In the Garden of Seduction (6 page)

“My dear, my dear! How long I have waited.”
He spoke in a deep emotional voice as he firmly clasped her hand,
his searching gaze never leaving her face.

Cassandra didn’t doubt the depth of his
feelings—feelings she suspected were purely selfish—but she found
herself unprepared to deal with them. Until that moment she could
almost pretend none of this existed, however, there was no denying
this place and there certainly was no denying this man.

If at that point she had been allowed some
privacy to gather her thoughts, to calm down, her first day might
have been less nerve-wracking. Unfortunately, Lord Whittingham had
planned a “small” dinner party that night to welcome his
granddaughter home. Cassandra had found herself thrust into the
middle of a daunting scene where she was the main player.

The next two weeks had been just as
difficult. Lord Whittingham was an intractable man. He used no
restraint when he implemented his plans, nor did he bother to ask
anyone’s opinion. Tonight there would be a ball and that, as they
say, was that.

A knock at the door brought Cassandra back
to the present, and she sighed before answering. It must be time.
The stiff-backed maid who entered confirmed Cassandra’s
assumption.

“I’m here to help you dress, miss,” the
woman intoned, her manner cool and remote. Cassandra wasn’t the
only one having a hard time accepting this situation, if the maid’s
attitude were any indication.

“Thank you, Annie,” she responded, refusing
to let her irritation show. Inundate them with good will, that was
her approach. They would either come around or they would not. For
the moment she didn’t much care.

*****

The dancing came to a halt, the last notes
of the stringed orchestra dying away into the expectant atmosphere
of the ballroom. The shuffle of shod feet and the swishing of
evening clothes accompanied the inquisitive guests as the company
moved en masse toward the entry of the Whittingham ancestral home.
A hush fell over the crowd.

Simon leaned over and spoke to his companion
in an undertone, “Excuse me, Harry, but why have we all gathered at
the stairs?”

“I think we’re to be treated to an
‘entrance,’ Simon,” Harry said, and he nodded toward the landing at
the top of the curved staircase.

“The granddaughter?”

Harry nodded again. “Lord Whittingham always
did have a flair for the dramatic.” He opened his mouth as if to
continue, but his eyes widened and his words died on a gasp. “As I
live and breath,” he managed at last, “it’s an angel!”

The marquess chuckled as he watched his
friend. Harry could always be counted on to overreact, especially
when the subject was a comely female.

That was the last coherent thought Simon had
for several long moments as he turned his head and permitted his
curious gaze to drift upward.

*****

How had her grandfather managed to gather so
many people at a country ball? Cassandra stared with misgiving at
the sea of faces lifted in her direction, and the anxiety she had
tried to keep at bay rolled over her, destroying the defenses she
had carefully nurtured all day.

She knew she must look frightened as she
searched for a familiar face in the crowded entry. Cassandra hated
giving the impression she was overawed by the noble company waiting
to meet her as though she might not be good enough for them. She
suspected these people would despise her insecurity. With that in
mind, she drew her shoulders back, raised her chin and summoned a
fairly credible smile before descending the stairs.

Grandfather waited at the foot of the
staircase. As she reached the last step, he stretched his hand out
in welcome. Beaming at her, the earl took her chilly fingers and
placed them on his forearm. He turned to the company.

“This is my granddaughter, Cassandra
Lamberton,” he announced, introducing her to the gathering. The
pride in his voice was unmistakable. “We are newly met, but I feel
as though I have known her all her life. I am sure you will feel
the same. Please, make her feel welcome.”

Cassandra sent an assessing glance to her
grandfather because he had spoken with such feeling. Did he mean
what he said? she wondered. She shook her head as if shaking the
thought loose. The earl was an actor overplaying to an avid
audience. She did not like or trust him. She must never forget
that. He insisted on calling her a Lamberton no matter how many
times she objected. Cassandra decided she would make it known to
anyone who asked that she preferred the surname James.

