In the Garden of Seduction (8 page)

“I think a certain beautiful redhead is the
reason for your sudden interest in extending your visit,” Harry
suggested.

Simon considered denying the claim, but why
bother? He looked at his companion and sighed.

“She is a beauty, I’ll admit, and I am
interested. I see no harm in a little flirtation after all.”

There was a long silence as Harry studied
the marquess. He opened his mouth to speak then clamped his lips
together. His hesitation clearly came from a lack of willingness to
offend his guest. Nevertheless, he began again.

“Maybe your approach to this young lady
should be less cavalier, Simon. The rumor circulating at the party
is that Lord Whittingham is determined to have her marry his heir.
If that’s true, he won’t tolerate any interference no matter how
harmless. I believe it is something you might wish to
consider.”

Simon sat straight in his chair, focusing on
the only piece of information in Harry’s speech that was worth his
attention.

“Who is this heir?”

“Roger Morley.”

“Good lord, man, you must be jesting,” Simon
said in disgust. “I’ve met him. He’s a loose-screw. What woman
would want to be married to him?”

“Any woman who is attracted by the prospect
of a future earldom—not to mention the money that comes with the
title. And he doesn’t have the features of a simian. Seems to me
that makes him quite a catch.”

“I have a title and money, and I look well
enough. Why would I be less of a catch?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, my friend, but you
were not speaking of marriage. Flirtation was the word you used.”
Harry managed not to sound critical even as he gently tried to make
his point.

Simon decided to be offended anyway. “Are
you questioning my motives?”

“No, of course, not. But, Simon, be fair.”
Harry’s face turned pink with embarrassment. He must have felt
compelled to finish, though, because he pressed on despite his
discomfort. “This poor girl, if the talk is accurate, has had a
terrible upset recently. She is vulnerable and it would be wrong to
exploit that. You could be putting her in a position of having to
defy her grandfather and all for the sake of a flirtation.”

“What makes you think she would choose me?
Perhaps she would prefer Mr. Morley.”

Simon was truly gratified by the look of
surprise that altered Harry’s features. Apparently, his friend had
not considered that a possibility.

Harry shook his head. “If you want to enter
the contest fully prepared to offer the young lady something
honorable, I say bully for you, Simon, and may the best man win—but
if all you want is to prove you can fix her interest, then I think
you should reconsider. When it is over you won’t feel good about
yourself. And, frankly, you shouldn’t.”

“Since when did you become Miss James’
champion?” Simon asked, disgruntled, his anger now forgotten. “I
swear I don’t need a conscience with you watching over my
shoulder.”

Harry grinned. “I spoke out of turn, I’m
sure of it. I beg your forgiveness.”

The marquess emitted a loud bark of laughter
filled with self-mockery, and the pleasant atmosphere returned.
That’s not to say the previous subject had been forgotten, only put
aside. A thoughtful Lord Sutherfield went to bed a short while
later.

*****

“Cassandra, I’d like a few moments with you,
my dear.”

Oh no,
the very thing she had been
trying to avoid, she thought. “I was just on my way to the stables,
Grandfather.”

Cassandra stood in the entry hall, pulling
on her leather riding gloves. She picked up her crop from a small
table against the wall and stepped hopefully toward the front
door.

“Then I’ll join you.”

Her spirits sank even as she smiled at him
graciously. She hoped her disappointment was not visible, but she
hadn’t had a moment to herself in days. The ball on the previous
night had ended a week that had left her feeling nervous and
exhausted. All she wanted at the moment was to slip away for some
much needed peace. She sighed as she followed her grandfather from
the house.

The air outside felt warm, and the sweet
scent of roses floated seductively from the garden surrounding the
easterly wing of the house. Cassandra squinted into the sunlight,
the brightness so overpowering, she held her hand up to shield her
eyes from the sun. She stared at the horizon, hazy from the
mounting heat of mid-morning. The desire to climb on her horse and
ride toward that distant horizon without ever having to return made
her heart ache.

