Patricia Rice (24 page)

“I will not be outcast by any but my mother. There are
different rules for men. I might lose my halo” —he smiled bleakly at this
reference to his reputation— “but I will not be blamed for taking a mistress.
You, I fear, are the one who will suffer. I would keep you from that if I
could.”

Cassandra pulled away from his protective hold. “I cannot
possibly suffer any more than I have. My reputation will not keep workers from
my field if they think they can earn good coin from it. That is my only
concern.”

Wyatt did not want to contemplate what kind of life she must
have lived to make such a statement. His anger at her family kindled, but he merely
kissed her brow and stood up. “I will do what I can to keep the gossip at a
minimum for as long as possible. Thomas would be disappointed if you no longer
came to visit.”

That sank in. He could see the horror slowly write itself
across her expressive face.

“Shall I send Bertie by this afternoon to take you visiting?
It would be better if we were not seen so much together in public.”

Cassandra nodded helplessly. She didn’t want to spend the
afternoon with Bertie. She wanted to be beside Merrick, laughing at his jests,
holding his hand, sharing his life, but she was the one who had denied them
that fate. She could only agree to his commonsensical suggestions now.

After Wyatt left, she threw herself into her work with
determination. She had everything she wanted, more than she asked for. When
Lotta returned from the village with much more than the coffee and pot, she did
not ask where the money had come from. Pride no longer had a place in her life.

Thomas was dressed and sitting in the salon when Cassandra
arrived that afternoon. She ran to kiss his freshly shaved cheek. He winced
when he lifted his arm to her, but the schoolboy grin on his open face was all
she could ask. He would be better soon and wouldn’t need her. It wouldn’t
matter so much when she was barred from polite society.

As had become their custom, Bertie and whichever of the
large Scheffing family happened to wander in took out the cards and indulged in
a madcap game that involved more cheating than rules. In some way, Cassandra
hoped she was teaching Thomas not to be quite so gullible.

She drew a card from the bottom of the deck, added it to her
hand, and proudly spread it on the table. “I win. You now owe me half a million
pounds, two estates, and three horses. Shall we wager for a fourth horse and a
carriage?”

“Use some of the half-million pounds to buy them, my lady.”
The amused male voice in the doorway caused Cassandra’s heart to leap.

In his dove-gray swallowtail and wine-colored vest with just
the simple fold of white cloth at his throat, Merrick was so incredibly proper
and elegant that she could scarcely believe he was the same man whose tousled hair
had rested on her pillow that morning. Her breath caught, and the way he stared
at her, she knew that he felt her constraint.

His gaze studied the green morning gown that she wore
interchangeably with the sprigged muslin, but she felt no condemnation at her
lack of wardrobe. In fact, she very much feared he had just made a mental note
to buy her more gowns.

“I need the half-million pounds for principal so I might
live off the interest, my lord,” she replied with as much insouciance as she
could muster. She felt as if everyone in the room stared at them, but she knew
they did not. Bertie was ringing for refreshments and Thomas was happily
shuffling the cards in preparation for another game.

“Do you have any idea how much interest that would be?”
Openly laughing now, Wyatt entered the room, shook Bertie’s hand, and cuffed
Thomas when offered the deck of cards.

“Just sufficient to keep me in gowns, I’m certain. I daresay
I’ll need another half-million to provide carriages and servants and suchlike.
Have you come to gamble away your wealth, my lord?”

“I have come to save the Scheffings from bankruptcy and to
deliver a surprise.” Merrick winked at Thomas as the sound of female voices
carried up the stairwell. “Your sister could no longer bear to remain in hiding
and not read you a proper lecture. Prepare yourself.”

Before Cassandra could piece this together, Mrs. Scheffing
and a lovely but heavily pregnant woman joined them. The blond curls and wide
cheekbones bespoke still another family member, and she realized this was the
Christa she had not seen since childhood. Cassandra stared with fascination as
the newcomer awkwardly advanced across the room, her light muslin emphasizing rather
than concealing her condition.