She spent the next hour meeting an endless
array of people whom she couldn’t remember. The faces had all
become a blur. She continued to nod and smile mindlessly.

Cassandra danced with many of the young
gentlemen, all of them eager to capture her attention, though she
suspected she was more a curiosity than anything else. They
flattered her outrageously, and Cassandra acknowledged that she did
look her best in the frothy, high-waisted gown of sea-green silk
she wore.

But she would be foolish indeed to believe
the interest these men showed came from more than her grandfather’s
title and the size of his bank balance. She had already faced that
problem, for she’d had those same doubts as the daughter of Quintin
James. It seemed men had this in common regardless of their station
in life.

She greeted the announcement of supper with
profound relief, and for a few wonderful moments she found herself
alone.

Unfortunately, the calm did not last.

“Cassandra, I must say, that particular
shade of green looks well on you. If one must be a redhead at least
there is that consolation.”

Oh, no, Penelope—Cassandra could have gone
all night without having to speak to her. Grandfather had imported
that “treasure” from his deceased wife’s branch of the family—a
second cousin’s daughter or some such—because he had the misguided
belief that Penelope would be pleasant company for his
granddaughter. That certainly had not been the case.

Cassandra gathered her patience and turned a
pleasant expression on her cousin. “And you, Penelope, look
especially well tonight also. If green is my color, pink surely is
yours.”

Penelope Ingram preened under the simple
praise. She patted a silvery blonde ringlet, and her lips curled
into a smug smile. A tiny dimple appeared at the corner of her
puckered mouth, and she looked at Cassandra through large, shiny
blue eyes wide with innocence.

“You are too kind. I hope you don’t feel
I’ve ruined your evening. I would hate for you to be out of charity
with me.”

“Ruined? In what way?”

Penelope’s attitude turned coy.
“Competition, cousin.”

Cassandra had to bite her tongue to prevent
herself from laughing. If ever anyone lived who couldn’t be
bothered about the feelings of another, her cousin was that person.
In the two weeks since they had met, Penelope had exhibited an
artful shallowness that had left Cassandra breathless.

“Don’t give it another thought. You’ve had
no effect on my evening whatsoever.”

Cassandra glanced at her companion then,
fearful her words had been unkind, but she need not have worried.
Penelope was too self-absorbed to perceive a slight unless it was
administered in a very direct way. It simply did not occur to the
young lady that anyone might consider her lacking. Penelope wasn’t
listening anyway, for someone across the room had diverted her
attention.

“Roger is about to join us,” she whispered
behind her fan. “He’s rather fascinating, don’t you think?”

Cassandra’s heart sank. Another cousin,
other side of the family, and he had plagued her footsteps like a
confident hound ever since Lord Whittingham had made the
introductions on the day of her arrival. Roger Morley was her
grandfather’s heir. And though she could not quite put her finger
on it, this cousin made her uncomfortable.

“Cassandra, dear girl, please forgive me for
being late.” He swept down on her, bringing the scent of an
overpowering cologne with him. Grasping her hand between his two
moist ones, he stared into her face through avid hazel eyes. “You
look ravishing. It seems an age since I saw you last.”

“You were here for breakfast, Roger,” she
said in a matter-of-fact voice. She withdrew her fingers as
politely as she could and, with some effort, controlled the urge to
shudder. He seemed pleasant enough, so why couldn’t she like him?
His features were nice, attractive even, and his light brown hair
curled thickly on his crown. He was tall and slim—perhaps a bit too
slim for her taste—but he displayed no obvious traits that
explained the aversion she felt when she looked at him.

With such a baffling reaction, Cassandra
wondered if she were being unfair to Roger. She’d been prepared to
dislike everyone on this visit and nearly to a person she hadn’t
been disappointed. Maybe that was it. Still, his interest had been
too quickly engaged and she didn’t trust his motives. Until she had
reason to believe otherwise, she refused to let down her guard.

“May I escort you into dinner?” Roger looked
at her, hope visible in his gaze.