She missed her father.

They made their way to the stables and some
fifteen minutes later were mounted and headed, at the earl’s
insistence, in the direction opposite from where Cassandra had
intended to ride. Nothing but fields that way, Grandfather said. It
was better to keep to the lanes. Such an inspired choice, she
thought rebelliously. No, perhaps the word she sought was
overbearing.

“Did you enjoy your party last night?” He
looked so hopeful, she did not have the heart to tell him the
truth.

“It was lovely,” she lied.

The old man expressed his satisfaction by
grunting. He did not speak again for several minutes. Cassandra had
the impression he wanted to say something, but was having trouble
deciding how to approach her. She rather liked the notion that he
was as unsure of her as she was of him.

He cleared his throat, keeping his gaze on
the path in front of him. “I realize how difficult these last weeks
have been for you,” he began. “The truth about your birth came as a
shock, I know, but I hope you are finally realizing that coming
home was the right thing to do.”

Since she couldn’t bring herself to admit
that she remained silent. She was aware of him looking at her, but
this time she was the one who could not meet his gaze.

“Cassandra, we have to discuss this
sometime. I’ve tried to give you time to adjust, but there are
things that cannot be ignored indefinitely. You’re an adult. You
should be able to listen to me without pouting.”

Cassandra did look at him then, annoyed. “Is
that what you think I’ve been doing? Pouting? You toss my life into
chaos, make demands, and you do not understand my reluctance?”

“Perhaps I could have stated it better.” If
the words were meant to mollify, he fell short of his goal because
he did not sound apologetic. “However, that doesn’t change the fact
that at some point we have to talk.”

“I was unaware you were holding back, that
there was something you needed to say,” she said stiffly. How
unfair to insinuate that their lack of communication was solely
because of her. “Please, feel free to express yourself, sir. I am
ready to listen.”

“It is concerning your future.” Lord
Whittingham pulled his horse to a halt, turning his massive body to
stare at her. His great white brows were pulled into a tight line
across his forehead, and his pale eyes pierced her ruthlessly.

Cassandra hesitated, afraid to say something
she would later regret. At last she replied, “We did, in fact,
discuss this last night, Grandfather. I think we agreed there was
nothing to discuss.”

“I’ve had enough of this,” he barked at her.
She knew he was aggravated, for his ruddy cheeks glowed with angry
red spots. He drew in a deep breath. “Roger has asked me if he may
pay you his addresses. Since the request seemed suitable, I gave
him my permission.”

“You had no right!”

“I have every right,” her grandfather
responded in a hard-edged voice. “I am your guardian. You would be
wise not to forget that fact.”

“I’m an adult. My life is my own.” She was
dazed by the direction the conversation had taken.

“No one’s life is his own, especially if
born to the aristocracy. That is a common attitude, Cassandra, and
I’m offended by it. You are my granddaughter—you will behave in a
way that will make us both proud of the connection.”

“But I don’t even know Roger. How could I be
thinking of marriage to him?”

“Time will take care of that.” He waved his
arm as though her argument were insignificant.

Cassandra narrowed her eyes at him. “What
makes a union with Roger so suitable?”

“He is my heir and you are my last direct
descendent. If my son had lived,” he paused, drawing in a shallow
breath through pinched nostrils, “the title would have passed from
him to his son, and then to my great-grandson. Instead, Roger will
inherit the title and then, of course, his son. When you marry
Roger, his son will be your son. Don’t you see?” he continued
ardently. “The title will be back where it belongs—with my
great-grandson.”

He hurried on before she had time to
interrupt. “I do not enjoy manipulating events to bring about what
should have occurred naturally. The title passing through my
granddaughter is not how it should happen. I’ll not complain,
though, because it is better than nothing. I cannot tell you how
I’ve worried over the shift of the family fortune. That’s why I’ve
been consumed with finding you.”

