Chapter Four
Cassie did give the invitation to tea some thought.
Not least because Juliana harangued her near constantly to obtain the rest of the juicy gossip Mrs. Reid had left untold.
Cassie, however, had already heard enough to draw some very startling conclusions.
She would like to determine whether or not they were correct.
For that matter, she would make the visit just to have some peace from her friend’s insistent pleadings.
But the real reason she would risk Lady Webb’s ire was Martin Reid himself. His green eyes that rested upon her, paying attention to every detail of her person. His square jaw that said he brooked no nonsense yet softened with compassion when Cassie was vulnerable. His mouth…
Now Cassie had to halt her thoughts. His mouth awoke a different sort of feeling, overwhelming and raw. If he should touch his lips to hers, she would be lost, just as Mary Cushio had been.
She shuddered. What if Mary were truly…? No, she must learn the facts before imagining the worst.
With thoughts firmly away from Mr. Reid’s alluring lips, Cassie nevertheless dressed to best show off her features. A royal-blue muslin dress to contrast with her dark-brown eyes. Her hair up, yet with tresses draping into her slender neck. A dab of rosewater at her wrists.
With Juliana’s blessing, Cassie slipped into the kitchen to collect a carrot or two before heading out across the field to gather some more lilacs for Duke.
She hoped her small gifts would go some way to making up for the fact that she could not take Willow with her on this visit.
Then again, if Duke was as smitten as Cassie was, she knew these items could never replace that stirring of the heart when the object of one’s affection drew close.
Even with the brief detour, Cassie reached the Reids’ property in well under an hour.
They lived much closer than she had first assumed.
The land they had acquired had been pared from an estate less than two miles away.
An easy walk, even if it did give her mind time to build up all sorts of distressing thoughts.
Did Mr. Reid think less of her, his mother having brought her questionable past to the surface?
Could he accept her as she was? Did he even care enough to want to?
Had she misread his warm attentions? Was he merely a kind man, and she one of many to whom he would show kindness?
Ugh. She wished that what he thought and felt didn’t matter so much to her!
She walked her ruminations around to the back of the Reid house, grateful to spend a few minutes with Duke and clear her mind.
A friendly stablehand pointed out Duke’s stall before continuing to muck out the one he had been working on near the open door.
Duke lifted his head as Cassie clucked a greeting to him, holding out her offerings.
*
A well-liked scent caught Duke’s attention at once. It spoke of carrots and lilacs and roses. And it floated upon the familiar shape of Willow’s rider. He looked over her shoulder but could not see Willow with her. Nor could he smell his beloved about her person.
A carrot made its appearance. Duke stepped closer.
He tugged at its orange goodness, breaking off a bite and munching it while wondering why Willow was not here.
By the time the carrot was gone, he had decided the woman must have walked.
He would have sulked at Willow’s absence, but a small bunch of lilacs were now presented to him. He eyed them suspiciously.
“No bee this time,” the woman told him. When he did not move, she patted the lilacs to show that nothing was hiding among them.
Duke stretched his neck and grabbed the entire posy at its base, drawing it into his cavernous mouth and crunching contentedly. He’d been right about this woman. She was definitely a good mate for Master Reid.
A vaguely familiar human shape approached behind her. Duke stepped back, pinning his ears, lilacs forgotten. The stranger walked closer casually, but even this simple movement was somehow threatening.
Duke uttered a high-pitched squeal to warn the woman. She whipped around, the tension in her frame increasing as her eyes widened with recognition.
Her hand that had held the posy fell to her side. She sucked in a breath. “What are you doing here?”
*
“I should be asking you the same thing,” said Mr. Prescott dryly. “But then the answer is obvious, isn’t it? I assume my aunt is unaware that you have snuck off to visit that common grower of vegetables. And that, after I have counseled you to stay away from him.”
Cassandra scarcely heard him. She was alone with Prescott. The stablehand had left. Even if she should call out, the humble workers would be afraid to interfere if a gentleman—for the simple farm lads would view Prescott as such—wanted to impose his company on her.
She planted her feet more firmly to steady herself. “Mr. Reid is a gentleman farmer,” she said quietly. “And I am not doing anything wrong. I just gave Duke a few treats. He misses Willow.”
