In the Garden of Seduction (31 page)

“Grandfather wants me to wed his nephew. Our
union would keep his title in the immediate family. This is very
important to him.”

“How do his demands relate to me?” he asked
in a steely voice.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Tell me,” he bellowed. “Has he threatened
you?”

Cassandra’s shoulders slumped as she looked
at her father’s dear face. “He said he would have you charged with
kidnapping if I didn’t go along with him.”

“Is that it? That’s been his threat all
along, or have you forgotten? I allowed him to use it before
because I thought you should become acquainted with your blood
relatives. But this is different. We’re not talking about a brief
visit. This is the rest of your life.”

“I can’t risk it, Papa. If anything happened
to you, especially if I could have prevented it…” Her throat
clogged with tears.

“You think I want you to do this for me? If
you’re not happy, I can’t be happy.”

“What of Lady Camden?”

“Of course, I care for Moretta,” he said,
“but not to the extent that I would sacrifice you. Cassandra, love,
you’re my child. You are more important than anything—or anyone.”
He sat on the sofa next to her and took her hand. “We must find a
way to release you from your promise and quickly. Lord Whittingham
will waste no time publishing the banns.”

“And if you go to the gaol as a result?”

“He’s bluffing. Remember, Cassandra, I’ve
built an empire ferreting out the aces hidden in other men’s
sleeves. I don’t think your grandfather wants to be estranged from
you. This action would destroy any hope you two have of maintaining
a relationship. If he’s more foolish than I think he is,” he
shrugged, “an extended sojourn on the continent is not out of the
question. I believe Moretta would enjoy the trip.”

Suddenly she felt too tired to fight.
“Perhaps it’s best to leave things as they are, Papa.”

“What of Sutherfield?” he asked.

“What of him?”

“Are you going to tell me you’re not in love
with the marquess and he with you?”

Cassandra looked at him directly then. “No,
Papa, I’m not. I do love Simon, much to my regret. But I’m afraid
his involvement is not quite that heartfelt.”

“I don’t understand. He said he wanted to
court you. I took that as the start of a commitment from him.”

She shrugged. “What can I say? I must go on
instinct, and I don’t believe he loves me.”

Quintin placed his hands on his knees and
raised his large body from the sofa. He ambled across the room,
turning in the doorway.

“I saw Lord Sutherfield’s face last night
after he and you argued, and I saw the pain in his eyes just now
when he learned of your decision to marry this Roger fellow.
Intuitively speaking, Cassandra, I consider you way ahead of me.
Always have. But my instincts tell me you are wrong this time—dead
wrong.”

*****

“You have a caller, miss.” The footman
approached his mistress where she sat on a bench taking sun in the
garden.

Cassandra glanced at the servant listlessly.
“Who is it?”

He placed the small silver tray which held
the calling card under her nose.

Grabbing impatiently at the piece of paper,
she groaned as her eyes focused on the print.

“I’ll be right there,” she promised.
Standing, Cassandra adjusted her skirts and then adjusted them
again, wasting as much time as she could before starting down the
walk.

She entered the parlor through the French
doors that led from the garden, pasting on a smile of welcome,
hoping she looked more sincere than she felt.

“Roger, so good to see you,” she greeted,
holding out her hand to him.

Mr. Morley turned on her a face so desolate,
she stepped away from him in shock. He looked as though he’d been
weeping.

“Cassandra,” he moaned, “how could you do
it?”

“How could I do what?” she asked,
mystified.

“Uncle came from here last night and took
great pleasure in imparting the news that you had finally agreed to
a betrothal between us.”

“You told me you wanted to please
Grandfather in this matter. You’re the last person I expected to be
upset.”

“I counted on you to hold him off,” he
whimpered. “Now that you’ve said you will marry me, all is
lost.”

“What is lost, Roger?” she inquired, her
hackles rising.

“I’m in love with Penelope. You know that.
This means she and I can’t be together. My sweet darling is
devastated.”

Cassandra had some difficulty imagining
Penelope in the throes of devastation, but it hardly seemed worth
the effort to challenge the statement.

