Chapter Thirty-Five
Cassandra made eye contact with as few people as possible on her way to Jasmine. She hid her face behind her fan and her body behind her friend, shielding herself from the hostile glares and murmurs following her.
“Harlot,” Jasmine teased.
Cassandra smirked. “Jealous?”
Jasmine rapidly tapped her toes against the marble floor.
“Of course I am! I wouldn’t have time for a scandal if I wanted one.
I’ll be dancing all night and sore tomorrow.
I have a full dance card. Next is a quadrille with Lord Stockton, and after that your brother wants to waltz.
” She groaned. “He asked me right in front of Mama. He knows she always makes me leave a spot open for him. I think he does it on purpose to vex me. She’ll harass me about him every day from here until the next ball. ”
“Why not Matthew?” Cassandra asked.
“Not you too.” Jasmine shot her a pointed look. “Being married does not give you the excuse to play matchmaker. Especially not with Matthew.”
“He fits the requirements on your list, and he’s fine-smelling.”
“Gunpowder is not fine-smelling to me.” She sighed. “Though… the cedarwood is pleasant.”
Anyone else wouldn’t have known what to look for, might have missed it through her bronzed skin, but a slight dusting of pink rose on Jasmine’s cheeks. Cassandra gave her a knowing smile.
“How did you know that it’s cedarwood?” she asked innocently.
Jasmine’s flush deepened. “I’ve smelled it on him… before.”
Cassandra waited with a raised brow. “When?”
Jasmine’s foot beat a forceful tempo on the floor and she scowled.
“He has used the same pomade since he was ten years old, Cassandra. It’s clearly cedarwood,” she said. “I have a refined sense of smell. My mother owns hundreds of acres of vineyards; I can’t help my nature.”
“Mmhm.”
“And I’m not going to marry a man on the sole basis of scent, no matter how much I love his sisters. You’ve spoiled me. I’ll want nothing but the best now.”
Cassandra laughed. “You want nothing but the best already.”
“You know what I mean. I want a love-match to come to me like it came to you.”
“Hard, fast, and covered in scandal?”
Jasmine winked. “Why should you have all of the fun?”
The quartet played a quadrille, and Jasmine poorly hid her dour expression behind her fan before Lord Stockton could see her.
Apologies spilled like an overfilled glass of water from the man’s mouth, spluttering as he bumped from one guest to the other.
Not wanting to see Jasmine chew up and spit out another well-meaning gentleman, Cassandra whispered in her friend’s ear, “I’m going to step outside for some air. ”
“Off to find a storage closet?”
“A bench.”
“Lucky,” Jasmine grumbled under her breath.
When Lord Stockton bowed to Jasmine, Cassandra took her leave and slipped outside.
A snap of winter air struck her cheeks and burned the tips of her ears. She wrapped her shawl tight. The thought that perhaps she should have waited for Seth slipped from her with each step away from the manor.
Tonight was peaceful. Away from the stifling crowds, she surrendered to the full moon overhead.
The dense foliage of the hedge maze cast an eerie silence between the rows, muffling the sounds of music and people chatting in the manor.
Around every corner, she waited, listening to ensure she wasn’t encroaching on another set of lovers.
In the middle of the maze, blessedly alone, lay a single wrought-iron bench in a clearing—simple and square with no outward adornments.
The cold metal bit into her shoulders and thighs when she sat down, and she regretted her boldness.
She didn’t know how long Seth would be with Lord Bolderwood.
The Earl’s requests often ranged from a few minutes to a few hours.
Since they were at a charity function, she imagined it would take no longer than ten minutes.
She could wait for ten minutes, and then Seth would come and warm her.
Leaning her head back, Lord Bolderwood’s hairpin tugged at her fine hairs, leaving pinpricks of pain in her scalp. What an impractical piece of jewelry. She removed the pin, placed it in her lap, and readjusted her hair to fall around her shoulders.
A crunch of dirt sounded nearby, too light and too soon to be Seth’s. She hid the hairpin in her hands and stood.
“Who’s there?”
A junior footman emerged from the hedges. He wore black livery with gold buttons, had a mop of brown hair, a fierce expression, and highly polished boots.
“Trevor?” Cassandra’s brows rose. “Why are you—?”
Rushing forward, Trevor grabbed her hand and started tugging her to the hedges, his voice a hissed whisper. “You have to come with me, Mrs. Reeves!”
“Trevor, what are you doing here? Stop!” She yanked her hand from his.
His eyes were wide, pleading. “It’s that man from Hyde Park. He’s here, he’s been following you all night. You aren’t safe, Mrs. Reeves, we need to leave. Follow me, I’ll get you to safety—”
“Mrs. Reeves won’t be going anywhere.” A man spoke from the dark—malicious and familiar.