“Cards! I cannot believe it of you, Thomas! Gambling, and
you just out of sickbed. And corrupting gentle females at the same time. For
shame.” She bent and placed an affectionate peck on her brother’s brow. “Please,
do not attempt to rise because of me. I cannot sit and you cannot stand. A sad
pair we make.”

She turned a questioning gaze to Cassandra, but before
Thomas could make the introductions, her face lit with recognition. “Lady Cass!
My goodness, you have grown up. I can remember you only as a little girl in
braids.”

The conversation became general then, and feeling as if she
were an outsider, Cassandra glanced to Merrick for rescue.

Wyatt had watched Cassandra’s wide-eyed curiosity at Christa’s
entrance, but he had thought it only her astonishment that a lady would appear
in public when so heavily with child. He began to doubt that belief later when
they were in the curricle and Cassandra frowned in puzzlement.

“Christa seems excessively polite, does she not? It is odd
that she is so very much larger than her mother. I do not remember her as being
that way.”

The questioning way she said it and the knowledge that Cass
was not given to rude remarks about other people’s appearances prevented Wyatt
from mistaking her words. That led to another interpretation, and Wyatt shot
his companion an incredulous look.

Sometimes it was very easy to forget how young Cassandra
actually was. Married at eighteen, never out in society, and her only company
being her father’s drunken cronies, she had no access to the polite world of
gentlewomen. Wyatt knew very little of her mother, but he suspected Lady
Eddings had communicated little more than complaints to her daughter.

It was very possible that Cassandra had never had more than
a glimpse of a pregnant woman in her life. She was intelligent enough to figure
it out, but Wyatt shuddered deep down in his soul as he contemplated the depth
of her ignorance. Could she possibly not know...?

Gathering his wits, Wyatt tried to explain the facts of
life. He wasn’t at all certain where to begin, particularly in light of their
current situation.

Hesitantly he said, “After the baby is born, she will be her
normal size again. I believe it is expected any day now.”

As if discerning his reluctance to speak, Cassandra smiled
brightly. “Of course, how foolish of me. See how lovely the bluebells are
today. It’s a pity they do not make good bouquets. Wouldn’t they look lovely on
the kitchen table?”

He was making a great mistake in ignoring the subject, but Wyatt
nodded with relief and allowed her to carry off the conversation.

He didn’t let himself consider the fact that she owned no
animals and no farmer in his right mind would allow a Lady Cassandra into his
barn or stable. Someone would explain babies to her soon enough.

Cassandra sang to herself as she arranged the bouquet of
roses in the lovely porcelain vase Merrick had brought for her last evening.
She really ought to refuse his gifts, but when he insisted he was accustomed to
flowers on his breakfast table, she hadn’t been able to refuse him.

Not any more than she had been able to refuse the lovely
peach satin robe or the walking dress or the riding habit or any of the other
extravagant gifts that arrived in so many unexpected ways these past weeks.
Coaches from London pulled up at her door to spill trunks of clothing with no
name attached. Barefoot boys pulling wooden carts unloaded crates of delicate
china. Merrick always evinced surprise at their arrival, then agreed she really
ought to keep them since she didn’t know to whom to return them, and he did
prefer seeing her in satin and silk and was accustomed to eating from china.

He was becoming a worse liar than she, but since they both
knew he was lying, it didn’t seem so much of a sin. Nothing he did seemed a
sin. Remembering what the proper earl had done to her in bed just the night
before, Cassandra felt her cheeks blaze with color, but she welcomed the
memory.

The sound of a horse trotting up the drive brought a flush
of expectancy. Wyatt never visited during the day, but it might be another gift.

The knock sounded at the door, and she hesitated. Jacob had
gone into the village and Lotta had taken lunch to the workers in the field. It
wasn’t much of a lunch, admittedly, but they always seemed grateful for
whatever was given. It looked as if they might have a crop, after all. Wiping
her hands on a towel, Cassandra hurried to answer the door herself.

She stared in astonishment at the visitor and briefly
considered slamming the door in his face. As if anticipating her thought,
Duncan caught the door and strode across the threshold.

