Chapter Fourteen #2
“I’m sure of it,” Seth replied. Being shot at wasn’t something that anyone would forget, and he had plenty of experience.
“It wasn’t Mr. Nott or Bishop. Their location doesn’t match with the angle of the shot.
Their surprise and offense at Cooper’s accusations were genuine.
Regardless, the inventory all checks out.
But someone did shoot at us, and I think they were aiming for Mr. Sanderson. And His Grace…”
Duke Kendall had been absent for the event and had been acting suspiciously from the start. The man was slimy, and his reaction to Cassandra not being hurt grated on him, but a perverse interest didn’t make a man a murderer.
Or did it?
“No new information, then,” Adrian said. After a silent moment, he spoke again. “I’m already looking into it.”
He looked as though he might speak further, but the door to the study opened and Lord Bolderwood entered with Dr. Farnsworth.
“Your turn, Mr. Reeves,” the doctor said brightly. “Have a seat.”
“No.” Seth narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “Tend to Cassandra.”
Lord Bolderwood’s scowl deepened, but it was too late for Seth to take back his slip.
“I’m finished with Miss Cooper,” Dr. Farnsworth said. “You’ll be pleased to hear that time and rest will heal her injuries.”
“What injuries?” Ice seeped through his veins. Cassandra. Hurt. His hands clenched into fists at his side while he waited for the doctor to explain.
“Nothing serious,” he said and gestured once more for Seth to sit. “Please remove your shirt. With your constitution this should be quick.”
Seth’s jaw clenched as he looked between both Hollingsworth men. Neither seemed inclined to leave.
With gritted teeth, Seth removed his topcoat and turned to the doctor.
“The shirt stays on.”
***
Cassandra woke in pure darkness, disoriented, heart hammering in her chest. She reached blindly until she found the edge of the canopy and pulled the curtain back with a trembling hand.
Blinking hard, she struggled to adjust to the dim light.
Shadows danced along the edges of the room from the low burning embers in the grate.
She had slept through a servant coming in to light it, and—she noted with some unease—someone dressing her in her cotton nightgown.
How did she make it back to her bedchamber?
She stepped onto the cool floor and lit a lamp.
Squinting at the clock on the mantel, she frowned.
One in the morning. In the middle of her bedchamber, a small table held a dinner tray with covered plates.
Next to the flatware, a champagne flute held a solitary white flower with dark leaves.
She lifted the flower to her nose and inhaled its fresh, creamy fragrance.
A gardenia.
Lifting the lids from the plates, she found slabs of cold beef and chicken, a loaf of bread, and cheddar cut into cubes.
Ravenous, she tore at the bread with her fingers and made a crude sandwich, forcing the thick bread down with long gulps of water.
Satisfied, she reached for the napkin near the flower and noticed that tucked under the vase was a folded square of parchment, sealed with red wax.
A hero’s reward.
One kiss taken, and one freely given.
A cheap feeling came over her. She had compensated him for saving her. A weight settled into her stomach as she realized their deal was done. No longer did she need to worry about him reading her innermost thoughts. Desires. Dreams. Especially now, he couldn’t know.
Hastily she picked up the page and removed the seal, but instead of her own looping cursive, a simple script read:
Come to my bedchamber when you wake up.
-S
Flushing, she glanced at the clock as if it had suddenly become a respectable hour for an unmarried woman to go to a man’s bedchamber alone. He certainly didn’t mean now, did he? She listened at the brick and heard nothing. She paced a few steps in front of her door, chewing on a cube of cheese.
This is ridiculous.
A swish of parchment slid under her door, another folded square, sealed in the same manner. Irritated, she opened it.
Eat.
Dress warmly.
Wear your walking boots.
Come to my bedchamber.
-S
Bristling at the series of commands, Cassandra had every thought to refuse him, but.
.. her walking boots? He didn’t mean to take her outside, did he?
Going to the window, she peeled back the curtains to see a sky clear of clouds with a full moon casting the world in a pale blue light.
The grounds were empty. The halls silent.
The guests asleep. It was a horrible idea. Foolish and wrong.
But her traitorous heart raced.
Carefully, she donned a pair of stockings and slid her feet into her leather boots.
She tied her dressing gown over her nightgown, wrapped a cloak around her shoulders, and checked the mirror to see that her hood covered her face.
Poised with her hand at the door, Cassandra allowed herself a moment to reconsider.
Was she really going to do this?