Every hair on her body rose at once, her mind screamed ‘run’, but her feet froze to the spot.
With the calculated moves of a predator, Sir Reginald Thomas stepped forward with a crazed gleam in his eyes, a sickly pallor to his skin—
And a pistol in his right hand.
Trevor snarled and stood his ground—fists clenched in a defensive stance, knees bent with perfect form. His face was calm, deadly focused, with the same expression Seth made before he shot a gun.
Trevor wasn’t a kitchen boy at all.
He was a Hollingsworth.
But there was no time to stop and consider it, as Sir Reginald took a step forward and Trevor moved to block him.
“I’ll die before I let you hurt her,” Trevor growled.
“You will, if you don’t stand aside,” Sir Reginald spat.
“Trevor. Go find Seth,” Cassandra whispered, keeping eye contact with Sir Reginald.
“I won’t leave you.”
“Trevor… do what I asked.”
Trevor shook his head.
Sir Reginald kept his pistol pointed at Trevor and stepped closer. “I said stand aside, boy!”
“No! I was ordered to protect her with my life—” His voice cracked, and he wavered. Beneath a brave face, he was only a boy. A young boy given an impossible task, like so many others before him. If she didn’t act, he was going to die for it.
But he didn’t have to.
If Sir Reginald wanted to kill her, he would have done so already. He would have shot Trevor, and then her, but he stayed his hand. Why? She was certain he would kill Trevor if he got in the way, but doing so would alert the ball to his presence. Something he didn’t want.
Not yet.
This wasn’t a simple vengeance, but drawn out. He patiently bided his time, over and over, waiting for the right moment to strike. But not just any moment. During the hunt, at the harvest festival, and in Hyde Park, Seth had been right next to her. Sir Reginald wanted him to watch.
She was sure to die as soon as Seth arrived, but his quick arm was her only chance of surviving the night. He always carried a pistol; tonight was no exception. And I’m armed, too. A hairpin was a paltry defense against a gun, but it was better than nothing. It might even buy her time.
First, she had to save Trevor.
“I’m giving you a new order, Trevor. Go find Seth.”
Trevor stiffened and met her eyes, conflicted. She tried to give him a reassuring smile, but it came out as a wince. She whispered, “Please.”
“Run along, boy. Go get your master,” Sir Reginald said. “Mrs. Reeves is going to sit right here with me until you return.”
With one last pained look at Cassandra, Trevor nodded and took careful steps around Sir Reginald—not showing the man his back—before sprinting away.
His footsteps landed fast and then disappeared, leaving her alone with Sir Reginald.
Nausea rose and twisted through her stomach with a certainty that she had signed her own death warrant by sending him away.
Sir Reginald gestured to the bench with his pistol. Heart hammering, Cassandra obeyed. He sat next to her, lips curled, eyes black and hard as steel.
“Tell me, Mrs. Reeves, how many lives do you think you’re down to now?”
***
Leaving the library, Seth tilted his head from shoulder to shoulder and popped his upper back.
With Cooper and Mr. Sanderson in attendance, Duke Kendall had requested a private consultation with the three gunsmiths.
Not impressed with the rifle he had seen at the contest, but quite impressed with the front line rifle, His Grace wanted one, “Just like it, but not at all like it.” Which Seth quickly surmised to mean he wanted the flair of Mr. Nott’s rifle with cartridges and a telescope.
When he told Mr. Sanderson the amount he was willing to pay for such a rifle, their draft became much more intricate.
The whole while, Seth had an uncanny sensation that something was wrong.
Unsure how much time had passed, he reminded the men that he had a wife to attend to and excused himself. Seth stepped from the library and walked to the grand staircase to return to the ballroom. As he touched his foot to the first step, a voice called up to him.
“Mr. Reeves!”
“Mr. Nott,” Seth greeted jovially. He paused as Mr. Nott ran up the stairs to him, bewildered at the urgency on the man’s face.
“I’ve been searching for you all night. I was rather hoping we could speak.
Do you have time?” Without waiting for Seth’s response, he continued, “It’s about your sketch.
I spoke to Mr. Robert Perkins this morning.
If you’ll recall our conversation, I thought it was his trademark.
He recognized the piece immediately, he sold it to Sir Reginald Thomas six months ago. ”
Fire burned in Seth’s gut and under his skin as memories popped into place. The man from Hyde Park, the disgusted sneer filled with enough malice to kill, matching the one from the ballroom and—
Seth’s eyes shot to the nearest clock.
He had seen him twenty minutes ago!
Focusfocusfocus!