“It’s beginning to have all the charm of a French farce, don’t you think?” Reggie said low in her ear.
She turned with a smile and gazed into the drawing room. “There do seem to be all sorts of interesting currents in the room.”
“There do indeed. Most of them quite—”
“Naughty?”
He laughed. “At the very least.” Reggie crossed his arms over his chest, settled back against the baluster, and nodded at the card players. “In that corner, you have Marcus’s mother, who has had an ongoing relationship with the gentleman across from her, the family solicitor, Mr. Whiting, for a number of years now.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “And also at that table, I have noticed my own mother fluttering her lashes at Colonel Fargate.”
“There’s apparently quite a bit of lash fluttering throughout the room.” Cassie laughed. “Miss Hilliard seems to have shed several years in the process, and Miss Fargate is positively animated.”
“It’s most impressive. One can scarcely keep track of who is casting looks at whom.” Reggie grinned.
“Although, happily, my mother’s flirtatious activity does not prevent her from keeping a watchful eye on my sister.” He blew a long-suffering breath. “Lucy is determined to flirt with every available gentleman in the room.”
“Practice?”
“I hate that word,” he muttered.
“She does seem to be directing her attention primarily toward Christian.” Cassie observed the gathering around the pianoforte for a moment. “To the detriment of young Lord Bellingham, I might add, who appears quite taken with your sister.”
“Wonderful,” he said grimly.
“It’s rather amusing, I think.”
“All this, you mean?” Reggie gestured at the room.
“This is, of course, but I mean you.”
He raised a brow. “You find me amusing? In what way?”
“In any number of ways, actually, but at the moment, I think your overly protective nature toward your sister is most entertaining.” She shrugged. “Especially given your reputation. Although I suppose you, of all people, would be well aware of the devious nature of men.”
“I would? Yes, of course, I would. Indeed, I am.” He hesitated, as if deciding exactly what to say.
“About that infamous reputation of mine.”
“Yes?”
“I should probably tell you…It might well be time…Honesty and all that.” He stared into her eyes for a long moment, then heaved a resigned sigh. “I am willing to consider changing my ways.”
“Are you indeed?”
“Yes, I am.” He paused to choose his words. “It has come to my attention, thanks in part to an offhand comment at dinner—”
“A comment by Miss Bellingham?” Cassie’s voice was light, belying her surprise. He nodded. “Most definitely.”
“You are willing to reform because of something Miss Bellingham said?” she said slowly, a knot forming in her stomach.
“Good Lord, yes.” Reggie shook his head. “She is a most determined young lady.”
Cassie stared at him. “Determined?”
“To get what she wants.” Reggie glanced at Miss Bellingham. “You may not know it to look at her, but I suspect Felicity has a will of iron.”
“Felicity?” The knot tightened.
“That’s her name.” He shrugged. “Given our discussion, I am hard-pressed to think of her as Miss Bellingham. Oh, I know it’s highly improper to refer to her by her given name, but somehow, as life in the country is especially casual, what would not pass muster in the city always has seemed rather acceptable here. Although I doubt that I would call her Felicity to her face or indeed to anyone.”
And twisted. “With the possible exception of myself.”
“Yes, of course, but you and I are friends. We can be honest with each other.” He grinned. “Under most circumstances.”
“Honesty is overrated,” Cassie muttered and groped for the right words. “Am I to understand you are willing to reform for Miss Bellingham?”
“Absolutely.” He thought for a moment, then his eyes widened, and he shook his head vehemently. “No, that’s not what I mean at all. Not for Miss Bellingham but because of Miss Bellingham. It’s an entirely different thing altogether.”
“Is it?”
“It is indeed.”
She grit her teeth. “Perhaps you could explain it to me?”
“Perhaps I could.” He shrugged helplessly. “But I can’t. Not really.”
“I think, my lord,” she chose her words carefully and forced them out past the growing lump in her throat, “that you owe me forty pounds after all.”
“What? Why?”
“Why, she is obviously indeed your Miss Wonderful.”
His brows drew together. “Yes, and I found your Lord Perfect, so it’s still a draw. Besides, she is not my Miss Wonderful—she is simply a Miss Wonderful.” He stared for a long moment, and his eyes widened.
“Why, I do believe, Miss Effington—Cassandra—that you’re jealous.”
“I most certainly am not,” she snapped, anger washing away the anguish that gripped her at the thought of his willingness to reform for Miss Bellingham and the realization that he must like the young woman a great deal.
He smiled in an annoyingly smug manner. “You most certainly are.”
“Don’t be absurd. I’m not jealous, but I do admit I’m…concerned. Yes, that’s good. That’s it exactly. I’m concerned.”
“Are you?” He continued to smirk, and she resisted the impulse, no, the need, to smack him. Hard. Bare handed.
“As I would be concerned for any friend I see about to make a dreadful mistake.”
“I suspect you are the only one who thinks Miss Bellingham—Felicity—would be a dreadful mistake.”
He glanced at Miss Bellingham. “Every other gentleman, including your own brother, I see, and I daresay most of the ladies, thinks she would make an excellent match.”
“Come now, Reggie, look at the way she looks at you. She’s a…a predator.”
He choked back a laugh.
“It’s not the least bit funny. I’ve seen women look at my brothers in precisely the same way. She looks at you like she’s a hound and you’re a fox. A very slow and not too bright fox.”
“Your flattery shall quite turn my head,” he said wryly.
“She’s more interested in your title and your fortune than you.”
“Once again, your opinion of my appeal is overwhelming.”
“Stop it, Reggie. You can be quite charming, and you, as well as probably hundreds of unsuspecting females, well know it.”