“Roger, the last time we spoke on this
subject you informed me we would marry. If that was what your uncle
wanted, that was what you wanted. Then you forced on me an
obnoxious kiss to seal the bargain. Forgive me if I’m confused by
this sudden turnabout. If you find Grandfather’s plan offensive,
why haven’t you said so all along?”

He settled on the one part of her speech
that seemed to wound his pride. “A kiss I didn’t enjoy anymore than
you.”

“Then why did you do it?” she asked more
loudly than she intended.

“I thought if I could desire you I could
pull it off, but it was too late. Penelope was already in my
blood.”

Oh dear, now Roger in the clutches of
passion. Cassandra felt a sudden, almost hysterical urge to laugh.
If she did not get herself under control, she would disgrace
herself and insult Roger. She sat down on the nearest chair, using
the action to cover her mirth.

When at last she could speak, she said, “I
know you’re not here just to berate me, so tell me what you expect
me to do.”

“Cry off, of course.”

“Why me?”

Roger puffed up wrathfully. “I can’t do it.
I’m a man. It wouldn’t be honorable.”

“Come now, there’s been no announcement.
There’s no honor to test until society is aware of the engagement.
Tell my grandfather how you feel before it’s too late. I’ll give
you the support you need. This marriage isn’t what I want,
either.”

“You don’t understand. There is still the
matter of his fortune. Penelope may like the idea of marrying a
future earl, but a poor earl—well, you catch my drift.”

Cassandra could almost pity him his
predicament if it weren’t for his thickheaded methods. Instead, she
found herself feeling contemptuous.

“Roger, I’ve begged, threatened and
bargained with my grandfather to no avail. If you want something
done you will have to do it yourself. I’ve done all I can.”

“You won’t help me? I should have known
better than to appeal to you. Perhaps you don’t find this marriage
as detestable as you pretend.”

“Why, you egotistical, pompous—” She stopped
herself before she said something she would regret. “I hope you are
able to convince Grandfather that this ludicrous scheme won’t work,
because the thought of spending the rest of my life with you makes
me pray for an early death.”

Roger clamped his lips together in distaste.
Bowing stiffly, he turned on his heel and marched from the
room.

Just as well, she thought, for if he had not
left of his own accord, she’d have delighted in kicking his
arrogant backside into the street.

*****

While her maid fussed with her hair,
Cassandra picked up the invitation on her dressing table and looked
at it again. A furrow creased her brow. Why would Lady Eastwick
want to see her today at three o’clock? The note said “for a little
coze,” but she suspected there was more to Lydia’s summons than she
had indicated.

Grandfather also sent a note earlier in the
day saying Roger and he would visit that evening after the dinner
hour. She could think of nothing she dreaded more.

“You look lovely, miss,” the diminutive maid
said, fastening the last curl in Cassandra’s hair.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “Let me know when
the carriage arrives.”

Cassandra rose from her dressing table and
crossed to the window. She had barely slept in two days and she was
exhausted. Two days since Simon walked out of her life—two days
since she ceased to care about anything.

Over and over she remembered the fateful
moment when the earl had announced her marriage to Roger. Simon had
stared at her as though she were a traitor, and something within
her had shriveled.

Cassandra feared it was her heart.

She hadn’t cried, not then, not since—she
could be proud of that. But perhaps pain such as this transcended
tears. Tears were a form of healing. How could she heal what was
forever broken?

The maid returned, informing Cassandra that
the carriage had arrived on the curb. Sighing, she grabbed her
reticule and left the room.

Lady Eastwick met Cassandra at the front
entrance of the Eastwick mansion as if she had been impatiently
waiting for her guest to arrive.

“Come in,” she welcomed. “I’m pleased you
are here.”

Cassandra moved into the sitting room behind
her hostess. “You sound as if you are surprised I came.”

Lydia turned to her, a shrewd light in her
eyes. “I was concerned that you would feel uncomfortable. I hope I
worried needlessly.” She took a seat on the sofa and patted the
cushion next to her.

“I thought you might be angry with me,”
Cassandra admitted, sitting down.

