Chapter 7 #2
“No.” Normally, that would’ve been enough, but the need to explain himself to this woman, any woman, was a new sensation, and it dragged the explanation from his lips. “I told you it was part of my name.”
Her reply was as stiff as his had been. “Aye, and a family name of Cassius could understandably be shortened to Cash.”
Ah. He remembered now, their first meeting, when she’d told him Adolphus Cassius was a truly terrible name. He’d agreed with her, but before he could ask her what made her think it was his name, she had nudged him with her shoulder.
And that casual touch had completely distracted him, making him think all sorts of delightfully improper thoughts. And completely distracting him from the entire name conversation, now that he thought about it.
They were still waltzing woodenly around the room, in an impression of a set of disinterested—and possibly broken—marionettes. Cash supposed the least he could do was make an attempt at correcting her misunderstanding.
“I’m Adolphus Lawrence Merritt. My son is Matthew Adolphus Roger Merritt.”
“Merritt,” she repeated in a whisper, and then snorted softly. “A bloody duke.”
“Cash is simply short for Cashard.” He didn’t know what he was trying to do. Explain? Ease her pique? Defend himself? “My estate is in the south of Scotland.”
“And the river? The oak?”
“We discovered it in the early part of the summer.” It had become the best part of this summer, up until this afternoon.
She sniffed lightly, her gaze now resting on the hair above his temple.
“I never bothered learning the names of the lords and ladies at the house party, because I was so rarely here. I definitely had nae interest in kenning the name of the duke Lady Dumpkins was so determined to throw at her young ladies.”
Throw at them? He rather felt they’d been thrown at him.
Dear Lord, Athena was a lady. She wasn’t the daughter of a local merchant, she was an earl’s daughter—a lady. His brain kept circling back to that fact, apparently unable to come to terms with it. She was the daughter of a laird.
And only a few hours ago, his cock had been in her mouth.
Just the memory caused an improper stirring in his trousers, and he tightened his jaw to try to keep himself from revealing the way she affected him.
Why? You never cared before.
That’s because “before” was just the two of them, or them and their sons, stretched out in the shade on a summer afternoon. Not waltzing mechanically around a ballroom for all to see.
She was a lady, and she’d been acting like a doxy. He’d been about to make her his doxy.
Damnation.
The rest of the waltz was just as rigid and awkward as the first moments, and Cash couldn’t help but compare the woman in his arms now to the woman he’d held that afternoon.
Although this dance barely counted, since she was doing everything in her power not to touch him, and he found himself disappointed by how stiff she was.
Even stiffer than him, if that were possible.
The thought did little to cheer him, and as soon as the musicians began their final flourish, he pulled her to a stop.
Even though he stepped away from her, she was still staring resolutely at his left ear.
Her cheeks were flushed—not with desire or excitement, he guessed, but with anger—but her breathing was measured, as if she were trying to maintain control.
She hadn’t been trying to maintain control at The Sword and Sheath—
Stop it. It’ll do no good to relive.
Despite his best intentions, he couldn’t help but study the way her hair was pulled back in a simple bun, unlike the fancy coiffures Amanda used to prefer. It made Athena seem very ladylike, very proper.
Not at all like the woman he’d come to appreciate.
He much preferred her with that glorious red hair down around her shoulders.
As if she could sense his thoughts, her angry gaze snapped to his, then away once more. “Yer Grace,” she said rigidly, reaching for her skirts as if she might offer him a curtsey.
But he couldn’t let her leave now. He couldn’t walk away from this ballroom, from Dumpkins, as he’d intended. Not with all the things left unsaid between them.
“Lady Athena,” he blurted, much too loudly. “Would you consent to a walk?”
He offered his arm before she could think of an excuse, and he saw her glance to the edge of the room where the Earl and Countess were watching.
The older woman looked positively giddy with delight, and Cash assumed it was because he—as the duke—had never expressed an interest in any of her young ladies beyond the perfunctory dance.
But there was nothing perfunctory about this offer.
Too bad it wasn’t the offer he’d planned on making.
