Chapter Twenty-Five
Seth roused to the unfamiliar sensation of warmth and softness surrounding him.
Breathing in the musk of flowers, silk, and feminine skin, he burrowed into its source.
So comfortable. Luscious curves brushed against him, and he pulled her closer.
His fingers splayed over decadent hips while his lips grazed a slender throat. A hitched breath and a gasp.
“Seth!”
What a wonderful dream…
He grumbled against the light hand shaking him, wanting to surrender back to blessed sleep.
“Seth!” The shaking grew insistent. Irritated, Seth cracked an eye open. Above him was a goddess with dark hair cascading over her shoulders, naked and beautiful. Cassandra, his fuzzy mind supplied. From a crack in the canopy, the yellow light of dawn slashed against black bedsheets.
Dawn…?
“Wake up!”
He blinked, eyes stinging and sleep-heavy.
“It’s morning!”
“… morning?”
“You fell asleep!”
Seth’s eyes shot open. Vicious instinct slammed into him.
Oh fuck.
Vaulting himself out of the bed, his feet landed hard on the cold ground and he scrambled for his clothing.
He hopped from one foot to the other, donning his trousers.
One by one, he snatched articles of clothing from the floor.
As he bent to pick up his shirt, Seth noticed the washcloth on the floor, tinged red with her blood and he panicked.
“You need to get dressed. Now.”
Cassandra pulled her nightgown over her head, her shaking fingers fumbled with the buttons. Tangled hair, lips kiss-swollen—and was that a love mark on her neck? Shrugging into her dressing gown, she bounded to the clock.
“What time is it?!” he asked, his voice crazed and pitched.
His heart dropped into his stomach as she read aloud, “Six o’clock!”
Half-tripping over one of his boots, he slid into them barefoot. Where were his stockings? He snatched his jacket off the floor next to the door, and over the thunderous beating of his heart, he heard a faint tap-tap-tap-tap.
Footsteps.
Cooper.
Every nerve alive, Seth readied himself.
Focus.
A series of raps against the door.
“Cassandra, are you awake?”
Another knock.
“I’m dressing!” Cassandra squeaked. Seth glared at her and brought his finger up to his lips.
“Make haste! We need to leave!” An exasperated sigh. “I’ll wait in Reeves’ bedchamber.”
His footsteps echoed in the space between their rooms like a death sentence. Cooper knocked and Seth’s unlocked door creaked open.
“I left a note,” Cassandra whispered frantically.
“You what?!” Seth hissed.
“Under your door!”
In his life, there had been more than a few instances where Seth thought he was going to die.
The first time that he had ever seen a battlefield, a grenade exploded dangerously close to him.
Shrapnel pierced his skin and left him scarred across his shoulder, but he hadn’t died.
During the Siege of Gaeta, a round narrowly missed his lung and any major arteries.
It hurt like hell, but he still hadn’t died.
Nor did he die in the fire, and he was positive he would.
When infection struck days later, fever and agony racked his body and mind, he prayed for death and was denied.
Now, only a door stood between him and Matthew Cooper, Viscount Lincolnshire, elder brother to the unmarried, clearly debauched woman alone in a bedchamber with him.
Seth would certainly die today.
“Reeves?” Cooper called out, and by God the walls were thin. “It’s rare that I greet the day before you…” he trailed off. “What is…?” A crinkling of parchment. A suffocating pause. “You have got to be—”
His bedchamber door slammed shut. Cassandra jumped and gasped.
Seth took a deep breath that would likely be his last.
“Cassandra.” Cooper’s voice grated through the door. Slow and controlled in a tone that Seth had never heard before. “Open the door.”
Cooper waited five seconds and pounded his fist on the door.
“Open the door, Reeves!” Cooper ground out. “Or by the devil, I will break it down!”
“Whatever happens,” Seth said to Cassandra, “stay out of the way.”
“Why?” Amber eyes filled with realization. “Seth!”
Taking one last, lingering look at her, Seth gave Cassandra a now or never nod, squared his shoulders, and opened the door.
“Cooper, let’s talk—”
Cooper careened into the room, landing a punch to Seth’s jaw, knocking him against the dressing table with a crash.
Grasping for balance at the edge, Seth’s fingers slipped and Cooper’s fist connected again, knocking him to the ground.
Pain exploded in rapid strikes, falling around him with the clattering of hair brushes and pins.
“Matthew, stop!”
Toppling to the floor with him, Cooper punched Seth’s gut.
A strangled noise escaped him as he strained for air.
Murderous rage replaced Cooper’s face. Another blow split Seth’s eyebrow, ears ringing, vision dancing, blood ran down his face and into his eye.
He blinked hard, tasting molten iron on his tongue.
A ragged breath, a break in time, and Seth struggled to his feet, spitting blood onto the floor.
“I knew it! This whole time I knew it!”
With an enraged growl, Cooper rushed at him, fist poised to strike.
“Stop!” Cassandra grappled for Cooper’s arm.
Roughly shouldering her off of him, he put her off her footing.
Falling to the floor, the back of her head connected to the wooden poster of the bed with an audible thwack, and she groaned.
Cooper cursed, turning to her. Seth got to her first. Holding her head in his hands, he asked, “Are you all right?”
“Get your hands off of my sister!” Yanking Seth’s shirt, Cooper hurled him backward.
Cassandra gathered her dressing gown around her, tears swimming in her eyes. “Matthew!”
Cooper paused above him, shaking. Blood dripped from his cracked knuckles.
A murmur of activity sounded outside as guests came rushing to the clamor.
Echoing voices rose in the hallway in a frenzy, but all Seth could hear was the ringing in his ears, Cassandra’s pitched breathing, and the deafening plop of Matthew Cooper’s blood hitting the hardwood floor.
Seth groaned. “Cooper—”
“Viscount Lincolnshire!” Cooper roared. Manic words rushed out of him. “Get out! I want you out of my house! The next time I see you, it better be at a church! Or I swear to you, I will put you in the fucking ground!”