“Certainly.” He shrugged in a modest manner.
“Nonetheless, I’ve seen her type of female before. She is unrelenting when it comes to getting what she wants.”
“In that, isn’t she precisely like you?”
“Not at all. I have…” She thought for a moment. “Lines, as it were, that I will not cross.” At once the thought of compromise came to mind. Cassie might well be willing, even eager, to share his bed, but she would never use her ruin to force him into marriage. She doubted Miss Bellingham would feel the same.
“Why do you care, Cassandra?” His gaze searched hers. “After all, Mr. Drummond is everything you say you’ve always wanted. And he appears quite taken with you.”
“I care because you’re my friend. There’s nothing more to it than that. And you’re right, Mr. Drummond is everything I’ve always wanted. And I like him as well.”
“Do you really like him?”
“Why wouldn’t I? The man is perfect.”
“Perfect is as overrated as honesty.”
“Not at all.” She sniffed in a haughty manner. “Perfect is…perfect.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” His gaze narrowed. “How much do you like him?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” She turned and started toward the drawing room. “But it’s past time I found out.”
“Cassandra!” He caught her arm and jerked her back. Her fan flew out of her hand and over the baluster. She shook off his hand and glared at him. “Now look at what you’ve done.” She pulled away, peered over the railing, and lied. “That’s my favorite fan.”
“My apologies.” He huffed. “But I didn’t think we were finished with our discussion.”
“You were wrong.” She headed toward the steps leading to the garden.
“And furthermore,” he said behind her, “I think it was exceptionally rude of you to cut me off.”
“Well, what did you expect?” She started down the stairs. “I am not Miss Wonderful.”
“I daresay no one would mistake you for that!”
“I daresay any number of men have thought I was quite, quite wonderful!”
He snorted in disbelief.
She ignored him. “But obviously, I’m not the kind of woman one would reform for.”
“Obviously!”
She turned on her heel and glared up at him. “That was a vile thing to say.”
“Nonetheless, it was true. No man would reform for you because you’re the kind of woman who leads men astray! Who makes perfectly normal men do things they would never think of doing. Insane, irrational, foolish, even bloody stupid things!”
“What kind of things?”
“I don’t know,” he snapped.
“I have never in my life led a man astray!” She turned again and continued down the steps.
“You could certainly lead me astray.”
“You are already astray.”
“Well then, I have changed my mind. Any man who wasn’t a complete idiot would reform for you. I’d reform for you. I think you’re well worth changing my wicked ways for. Indeed, I think you’re quite wonderful.”
“Hah!” She reached the ground level and skirted along the wall of the terrace to just beneath where they’d been standing. “You’re just saying that because it seems the…the perfect thing to say!”
“Hardly. Only a madman would consider you wonderful.”
“Nonetheless.” She glanced at him with a smug smile. “Mr. Drummond believes me to be wonderful.”
“My point exactly. The man is obviously mad,” Reggie muttered, his gaze scanning the ground. “Where do you think that blasted fan of yours is, anyway?”
“I have no idea.” She stepped away, her gaze firmly focused on the ground before her. She drew a deep breath and forced a casual note to her voice. “Mr. Drummond asked if he could call on me when we return to town.”
She sensed Reggie stiffen behind her. “What did you say?”
She raised a shoulder in a casual manner. “I could scarcely say no. It would be…rude.”
“You have never had a particular problem with rudeness when it comes to me,” he said sharply.
“Entirely due to the fact that you are the most annoying man I have ever met.”
“Well, I’m certainly not perfect!”
“No, indeed you are the least perfect man I have ever met!” She huffed with exasperation and met his gaze directly.
“Most annoying and least perfect. It sounds like I have a great deal of potential.”
“Potential for what?”
“Potential for reform,” he snapped. “For…for perfection!”
She scoffed. “You could never be perfect.”
“No, I couldn’t. Is perfect what you really want?” His gray eyes gleamed silver in the faint light cast by the lanterns on the terrace. “What do you want, anyway?”
The question hung in the air between them.
She stared for a long moment, and all of the anger within her vanished, replaced by need and longing and desire. Without thought she grabbed the edges of his coat and pulled his lips to hers. For a moment, shock held him still, then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight against him. Yearning and desire swelled within her. She wanted him to tear her clothes from her body and wanted to rip his away as well. Wanted to feel his naked flesh next to hers. Wanted everything wanting him meant regardless of the consequences.
She opened her mouth and her tongue met and mated with his in an intimate dance of hunger and need. Her body molded to his as if they were made one for the other. As if they were half of the same whole. As if this were fate. She felt the hard evidence of his arousal against her, and it only served to increase her own desire. She could give herself to him now, this very moment, here beneath the terrace, and welcome scandal and ruin with open arms.
She wound her fingers through his hair and pressed harder against him, acutely aware of her breasts crushed against his chest. He held her firmly with one hand splayed against the small of her back, and the other drifted lightly down her side to her hip, then traced faintly over her derrière. His mouth broke from hers to taste the side of her neck and her throat, and lower still to the valley between her breasts. Her head dropped back and she held her breath, lost in the altogether exquisite sensation of his lips on her flesh. His hand cupped her breast, and his thumb circled her nipple through the fabric of her gown. She clutched at his shoulders and gasped.
He pulled her harder against him and reclaimed her lips with a hunger that matched her own. And she wanted more.
He wrenched his lips from hers and buried his face in her neck, his voice little more than a moan.
“Cassandra, this is not the place…”
“No?” She struggled for breath and a semblance of sanity. “Are you sure?”
He lifted his head and stared down at her. “Cassandra, I—”