“I’m not very hungry. This is my first
respite from all the excitement. I think I’ll take this opportunity
to get a little fresh air,” Cassandra said.

“I could join you.”

Good grief, couldn’t he take a hint? “No,
really, I need some time to myself. But Penelope hasn’t eaten.
Perhaps…?” She left the suggestion unfinished as she glanced first
at Penelope and then at Roger.

It was settled. Penelope looked thrilled and
she saw Roger’s eyes light with pleasure. Intrigued, Cassandra
studied her cousins as the two proceeded arm in arm to the dining
room. She turned, so glad to escape the tiresome pair, she wasted
no more time on idle speculation. Moving along the rim of the
ballroom, she made her way to the double doors leading to the
balcony.

A gentle breeze welcomed her as she slipped
from the room into the peaceful night. It felt wonderful to leave
the warmth and the chaos of the party inside, and she savored the
feel of the crisp air where it cooled her heated skin. Luckily, no
one was around to disturb her peace as she moved to the edge of the
balcony and leaned against the railing. After a few minutes she
felt herself relaxing. She threw back her head and filled her lungs
with air.

“Ah, Miss James, you provide a most tempting
picture, standing there alone in the moonlight.”

Cassandra froze, her breath stalling
somewhere between her chest and her mouth. She knew that voice! She
swung around to face the intruder.

“
You!
What are
you
doing
here?”

Simon Fitzgerald stepped from the shadows, a
crooked grin creasing his handsome features. “You remember me
then?”

Did she remember him? The man had given her
the most stinging insult of her life, and he wanted to know if she
remembered him?

“Yes, I remember you.” She spoke on a near
whisper, but her response was so strained even to herself the words
shrieked at him.

His expression turned serious. “I see you
have not forgiven me.”

Now here was a quandary. If she acted
nonchalant he would probably assume she had no bruised feelings. On
the other hand, if she admitted there was something to forgive then
he would know how much he had injured her. She found that thought
unbearable.

Surely, there must be a way to show her
disapproval without exposing the hurt she had felt. Cassandra’s
tongue flicked nervously over her lips as she debated the best way
to answer him.

“Perhaps I haven’t forgotten you because I
don’t usually associate with gentlemen who have deplorable
manners,” she said at last. “I don’t think there is anything to
forgive though, for I suspect nothing personal was intended.”

A silent moment passed as he studied her,
his opaque gaze gleaming intently in the moonlit shadows of the
balcony. Then he shook his head as a slow indolent smile played
upon his mouth.

“Now there you are wrong, dear heart.” His
deep voice skimmed along her nerves causing her skin to prickle in
response. “I meant what I said, and,” here his words lowered to a
husky rumble, “I meant it quite personally.”

Cassandra gaped at him. She had given him
the perfect excuse—why did he refuse to take it? Instead, he threw
it back at her as if he were issuing a challenge.

“It would appear you wish me to think the
very worst of you, my lord,” came her pinched reply.

“On the contrary. I desire nothing more than
your good opinion. But make no mistake—I have not and will not lie
to you.”

“Meaning…?” She wanted to convey the
impression that she felt indifferent, but much to her consternation
she sounded flustered instead.

He advanced on her, moving so close she
could feel the heat emanating from his lean body. She edged back
until the railing interrupted her retreat. She resisted the urge to
place her hand flat against his chest to keep him from coming any
closer.

Then Cassandra made the mistake of looking
into his face. His pitch-black eyes ensnared her, dragging her into
their smoldering depths. Her mouth dropped open, and in her
agitation she began to breathe in short quick pants. She returned
his stare, unable to tear her gaze from his.

“What do you want from me?” she begged as
her respiration increased, causing her bosom to expand and contract
with each labored breath.

It seemed the marquess was no match against
such temptation. His gaze fell to her chin, slowly following the
line of her throat, before coming to rest on the rounded flesh at
the top of her gown.

He brought his attention back to her face.
“It’s very clear, isn’t it?” he murmured. “I want you.”