she were sober he wouldn’t hesitate. He
would seize what she offered and revel in the experience.

If he took advantage of her now, however,
Simon feared when tomorrow came she would never forgive him. He
needed her to come to him with a clear head, eagerly. Strange how
much importance he had begun to place on that notion.

Therefore, he could not take the risk. Simon
groaned in disappointment. Perhaps one kiss, he thought. He took
her lips, sliding his hot mouth over hers, and he sensed her
immediate surrender. Never had he felt so close to breaking his own
resolve. Ending the contact, his breath came in harsh gasps.

“You don’t make it easy, love,” he muttered.
Being noble was damned difficult.

She frowned. “Easy?”

“I think we better go back to the others
now.” Simon allowed the regret he felt to fill his voice.

Cassandra jumped to her feet and staggered
away from him. “You’re turning me away?”

“Now wait a minute,” he said, alarmed by her
response, “it’s not like that.”

“Why do I throw away my defenses with you?
You are forever making a fool of me. You have hounded me for weeks,
and when I say yes you throw it back in my face like so much
rubbish. Is this what it’s about? Your ability to reject me?”

“Cassandra, you misunderstand,” he said,
standing, also. Simon held out his hand to her. “You can’t want me
to make love to you like this. I need you to come to me with your
thinking intact, not clouded by drink.”

She was in no mood to be reasonable. “You’ve
humiliated me one time too many, my lord. I won’t make that mistake
again. Ever.” She swung away from him and rushed headlong down the
path.

“Cassandra,” he called, following her, “for
God’s sake, stop and listen to me.” She was out of sight, but he
could hear her slippered feet on the pebbled walk. He began to run
when he heard her fall. “Cassie…!”

She had managed to come to her knees by the
time he reached her, but she struggled from his grasp when he
leaned over to help.

“No, don’t touch me,” she cried.

“Sweetheart, please, I didn’t mean to
offend,” he said, squatting beside her. “Do you want me to be a
cad? That is what I’d be if I seduced you in your inebriated state.
Surely—”

Whatever he intended to say went unsaid, for
the ravaged face she turned on him caused the words to die in his
throat.

She was weeping. Simon had never seen her
cry and her tears, because of their rarity, shocked him. For the
first time since he’d met her he was at a total loss.

Cassandra found her feet, scorning his help,
and dashed the moisture from her eyes. She smoothed her skirt,
examining the hem.

“I’ve torn my dress,” she said, as though
that unimportant issue had meaning.

Simon rose up beside her but remained
silent. He found her grief impossible to bear. The knowledge that
he was the source of her distress hurt him terribly.

“I would prefer that we keep our little
argument to ourselves, if you don’t mind, my lord.” She spoke in a
careful voice enunciating each and every syllable, presumably to
exhibit her sobriety. Then she hiccupped, destroying her carefully
wrought control.

If he had not felt so bad, the humor of the
situation might have touched him. Instead, he nodded. “Of course.”
He took her arm. She did not fight him, thus Simon assumed she
needed the support.

Nearly ten minutes passed before they found
the rest of their party. Ten long minutes of frozen silence.

The marquess did his best to remain blase
upon greeting everyone, but it would have taken an obtuse person
not to know something was wrong. Cassandra’s stony behavior did not
alleviate the tension, even though she was the one who had wanted
to put on a good front. The group quietly dispersed, with Cassandra
electing to return in her father’s carriage. “For convenience’s
sake,” she said.

Quintin James studied him suspiciously and
Simon approached the man, speaking in an undertone.

“Mr. James, your daughter and I have had an
argument. I’ve not compromised Cassandra in any way, and I hope to
mend the rift. I will call on you tomorrow and answer any questions
you might have.”

James nodded curtly. He joined the ladies in
his carriage, closing the door behind him with a decisive
click.

Simon watched as the vehicle pulled from the
curb, sighing heavily as he turned to Harry who stood at his elbow.
“Well, my friend, I’m in a bit of a fix.”

“I see what you mean,” Harry responded. “If
that lady’s attitude were ice you’d be frozen solid by now. Is it
too personal to share?”

“Wouldn’t be gentlemanly if I did.”

“Oh…I see.”

Simon grimaced. “Nothing as bad as all
that.”

Harry dipped his head. “Good to hear. Should
I look for an announcement soon?”

“Damned if I know—I hope so.” Simon shook
his companion’s hand. “Lydia and Albert are waiting for me.”

The marquess walked the short distance to
his own carriage and climbed inside. “Sorry to keep you waiting,
Lydia, but I wanted a word with Mr. James. Where is Albert?” he
inquired, looking around the inside of the vehicle.

“I asked him to take a hackney so you and I
could talk.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said,
suddenly uncomfortable.

“Yes, I should have. What in heaven’s name
happened back there?” she demanded as he sat next to her on the
seat.

“Has anyone ever mentioned your lack of
subtlety?” he asked.

“You’re changing the subject, Simon,” she
said. “Really though, I’ve never been part of such an uncomfortable
moment. Miss James was crying. What did you do to her?”

“Why do you assume I did something
wrong?”

She stared at him in the darkness but did
not answer.

“Bloody hell,” he exploded. “I just did what
you told me to do. I was a gentleman.”

“That rarely brings tears, Simon.”

Simon ran his hand through his hair. “It’s
complicated and rather embarrassing,” he admitted.

She remained silent, waiting.

“She wanted me to make love to her,” he
stated, unable to meet her eyes.

“You turned her down?”

The disbelief in her voice caused his head
to snap up, and he stared at her belligerently. “She had too much
to drink, and conventional thinking to the contrary, I am not a
cad.” He paused. “Lord, she was insulted,” he said miserably.