Chapter Ten #2
Cassandra clutched her hands in her skirt and looked away, unable to meet the intensity of his gaze.
“I’ll leave, if you like.” Shuffling, he reached into his pocket. “But before I go, I want to return something of yours.”
He brought forth a piece of parchment folded into a small square. In a sleight of hand, he moved it from his palm to his fingertips. His hand danced lazily in the air as he flipped it between his knuckles, from his thumb to his small finger and back, like a magician with a coin.
A red spot of wax took up the center of the square on one side.
“You sealed it?”
“I wasn’t going to risk you calling foul.”
She made a grab for her diary page. Her shawl fell to the sofa behind her, but he pulled the page away, flicking it back into his palm and away from view.
“Do you have it on you all the time?!”
“Yes,” he said simply, as if she had asked him if he were wearing shoes.
“Why?”
“In case I see you.”
“You weren’t expecting to see me this morning,” Cassandra accused.
“No.” A languid smile joined with an expression that could only be loving. “But I’m always hoping to.”
A clenching sensation seized at her chest. It has to mean something. On his knees on the middle seat of the sofa, he held the folded page in his upturned palm like a bird that fell from its nest.
“Honestly, it’s been a real chore to lug it around with me,” he teased, flicking it between his fingers again, lifting it in the air above her reach, and oh, she was tiring of that!
“Then give it back!” She reached for the page, but he only lifted it higher with a smirk. She sat higher on her knees for better reach, but he did the same, so she grabbed his wrist and tugged.
“I want to!” He laughed, holding it in the tips of his fingers. Her knees knocked against his as she struggled with him.
“You’re such a child!” Dropping his wrist in favor of using both hands to shove him with all her strength, she pushed forward—and he feinted to the side.
With a stretch of fabric, her dress caught under her.
“Ah!” Unbalanced, gravity pushed her forward in a tumble.
Connecting with the full weight of her, he toppled back onto his heels with a sound of alarm as she crashed into him.
Tangled in a heap with him on the sofa, she pressed her hand against his chest to steady herself and felt his heartbeat pounding underneath her palm.
It felt like hers sounded in her ears, and under her skin—and good Lord—she was on top of him!
Heat rushing to her face, she tried to move away, but he held onto her hand and kept her in place.
His fingertips cradled hers before he pushed up gently with his other arm until they were both on their knees again.
Breathless, but upright, he held her hand over his heart.
Cassandra sank back onto her heels and he followed the movement.
Kneeling with her, he braided his fingers with hers.
“I want to.” His voice was heady, and when his thumb rubbed against hers, deliberate and slow, she forgot how to breathe, how to think, and another brick in her wall fell.
Denial. There was time before the sun rose, and there would be time long after for regret and for shame, and for so long she had wanted to say it.
So she did.
“Kiss me.”
A shock went through him, and he dropped her hand.
A moment passed. A heartbeat. A held breath, and she thought she may have made a colossal mistake, but then a tremor as he placed one finger under her chin and raised her face to his.
His eyes shone like winter as they roamed over her, searching for any sign of apprehension.
Cassandra’s pulse climbed higher as the finger that held her chin brushed across her jaw, catching at a tendril of her hair that had broken free during their scuffle.
He held it between his fingers and brought it to his lips.
“This particular curl seems the most troublesome.” His fingertip scratched the curve of her ear as he tucked her hair behind it, before once again trailing down the soft line of her chin, and it felt like she was spinning again.
With his hair over his eyes, he leaned over her, sheltering her.
He tilted her face to line up to his and a new sensation rose within her, something she never allowed herself to feel.
Desire.
Excruciatingly slow, he wrapped an arm around her, holding her to him tenderly, but he kept his mouth inches from hers. One word raced through her, devouring her. Please. She gripped the collar of his shirt to bring him down to her, but he shook his head.
“Tell me again,” he urged. “I need to be sure—”
“Mr. Reeves.” It had to be now, before she lost her nerve, pulse pounding, she nearly begged, please, “Ki—”
“No.” He stopped, and in a panic, she thought he meant to stop completely, but the pad of his thumb grazed against her bottom lip, and she could taste the salt on his skin, see the fire in his eyes, trained to her mouth. “When I kiss you, I want you to call me by my name.”