“Why? Because you, like countless women
before you, have given in to the demands of the men in your
life?”

“Just one man, my grandfather.”

“One or a dozen, doesn’t matter. We women
have been pawns since forever. Unless we are worthless we marry for
the gain of our menfolk.” Lydia smiled. “Ironic that you will never
find a man who protests the order of things until his own personal
interests are at stake. Although I’m confused by the unsuitability
of Simon’s offer.”

“Your brother never offered for me.”

“Never? His intentions were clear, though,
weren’t they?”

Cassandra hesitated before answering. “He
told my father he wanted to court me. It did not go further than
that.”

“Still, a very earnest step for Simon to
take. You didn’t know him well enough to understand the
significance of the gesture, did you?”

“He never indicated to me that I should
attach any special meaning to his interest. He was always
attentive, but…” Cassandra shrugged.

“There you have it.” Lydia waved her hand
vigorously in the air. “Young men spend all their time chasing the
wrong type of woman with only one goal in mind. They are never
serious, but are absolutely appalled when they are not taken
seriously. I tried explaining to Simon that he couldn’t pursue a
lady in the same aggressive manner he used with his flirts. A
proper romance takes finesse.”

In the back of Cassandra’s mind, a tiny
flame of understanding flickered into life. “Perhaps he did listen
to you,” she said slowly.

“Oh?”

“Recently, he’s been the perfect gentleman.
I believed he was losing interest in me.”

“You couldn’t possibly have thought such a
thing. Simon is obsessed with you.”

Cassandra shivered, unprepared for the
euphoria that rushed through her body. “How can you be certain?”
she asked in an awestruck whisper.

Lydia touched her arm. “He told me he loves
you, that he wants to marry you.”

Cassandra looked at her hands, her face
burning with mortification. “Maybe he felt that way before, but I
think your brother has taken a disgust of me.”

“If you are referring to the party at
Vauxhall…”

Cassandra’s head popped up and she stared at
her hostess in dawning horror.

“Yes, Simon told me what happened and he was
frantic. He knew your feelings were wounded. Feared you might do
something foolish, and as it turns out he was right to be worried.”
Lydia’s words, while not judgmental, had a slight sting.

“After what happened it didn’t seem to
matter what I did,” Cassandra explained. “And my grandfather has
been so persistent.”

“Can Lord Whittingham force this marriage to
Mr. Morley?”

“My father has relieved my mind on that
score. Papa doesn’t want me to marry Roger any more than I do.”

Lydia nodded. “As long as we can extricate
you from this commitment, I’m satisfied.”

Cassandra looked at the Simon’s sister
hopefully. Why was she suddenly filled with optimism as though
Lydia could accomplish what no one else had?

“Now,” the countess continued, “this brings
us to why I asked you here today. Do you love my brother?”

“I thought that was clear,” Cassandra
murmured.

“Not entirely. Frankly, my dear, I think
you’ve been using your distrust of Simon’s motives as a
shield.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Loving someone is a risky business. There
is always the chance of being hurt, but what is there if one
doesn’t try? The problem is not your grandfather or Mr. Morley or
even my brother.” Lydia leaned forward, speaking earnestly. “You’re
going to have to learn to trust your own heart. Perhaps then you’ll
be able to trust Simon.”

“What if he should stop loving me?”
Cassandra ventured in a small voice, ashamed of the fear that
entered her speech.

Lydia shook her head. “No one can tell what
the future will bring. He loves you now and dearly. He is suffering
as I’ve never seen him suffer. Looking at the situation I see no
point to the misery. What is there to keep the two of you apart
except foolish pride?”

“Have you seen him?”

The countess sent her a calculating look.
“Simon came to me last night, looking awful. Said he needed to get
away for a while. He’s given up and I’m worried sick about him. Men
don’t endure heartbreak well.”

“He’s leaving?” Cassandra asked,
panic-stricken.

“Gone by now, I think.”

Standing, Cassandra spun to face her
hostess. She clutched at the top of her gown with nervous fingers.
“Where?”