Chapter Seven #2
She blushed at his praise, and further when he squeezed her side, his fingertips guiding her into the next series of steps.
“One-two-three,” he lightly mouthed the count, barely above a breath, “one-two-three.”
Cassandra kept her eyes trained on his face, watching the movement of his lips.
He had received lessons of far better quality than she had.
She would have bet on it. He was unexpectedly agile, though she wasn’t sure why that surprised her.
She knew he was athletic, but it would have never occurred to her how graceful he was, how he could make her float around him as if she were a leaf in the wind.
In his formal attire, he was a stranger to her.
Polished, starched, refined in his movements and manner. He looked every bit like an aristocrat.
And a hero.
The gaps in candlelight cast shadows on his face and neck, preventing her from seeing the scars that she knew would be on the curve of his jaw and the delicate skin of his neck. He must be covered in them.
Nine men from a burning building.
A hero’s reward. The only reward that he seemed to have earned was a mixture of interest and scorn, each of them insulting in equal measure. It was no wonder that he preferred to keep to himself.
A familiar scent wafted through the air, a spicy scent of earth and forest. Cedarwood. She was sure of it now, and before she could think to stop herself, she asked, “Do you use Matthew’s pomade?”
“Yes.” One corner of his mouth quirked up. “You can tell?”
“Do you not have your own? I knew that’s what it was when I smelled it in the—” she couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence and finished lamely, “before.”
He grinned.
“Don’t,” she warned.
“Do you spend a lot of time smelling me, Miss Cooper?”
“Please stop talking.”
“I thought you tried your hardest not to smell me.” His grin turned impish. “Tell me, do you find my scent favorable tonight?”
That was it. She was going to stay silent for the rest of the night to keep her foot out of her mouth.
“Forget I said anything,” she grumbled, but a smile tugged at her lips. She bit the inside of her cheek to prevent its spread.
There was a vibration in the space between them, and then another.
Mr. Reeves was laughing.
With decorum.
“Impossible.”
The scolding remark on the tip of her tongue fell flat as he held her gaze with a genuine smile, as vibrant as the candlelight streaming in a halo around them as they whirled.
One-two-three, one-two-three. She didn’t know Mr. Reeves at all, did she?
He laughed with Matthew and joked with Caroline, but this was a new side of himself, maybe even one that her siblings hadn’t seen. A smile only for her.
And then it was gone.
His face schooled in a passive expression, but the tension left his shoulders and his touch became lighter.
“Does this count as a hero’s reward?” she asked, her feet gliding across the floor, skirts flared out in a wave.
“It only counts if it’s your idea.” He admonished her as one would to a child that asked for dessert before supper. “I’m not going to do all of the work for you.”
“What if I were to ask you to dance?” Cassandra asked. It was less intimate than a kiss, and her heart flipped at the idea of another. “If it were my idea?”
“Is that something that a lady should do?”
The orchestra slowed its tempo. One, two, three. One, two, three.
“Most likely not, no,” she admitted.
“How scandalous, Miss Cooper.” His lip quirked again. “What will people think?”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Cassandra grumbled.
“I am.” His voice was low and masculine. His thumb traced the bones on her spine with tantalizing pressure, and a new sensation within her coiled and ached when he brought her close to him and whispered in her hair, “I’m enjoying myself immensely.”
One. Two. Three.
The music stopped.
And then he let her go.
Her fingers trembled in her skirts as she raised them to fall into a curtsy. Stiff-backed and soft-eyed, Mr. Reeves bowed to her and lifted her hand to kiss the air above it. “It was a pleasure to dance with you, Miss Cooper.”
“Yes.” She wasn’t sure if she had spoken it aloud. It was as if she had stood too quickly. She was light-headed and a trifle unsteady on her feet. Dizzy from the spinning, she thought to herself, and it felt like a lie.
“Let’s get you back to your chaperons, little bird.
” Mr. Reeves offered his arm to her. When she tucked her hand into his arm, she was glad for the gloves to hide the moisture collecting in her palms. And Dear Lord, was she shaking?
When they returned to Aunt Valentine, both Matthew and Colonel Bishop stood on either side of her.
Colonel Bishop looked displeased, though he made an effort to hide it.
And Matthew? Matthew was… blank. He watched their approach with a flat expression.
This was Full-Mask Matthew, and there was no telling what he was thinking.
Jasmine was dumbstruck, uninterested—or perhaps unable—to hide her shock, or close her mouth, for that matter. Aunt Valentine’s eyes burned with a predatory determination that would need to be mitigated, but Cassandra could only focus on one problem at a time.
“Miss Cooper.” Mr. Reeves nodded to her, looked at the clock above them, met Colonel Bishop’s eyes deliberately, and stood next to Matthew. Promptly, Colonel Bishop stepped in front of her and blocked the other man from view.
“Lord Lincolnshire,” Colonel Bishop said finally. “May I take a turn about the room with your sister?”
She expected Matthew to not allow it. After their father died, Matthew refused Colonel Bishop’s request for courtship and forbade him from speaking to Cassandra ever again.
How infuriated she had been. She had argued and pleaded with him to change his mind.
But Matthew put his foot down and remained firm.
“If that’s what she wants.”
Cassandra’s mouth dropped open.
“Yes, of course,” the words came out of her mouth in a rush, and she felt like she was spinning in a whirlwind and all she could do was trudge forward. It didn’t mean anything. The plan hadn’t changed because of one waltz.
Colonel Bishop led her around the perimeter of the room with slow steps, and Cassandra felt more than saw that everyone was still staring.