Mr. Prescott took a step closer. Cassie’s heart banged against her ribs. “Come now, Miss Richards, you have not walked all this way simply to feed this horse apples.”
“Carrots,” she corrected him, though she did not know why she did so. He had never cared for the facts. Only whatever narrative pleased him.
Mr. Prescott was tall enough that, at this proximity, his gaze bore down on her. “You might remember that Aunt Augusta is your legal guardian and you are not yet of age. You cannot do as you please. What do you think she will make of your actions?”
A surge of rebellion rushed through Cassie’s veins. “What do you care?”
“She has asked that I keep an eye on you,” he answered coolly. “She does not trust Mr. Reid to know his place.”
“And you know yours?” As the words left her mouth, Cassie froze. What had possessed her to speak so boldly? It was pure insanity!
Mr. Prescott cocked his head to the side, his red tongue wetting his lips. “I know my aunt trusts me more than some laborer.”
His insistence at deriding Mr. Reid made Cassie’s blood boil. She could stand it no more. She had had to endure months of his stalking presence, first in London and now here. And Lady Webb still thought him a worthy gentleman. More so than she did the honorable Mr. Reid.
“More fool she!” Cassie cried. “What would Lady Webb say if she knew how you hounded me wherever I went, and me being just a humble companion? She would be shocked at both your low reach for a match and your uncouth actions.”
A flash of anger clouded his face. Then he reached forward and claimed a lock of her hair, curling it about his forefinger.
“I believe my aunt encourages this match. Perhaps you might consider a modicum of gratitude that I agree with her. There are many women in your position who would be flattered by my attention.”
Cassie balled her fists. “Women like Mary Cushio.”
The fury of her words should have burned a hole right through him. But Mr. Prescott simply shrugged. “I do not know that name.”
“Perhaps not.” Cassandra growled. “But men like you probably don’t care to remember the names of the servants they abuse.”
Her words did not stir his conscience. His fingers released the lock of hair and slid loosely around her slender neck, resting there as if he owned her. Cassie could not tell if it was an act of lust or murder. But she knew she could not withstand his choice once he’d made it.
She backed up against the door of the stall, barely half a pace behind her, so that Prescott’s arm simply extended without releasing the presence of his noxious touch. She turned her head away, afraid of what she would see in his eyes.
All at once, Duke was rearing, his hooves high and ready to crush his enemy’s skull, his cry pitched and angry. His hooves hit the ground hard, the force of his weight pounding a warning before he reared once more.
Several men came rushing in to see what was wrong. They might not have saved her from Prescott’s attentions, but they knew they must protect their master’s horse.
Duke battered at the door of the stall, again and again. Prescott stepped away hastily while the groom tried to calm the powerful stallion. Other horses began to move restlessly about their stalls, sounding their distress.
In the commotion, Cassandra slipped out and fled, shaking with relief at her narrow escape. She made for the house, seeking the protection of its occupants. She veered toward the kitchen garden, almost colliding with a maid who was feeding the chickens some scraps.
“Oof!” The maid grabbed at her cap, then saw Cassandra’s grim expression. “Are you all right, miss?”
Cassie looked over her shoulder to see if Prescott was following her. The slender maid lifted her head in the same direction, the noise from the stables reaching them even here. “Don’t be frightened, miss. The stableboys will sort it out.”
Cassandra fought to regain her equilibrium. Her heart still drove a fierce tempo, and the unsavory touch of Mr. Prescott remained upon her neck. She threw her own hand upon her skin to reclaim it.
“Say,” said the maid, “you’re not Miss Richards, are you? Mrs. Reid said to expect you this afternoon.”
Cassie only nodded.
The kindly maid gestured for Cassie to follow her to the front of the house.
“Here you go, miss. Just tap the knocker and Jackson will take you to the mistress.”
With that, the girl returned to her duties, which certainly did not include hovering about the front entrance of the house.
Jackson, as it turned out, was a footman. Or, rather, the footman. The Reid household did not waste its funds on servants. Despite the roominess of the rather modern brick building, it was not the hive of worker bees that Chadwick Hall needed to be.