And it was too much, coiling and twisting within her. Her legs trembled, but she held onto him.
“Seth.” Her lips moved against his thumb as, voice sure, she repeated the words, “Kiss me.”
Please.
“Yes,” he groaned, the sound a deep vibration echoing between them.
“Cassandra.” His knee slid against the cushion, bringing them even closer.
He ran his hand over her back soothingly, thumb pressing along her spine until she arched against him.
A gasp escaped her at the feel of his body against hers.
With eyes half-lidded, he seemed to relish in the moment, savoring it, drawing it out.
All she wanted was for him to get on with it, because she would combust if he didn’t.
Her eyes fluttered and she could feel the warmth of his lips moving close to hers until there was only breath between them. “I….”
He froze.
Cassandra could have screamed in frustration, a protest on her lips as he turned from her, brows furrowed, head inclined toward the door.
“Wait.” He sat back, still holding her. “Do you hear that?”
He snapped back and lept from the sofa. Practical Botany fell and landed on the floor with a thud, breaking through the silence. In three quick, long strides, he bounded to the front of the library and pulled a book from the shelf at random.
“What…?” But then she heard it too, a subdued tapping, distant at first, and then it got louder.
Footsteps.
A pair of boots clipped down the hallway, coming their way.
Cassandra’s eyes darted to the door. It was wide open!
In a hurry, she fixed her skirts and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders.
With trembling fingers, she picked up her book and opened it.
Heart pounding, face flaming, her breathing came out uneven.
They were going to be caught!
The footsteps walked past the library.
Paused.
And then came back.
Matthew stood in the doorway with a perturbed expression. “There you are, Reeves! I’ve been looking everywhere. I tried your room, I checked the stables, I—” his eyes traveled to Cassandra blankly. “Oh. You’re here too, Cassandra.”
He glanced between the two, and after a second, he let out an annoyed huff.
“Neither of you can be bothered to get dressed or do your hair? We aren’t in the country anymore, you can’t lounge in your pajamas all morning.” Matthew’s foot tapped an irritated rhythm on the floor.
“I am dressed!” Cassandra protested, suddenly needing to make that fact quite clear.
Her brother gave her a once over and an unimpressed raise of a brow.
The sun rising, she saw her reflection in the window, and oh no, her hair was a mess!
She twisted it and pinned it up once more.
Bending forward, she realized her book was upside down!
Blushing furiously, she hoped Matthew hadn’t noticed, but his attention shifted back to Mr. Reeves.
“I bet she’s going on about plants.” Matthew shook his head.
“Feverfew,” Mr. Reeves supplied, his voice came out throaty and deep. He coughed to clear it.
“Oh. We used that for—” A rueful frown crossed Matthew’s face. “Nevermind. Come on Reeves, Mr. Edgars wants to discuss the next challenge over breakfast. Style,” he drawled. “I wanted to go over our designs again. You really need to be around, I can’t answer everyone’s questions.”
“After you,” Mr. Reeves said. Tucking his book under his wrist, he turned to Cassandra with a wide smile, as if nothing had transpired between them. “Thank you for the lesson, Miss Cooper. It was informative.”
“See you at breakfast, sister,” Matthew called as they left the library, their footsteps and voices echoing down the hall.
Alone, she slammed the book shut, her heart aching with her stupidity. All of those looks at Cooper House, under the tree, the dancing, his gentleness with her, all the ways he held himself back….
She hadn’t been imagining it at all.
He wanted her.
With shaking fingers, she touched her lips.
Behind the game he made, he wanted to kiss her.
If not for the interruption, he might be kissing her still.
Shame flooded her in waves. If Mr. Reeves hadn’t heard Matthew’s footsteps, she would have been compromised!
She couldn’t afford such recklessness! She curled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, as brick by brick she built herself back up.
He couldn’t have known. He had sealed it. But if during the process even a single word had slipped out… with a hiccuped breath, she collected herself. No. She couldn’t let that happen again.
She wouldn’t let that happen again.
Cassandra stood and replaced the book on the shelf and extinguished the oil lamp.
Nothing had changed.
She still had her goal.
It didn’t mean anything.