What a spectacle she must seem, what was it that Matthew said?
No causing a scene. Would being in a tug-of-war with two men who hated each other count as a scene?
“That was a beautiful dance, Miss Cooper,” Colonel Bishop said once they were alone. “I can see that you haven’t lost your grace. An unwise choice in a partner, however.”
“A lady is not allowed to decline a dance,” Cassandra reminded him as diplomatically as she could without directly contradicting him, especially after the near brawl at dinner. “But I thank you for the compliment. Will you be asking me to dance, My Lord?”
“Not tonight.” He patted her hand. “I would hate to be the subject of your comparison. Perhaps another time, when I can have you all to myself.”
His expression was wolfish, but it didn’t have the effect on her it once might have.
At the start of dinner, he was charismatic, and it appeared as if they would fall into the same rhythm.
Flirtation with him was easy, but throughout dinner, he became increasingly bold with his actions.
At one point, he placed his hand on her leg beneath the table.
Overwhelmed in the moment, she hadn’t known what to do.
And so she had done nothing at all except flush miserably.
Cassandra knew a good deal about masks, and Colonel Bishop let his slip in a conversation where Mr. Reeves remained silent, deadly so, and she couldn’t decide which made her more nervous.
“I do wonder,” he mused, “how did your brother become associated with Mr. Reeves? I could have pointed him in a better direction if he were looking for cheap labor.”
“They attended Eton together,” Cassandra corrected. “They’ve maintained a friendship ever since.”
“So Mr. Reeves is close to your family, then?”
“If you can say spending each summer with us as close, then yes, I suppose he is. Closer now that Matthew moved him in—”
Colonel Bishop’s arm tensed.
“Moved him in?”
Cassandra floundered, but Colonel Bishop wasn’t giving her the chance to fix her mistake.
“I understand that your relationship with Mr. Reeves is complicated—”
“Oh, no, it really isn’t,” Cassandra said, too quickly and at a higher pitch than she had intended. No, this was a fire that would spread. Now there was no stopping it, and Colonel Bishop spoke the words that would permeate through the walls for the next seven days.
“He’s living in the same house as you.”
And the implication in the words rang louder than the orchestra: without a female chaperon.
“Temporarily! And in a room on the opposite side of the house. I honestly didn’t see much of him. He and Matthew practically lived in the barn.”
Colonel Bishop’s disdainful laugh chilled her fingertips and the surrounding air. “It’s true, then.”
“What’s funny?” She tried to maintain a polite tone, but she bristled at the direction of the conversation.
“A barn.” He laughed again. “His Grace certainly wants to be entertained! I hate to be the one to tell you this, but your brother and his business associate are the court jesters of this competition, they don’t stand a chance.”
“And yet they’re finalists, same as you,” Cassandra said, unable to hold her tongue.
“That they are.” He scowled for a fraction of a second before plastering on a gentlemanly smile. “No matter. Will you cheer your brother on tomorrow during the target competition, or shall I be so bold as to request the honor?”
“Matthew isn’t shooting tomorrow.” Preparing herself for the reaction, she took a deep breath. “Mr. Reeves is.”
A grating silence fell as Colonel Bishop stiffened beside her and stopped moving, causing her to trip on her skirts. If not for her grip on his elbow, she might have fallen. She rebalanced as he remained frozen.
“They’re letting him shoot?” Colonel Bishop erupted in outrage.
“This is taking it too far. Bringing along the help and parading him around is one thing, allowing him to compete in a contest among gentlemen is quite another, not to mention the blatant favoritism. No. This needs to be addressed now.”
The help?
“My lord, Mr. Reeves is an equal partner.” Cassandra matched his volatile aura.
They meticulously reviewed the contest rules, and even with Mr. Reeves’s status as a commoner, everything was perfectly within standards.
“He has every right to compete. He’s the one that designed the rifle in the first place. ”
“What did you say?” Colonel Bishop’s grip on her hand tightened near to hurting, but he didn’t seem aware of it. “He designed the rifle. Mr. Reeves. Not your brother.”
As soon as she was back in her bedchamber, and not a moment too soon, she would sew her mouth shut and leave the thread there for the rest of the stay. So much for having a civil conversation.
“If you have questions for my brother, you should ask him.” She tried to take control of the conversation, but he didn’t relinquish it.
“It’s only natural for you to have loyalties to your brother and his pet.
” Cassandra wanted to rip her hand away from his, but there had to be a reason he was so upset, and she didn’t have enough depth to understand, but he turned on the charm.
“I can see that I’ve offended you. I had not intended for our first conversation after such time apart be filled with such matters.
If you would allow me the opportunity, I will endeavor to remedy that offense the next time we speak. ”
She searched his face, his mask fully in place. This was life in the peerage, was it not? Fake smiles and hidden thoughts. If she hoped to survive, she would need to do the same.
“Of course,” she said, forcing a smile. “Tensions are bound to be high with so much at stake. I believe we’re all due a bit of grace.”
“Sound logic, Miss Cooper. You always were so clever.” His smile didn’t meet his eyes. “I’ll have to bid you goodnight, there is some unexpected business that I need to attend to.”
The clock struck midnight, a series of low chimes resonated, and the orchestra stopped.
“A word of warning.” Colonel Bishop released her hand and spoke to her squarely, “Take care around Mr. Reeves, he’s dangerous.”
He strode from her, leaving her on the side of the room. The clock continued to chime, and alone she returned to Matthew and Valentine.
Mr. Reeves was gone.