Chapter Four #2
Cassandra occupied the seat behind the desk as a chambermaid set the fire in the hearth. She traced her fingers over the ledger columns indicating the household expenditures. Reuben Evans. His name stared up at her from the page as though it were highlighted in red ink.
When her supper arrived, Cassandra pushed it aside. She had no stomach for it. Her gut twisted and the scent of roasted meat only added to her discomfort. Whatever hunger she had vanished at Phillip’s lingering concerns.
Foregoing the meal, she reached instead for the decanter of port.
Will he ever return? she wondered as she poured herself a strong measure of the liquid. Grabbing both the glass and the bottle, Cassandra retreated to the chair by the fire. It set perfectly aligned with the door. Should anyone disturb her solitude, she would know it.
Part of her knew she needed to speak with Evans directly about her son’s observations. But even she did not fully understand why her son was so uncomfortable with Evans remaining in this house.
Why would she ruin a good thing by sharing Phillip’s assertions with Evans? Why could they not go back to the way they had been before? A comfortable companionship. Mistress and servant, in harmony.
But Cassandra knew the truth, deep in the pit of her stomach. She wanted more than that, and she feared that was exactly the reason her son wanted to rid himself of Evans once and for all. He knew his mother wanted something elicit—forbidden.
Cassandra sipped her port and lost herself in the flames, praying for an answer. But only silence met her pleas.
Silence and a longing she dared not examine too closely, lest it steer her down a path of scandal and destruction.
*
Lost in thought, Reuben wandered the streets of London as he made his way back to the duke’s home in Mayfair. It afforded him some time to think upon the position in which he found himself. Torn between his own personal desires and his dedication to his mission.
Could he truly follow Simon’s suggestion? Seducing the lovely widow would certainly not be a burden on him. He had harbored a deep affection for her for years, even while her husband had still been alive. But he had suppressed it. Out of duty or conscience, he could not discern.
Reuben stopped at the gate to the handsome mansion where he’d spent the last seven years in service. His gaze wandered the brick and stone, cast in shadow by the street lanterns. Several of the windows glowed with a warm light, welcoming with signs of life.
He spied the familiar glow of the gas lamps in the study along the side of the house and sighed.
She had returned. Or so he hoped. If he entered the house and found the duke still seated behind his father’s imposing desk, Reuben questioned whether he could refrain from making a spectacle of himself in front of the entire household.
Squaring his shoulders, Reuben took a deep breath.
There was nothing for it. His course was set.
With a muttered curse, he wove around the path to the rear of the house and the servants’ entrance.
Inside, he encountered animated chatter in the kitchen.
Ignoring the others, he deposited his outer garments and bypassed the illuminated staircase, choosing the small, narrow entrance to the servants’ stairs that led him directly to the first floor.
Reuben braced himself for whatever confrontation lay behind the study door. With one hand resting on the doorknob, he cleared his mind, intent on doing his duty and nothing more.
As he stepped over the threshold, he allowed his gaze to drift over the room, searching for an occupant. Fortunately, it seemed the duke had taken his leave. Reuben’s shoulders relaxed, and he frowned at the realization he had been braced for another confrontation.
When he glanced at the fireplace, he paused, noting the familiar profile of Her Grace seated in one of the chairs. He’d known he would find her here. It had been her custom many evenings after her husband’s death. Why she chose this room over all the others, he never quite understood.
“Your Gra—” The words died on his tongue as he stepped closer.
The dowager duchess was fast asleep tucked in the deep-seated wingback chair.
Reuben’s heart twisted at the sight of her.
So peaceful in her slumber. He admired the dark locks slowly unraveling from their mooring and the pronounced curve of her jaw.
Her lips, full and kissable, parted as she moaned, burrowing deeper into herself as she tried to find a more comfortable position.
Reuben swore. A widow of her age should not have looked as tempting as she did.
His mind returned to the conversation with Simon.
Seduction had always been an option. But was it necessary?
If he wished to survive the persistent desire pulsing through his body and making his cock harder than an oak at inconvenient moments, then yes, a time for seduction would come.
But this was neither the time nor the place to be having such thoughts.