“You are looking well, Cass.” He nodded curtly and gazed
around at the orderly cottage. A polished walnut table gleamed on one side of
the hall, and a satin settee and a lamp hung with crystal on the other side.
His gaze returned to her expensive French muslin, and he frowned.

“I see you are doing well for yourself, little sis. Rupert
has been a generous husband. Are you not going to invite me in?”

“You are already in,” she answered bluntly. Then, unbending,
she led the way to the front parlor.

Merrick had insisted the pieces of furniture he had sent
down from the house had been collecting dust in the attics, and they were,
indeed, not of the most recent fashion, but they were of too expensive a
quality to be condemned to attics. Perhaps earls lived differently. She was in
no position to know.

She gestured at the French side chair beside the window. “Have
a seat and I will fetch some lemonade. I fear we do not stock brandy,” she
said.

Duncan made a face at this choice of refreshment but offered
no objection as she hurried off to the kitchen.

Cass knew that while she was gone, he was mentally
calculating the cost of the antique settee and chair, and the aging Persian
carpet. Duncan always needed money.

By the time she returned, he was sitting amiably in the
chair, swinging his crossed leg, and smiling to himself.

Not fooled by his pleasant expression, Cassandra set the
tray down beside him and without further ado spread her skirt across the settee
and came to the point. “Why are you here, Duncan? Has London become too hot for
you?”

He continued to smile. “I’m tolerably well, thank you. Do
you not wish to ask after our esteemed parent?”

No, she didn’t. She had wanted to bring her mother to the
country where she might grow healthy again, but she could not let her mother
know that she had become Merrick’s mistress. “How is Mother? I trust she is
well?”

“Tolerable, as usual. She would do well here, I venture to
say. Shall I bring her for a visit the next time I come?”

A visit would be perfect. Cassandra’s eyes lit for a brief
moment; then suspicion replaced joy. “Why would you do that? Why are you here
at all, Duncan? I thought you detested the countryside.”

“So I do.” He sipped at the sour drink and winced at the
taste. “I just wished to check and see how my little sister fared. I’ve heard
rumors for weeks now, but I knew you were one to land on your feet. And so you
have, it seems.”

“No thanks to you,” Cassandra responded sweetly. Under the
pretense of lounging idly on the settee and sipping on her drink, she glanced
out the window, praying for some glimpse of Lotta or Jacob. She disliked being
along with Duncan. His temper was uncertain at best. The window revealed only
the now neatly trimmed drive. She turned back to observe her half-brother.

He looked thinner, somehow, and not nearly so terrifying as
she had once thought him. He was still quite large, shorter than Merrick
perhaps, but broader through the shoulders. Of course, the only work Duncan’s
shoulders had ever known was an occasional idle bout at Gentleman Jackson’s,
but she did not underestimate his strength. She just didn’t fear him as she
once had.

“Have you come to stay awhile?” she asked.

“No longer than it takes to see that you are comfortable. I
had not expected Rupert to provide for you so well, under the circumstances.
How did you do it?”

They trod dangerous ground here, and Cassandra smiled to
hide her uneasiness. Merrick had said Duncan was paying the rent. She had
assumed that was how her brother had found her. But Merrick had developed the
bad habit of lying to get his way, and she had developed the equally
reprehensible habit of letting him get away with it. She very much suspected
she was about to get caught in the web of deceit.

She shrugged. “Rupert had nothing to do with it. The cottage
was in a sad state of neglect and I offered to take care of it. The neighbors
have been all that is kind in helping me.”

“You always were a shameless baggage, Cass. Don’t bother
giving me your Spanish coin, for you know I don’t buy it.” Duncan set his glass
aside and rose to pace the room. “There’s money here, and don’t make me think
our righteous country-bumpkin neighbors have given it. Even Merrick wouldn’t
lower himself to helping a wanton wife who deserts her husband and instigates
duels. You have somehow found your way into Rupert’s pockets. Tell me how,
Cass.”

Cassandra felt the danger in him but didn’t know its
direction. Thankfully, he did not even consider Merrick. She lifted her chin
and met Duncan’s gaze squarely. “Believe what you wish, brother. I cannot tell
you more than I know.”