Go to a man’s bedchamber in the middle of the night? And not just any man, but Seth. A man who infuriated her. Kissed her. Wanted her.
Yes, she would.
Because she wanted him, too.
She turned the handle and stepped through the door.
Nerves tingling at every sound, her eyes darted down the hallway as she stood in front of his bedchamber.
A small twitch of her fingers. A moment of hesitation, a half-second in time, and she wrapped one knuckle against the wood, a whisper of bone so silent she thought he wouldn’t hear it.
Moving to knock again, the door opened and her hand met air with a startled, “Oh!”
A tight grip wrapped around her wrist, pulling her into the room. The door closed behind her silently. Her back against the door, Seth placed one palm on either side of her head, but didn’t touch her. His eyes bore into hers with fierce intensity.
“Seth,” she breathed.
His eyes traveled to her mouth for a moment before he took a step back.
He deftly unhooked her cloak and pulled it from her.
Wrapping the cloak in a bundle in his arms, his eyes roamed her with an analytical completeness.
Her frustration faded when there was no fire in his eyes, no dark intentions.
He sought answers, not affection. Satisfied with his inspection, his eyes softened, and he asked tenderly, “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she whispered. Holding her hand out, she gestured to the cloak. In slow movements, he returned the cloak to her shoulders, his palms grazing her with a gentle touch.
“Did you sleep? Did you eat?”
“Yes.” She smiled. “And yes.”
“The doctor said you were injured.” His voice was a pained whisper. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.”
He gave her a dubious expression, one eyebrow quirked up as his lips tilted down.
Cassandra fidgeted with her fingers and looked away. “I’m sore. Bruised,” she admitted and carefully touched her ribcage. “From the impact.”
Seth grit his teeth and turned from her.
“I’ll take bruises over the alternative,” she joked, trying to lighten the tension between them, but his shoulders tensed further. In a softer tone, she asked, “How are you?”
“Sore,” he said simply. He rubbed the muscles at the back of his neck and gave her a smile that was almost like his normal self. “I’m not really in damsel-rescuing shape.”
Not knowing what to say or where to stand, Cassandra glanced around. Dimly illuminated by the fire in the hearth and two oil lamps on either side of the room. It felt like a schoolroom. Colorless. Lifeless, with no personal adornments. The woolen drapes blocked all light from the windows.
“Did you sleep?” she asked, looking at his unmade bed. Its thin mattress would have her wanting to sleep outside. Hastily, he straightened his bedding, his ears turning red. Was he embarrassed? A smile tugged at her lips, and a warm feeling came over her.
Adorable.
“Yes, a few hours.” He smiled sheepishly.
“Enough, at any rate. Have a seat. I’ll need a moment.
I wasn’t sure when you would wake, and then I didn’t think you would agree—” Fully grinning, he shook his head as if he couldn’t believe his luck.
Seth moved a folded throw blanket from the seat of the chair, placed it on the desk, and encouraged her to sit.
Leaning against his bed, Seth laced his boots. His movements were natural. Domestic. As if they did this all the time.
“Are you going somewhere?” she asked.
“Yes, we are.” He leaned down and wrapped the soft blanket around her shoulders.
Instead of saying no like she meant to, she asked, “Where?”
“To the glasshouse.”
“Right now?” Her eyes widened, and she shook her head, not rising from the chair. The glasshouse was on the other side of the manor! They would be discovered for sure!
“Why not?” he challenged.
“There are hundreds of reasons why not.”
“Give me one.”
“One?” Nervousness peaked through her voice as her reason rose again. She glanced at the clock. “It’s not exactly a good time.”
“You’re wrong.” His voice lowered. “Now is the best time.” His eyes were intent upon her once more, smoldering in the firelight from the hearth. With her seated and him kneeling, he offered his hand to her, palm up.
The conviction in his tone encouraged her to yield. His scent surrounded her, the mint of his tooth powder, faded cedarwood and musk. He didn’t move an inch, not until the fire crackled as a log split, and with the snapping noise he flinched, and Colonel Bishop’s warning rang in her mind.
He’s dangerous.
But he wasn’t dangerous. Not to her. The danger lie in what would happen if someone found them together. The two of them alone in a glasshouse was even more dangerous. Taking the risk with him, knowing the many ways the night could end.
She met Seth’s earnest eyes, set aside her pride, and asked, “We won’t get caught?”
He beamed when she placed her hand in his.
“I promise.”