Athena hesitated, then placed her hand atop his arm once more. And once more, her touch was as light as a butterfly’s, making it clear she had no interest in physical contact with him.
She’d very much wanted physical contact before she’d known his full name, hadn’t she?
“It’s warm in here, isn’t it?” he said blandly, planning to use that as an opening to invite her out to the garden.
Of course she understood.
“Aye,” she agreed stiffly. “Yer Grace.”
That title had been tacked on, almost flippantly, and reminded him of the way she’d screamed his name only a few hours before.
“A turn about the gardens, perhaps, my lady?” He tried to keep his tone mild, hoping she understood he wanted to go someplace private for the discussion they were sure to require.
“The gardens boast some interesting statuary.” It wasn’t exactly an agreement, but he took it as such.
“Shall I meet you there?”
“Why bother?” When he glanced at her, Athena’s head was held high, her jaw tight. “Everyone here already thinks me a doxy. They will assume I am off for a private rendezvous with a handsome, eligible man, and—”
“Think less of you?” he murmured.
Her eyes flashed with surprise as she glanced at him, then away. “I doubt that is possible, Yer Grace.”
Well, to hell with them. He was the bloody Duke of Cashard, and tonight, he had the arm—and attention—of a beautiful woman. Let them say whatever the hell they wanted to say.
Head held high, he marched Athena right out of that ballroom, and he swore he felt her relax just the tiniest bit.
Until they stepped out onto the balcony.
She led the way toward the marble steps. “As I recall, the gardens are this way.”
The gardens. The perfect place for a private rendezvous with a very eligible young lady. Or, in this case, what Cash was certain would turn into a fight he wasn’t sure he wanted to win.
Trying to make polite conversation instead, he cleared his throat. “You haven’t spent much time at this estate?”
“This isnae the first houseparty the Countess has hosted.” In the soft light from the ballroom windows, he saw her roll her eyes.
“My family, as the local gentry, is always invited, and since my father would do anything to impress Lady Dumpkins, my brothers and I have been forced to attend as many events as we can stand. This year…”
She shrugged as they stepped into the formal garden, and he had the sense she was also trying to make desperate conversation, to avoid the fight they both knew was coming.
So he offered, “I haven’t seen you at any of the events. Obviously.”
One corner of her lips twitched wryly. “Because ye have only bothered to join the party for the evening events, by which time I am tucking Callan into bed. Still, I was pleased to make some new friends. I introduced Olive to my brother Phineas.”
Cash hummed in encouragement, pleased she’d been open about her family to him, even if she hadn’t told him her father’s position. “The anthropologist?”
“Archaeologist,” she corrected. “And Olive is just as obsessed as he is, bless her. And I met the Oliphant sisters—nae relation…well, possibly some relation, a dozen generations ago. The Oliphants are a big clan, after all. Tiffany is the gorgeous one wearing red tonight; she is engaged to my brother Lysander. Her younger sister Ember—an incredibly talented artist, works with metal—also found love this summer, with my newest brother Max.” She was ticking names off her fingers.
“Their other sister Bonnie is a bit of a wallflower—”
“I remember her.” Bonnie was the name of the woman he’d danced with last week. “She wants to buy a publishing house—she asked me for funding.”
“Aye.” This time Athena’s smile was almost fond as they strolled along the dark walks.
“I dinnae ken if she needs the funding any longer, since I paid her a king’s ransom for a…
” Her lips snapped closed and she turned away slightly so he couldn’t see her expression.
“Never mind. She isnae interested in marriage, is my point.”
“This is the modern age, Athena,” he said softly. “Marriage isn’t the goal of every woman.”
“Like me.”
He felt something deep in his chest clench at her words. Her acknowledgement that what they’d shared, what he’d felt for her…could never be legitimate.
Athena made a sound which might’ve been a sob, but when his gaze snapped to hers, her profile was hard, controlled. She was facing a statue—a classical rendering of a mother and child, which Cash thought was appropriate—but he doubted she was seeing it.