Loath to wake her, he could not allow her to remain here for the evening. Why had she not gone to bed? Had she been waiting for something—or someone? It mattered not.
With the utmost care, Reuben scooped her into his arms, allowing her weight to shift into him. Her sweet, teasing scent surrounded him, filling his mind with more sinful thoughts. The dowager duchess moaned, curling into him and burying her face against his neck.
Saints preserve me. This was wrong. He should wake her, have Sidlow escort her to her chamber, yet he did not have the heart to disturb her slumber.
With tender care, he carried the sleeping former duchess to her chamber, praying he would encounter no other servants as he did so. Every step proved pure torment. Her warmth against him. Her scent tempting him. She fit perfectly in his arms, as though she had been made for him alone.
Reuben cast aside the possessive thoughts as he entered her chamber. He gently laid her on the counterpane. She was still fully dressed, and he pondered if he should call the maid.
A gentle caress brushed his hand.
Startled, Reuben stiffened beneath the soft touch.
“You returned.” The dowager duchess blinked up at him, her sleepy smile unsteady. “I waited for you.” Her words wobbled.
Was she—intoxicated? Reuben sighed. It was not the first time she’d indulged in too much liquor, but never before had she fallen asleep in the study. He removed his hand from beneath hers.
“Would you like me to fetch Sidlow, Your Grace?” Reuben asked, placing some formality between them once more.
The duchess slowly sat up, the loose tendrils of hair curling around her face. He longed to reach out and tuck it back. He wished for nothing more than to trace his fingertips along her pale skin, cradle her head in his hand, and claim her lips.
Reuben’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. He dared not move, lest he give into the temptation.
“No, Evans.” She shook her head before meeting his gaze. “I can manage.”
He took two steps back as she climbed from the bed. The overly large room seemed quite small now with her in it.
With unsteady fingers, she began unfastening the buttons at the base of her throat.
Reuben went still, uncertain of the wisdom of remaining any longer. At the third button, he hastily retreated several steps.
“I shall leave you, then, madam.” He turned, determined to exit with his dignity still intact.
It would be wrong to take advantage of her in such a state.
Seduction was fine, but only when both parties were willing and of sound mind.
Her Grace was still under the spell of the liquor and could not make a rational decision in such a state.
“Do you not find me attractive, Evans?” Her question stopped him dead in the center of the room.
Heat filled him. If he responded, it would seal his demise. If he left, she would oust him at first light. Regardless, he had to face her.
“Madam, surely, you cannot expect me to answer such an inquiry.” He held his ground, hands flexing by his sides.
A soft pressure fell on his arm. He closed his eyes for a brief moment before opening them to find her standing before him.
Her dress unfastened to her waist, revealing the top of her corset and her chemise.
What lay beneath peeked demurely over the top of the fabric.
The soft curve of her breasts enticed him with the promise of what could be.
“You cannot hide it from me, Evans.” She slid her hand over his chest. Her fingertips slid across the raspy stubble forming along his jaw. “I see the way you look at me.”
“I—”
“Do not deny it.” Her finger pressed lightly against his mouth to silence him.
Reuben’s parted lips burned with her touch. He bit his tongue to keep not only from speaking, but tasting her. Teasing her. Provoking her to action. Instead, he remained as still as a statue, attention focused on the wall mirror.
Her hands returned to rest against his chest. Pressure rocked him as she took his lapels in her fists and pulled him closer. He relented, allowing her to draw him level with her.
Those lovely, dark eyes held his for a long moment before dipping to survey his mouth. Reuben held his breath knowing if she kissed him, he would lose all control.
“Your Grace,” he whispered, a plea of submission. “Is this truly what you desire?”
The dowager duchess pressed her lips together as a flash of realization lit her eyes. She released him slowly, easing back several steps. “Evans—I—” Her face pinkened and she pulled her shirtwaist closed, effectively hiding herself from his view. She cleared her throat.
Reuben inhaled deeply, straightening his garments but maintaining his composure. “I shall leave you to your rest, madam.”
With a shaky nod, the former duchess turned away, as if unable to bear the sight of him. Deflated, Reuben crossed to the door.
“Thank you, Evans.” Her parting words stopped him briefly.