Cassandra knew she shouldn’t feel hurt, but
she did. He didn’t even pretend affection had been the reason for
his search. If he had been merely curious about her, what she
looked like, that would have been more acceptable.

“It would seem to me, Grandfather, it’s not
so much Roger’s wish he and I marry as it is yours.” Bruised
feelings made her sound more caustic than she intended.

“Roger is a dutiful young man,” he admitted.
“He will do as he’s told.”

“Well, I won’t!” She snatched angrily at the
reins of her horse, causing the animal to dance nervously from side
to side. “My father was right—all you want is to use me. Just so
you know, I expect more from life than to be a means to an
end.”

“Cassandra, calm yourself. There is no
reason to lose your temper,” her grandfather said soothingly,
apparently aware he was losing control of the conversation. “You
may find you actually like Roger. Then all this angry talk will
have been for naught.”

“Never. I will never want to marry him. Did
it ever occur to you that Roger might deserve a wife who cares for
him?”

The old man did not answer immediately.
Instead, he stared at her as if she had gone daft. He was
shocked—she knew it by the look on his face.

“What?” Cassandra shot back. “Is it too much
to expect affection from a marriage? The children of a loveless
match suffer, too—if there are any children. And a grandson seems
to be your only goal in all of this.”

The disgust that altered Lord Whittingham’s
features was a painful reminder of the overwhelming gap they must
close if they ever hoped to reach an understanding.

“I prefer that you not make crude
references, Cassandra,” he said. “How I regret not having had a
hand in your upbringing. Your mother must have been very spiteful
to want to rob you of your heritage.”

“Do you think so?” she asked, animosity and
frustration now ruling her words. “Perhaps she thought your
influence would be a detriment.”

She could see by the fury sparking from his
pale eyes that she had offended him, but his criticism had cut
deeply. All she wanted was to put as much distance as possible
between herself and this opinionated, tyrannical man. With that in
mind, she jerked her mount around, kicking the poor animal with all
her might. Unfortunately, that sent the horse leaping forward,
taking her on a wild ride through an open field.

Cassandra heard her grandfather call after
her. Instead of answering him she gave the horse full rein,
delighting in her show of defiance. She did not slow down until she
knew the earl had not followed her. She glanced over her shoulder
to make certain, but he had already disappeared from sight.

She felt deflated then, for all she had done
was prove she was capable of acting childish. And yet, given a
hundred opportunities Cassandra believed she would have responded
the same each time. How could he expect her to marry Roger? The
idea caused her stomach to cramp.

She pulled on the reins, bringing the horse
to a halt, and scrambled down from the saddle. With no direction in
mind, she led the mare through the ankle-high grasses. The walk did
her some good, though, because it helped ease the flurry of nerves
that had overcome her during her argument with her grandfather.

The sound of an approaching horse caused
Cassandra to look quickly over her shoulder again, fearing her
grandfather had changed his mind and followed her after all. To her
dismay, bearing down on her was the Marquess of Sutherfield.

“Miss James,” he called as he galloped
toward her. When he reached her side, he continued, “What a
pleasure. I was just thinking about you, and what do you know?—here
you are. It must be fate.” He smiled down at her, those avid black
eyes roaming over her from head to foot.

Cassandra licked her lips, the nerves
returning. “How do you fare today, my lord?”

“Better now,” he said, grinning as he
dismounted to stand beside her. He scanned the area over her head
as if looking for something. “What are you doing out here alone?
Where’s your groom?”

“I was restless. I needed some fresh air.”
She was not going to admit that she hadn’t begun her ride
alone.

“I’ve been somewhat restless myself,” he
said in an insinuating voice as he moved closer. “Seems to have
come on me since last evening. Can’t imagine what it could be. Can
you?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” she said,
stepping back.

His nearness caused an odd fluttering in her
throat, and she swallowed uneasily. Cassandra glanced up at him
from the edge of her lashes, reluctant to look at him directly. He
had an uncanny way of snaring her with those black eyes that made
her feel completely lost.