Chapter 10
That evening after her bath, Cecilia collapsed on her bed. For one of the rare times in her life, she was too tired to do anything but hug her pillow and use all her intelligence to untie the tangled knot that is Cassian.
How can Fitzroy be an infuriating rapscallion and an interesting enigma at the same time?
“The man is so confusing, he makes the Sphinx’s riddle look as simple as the alphabet,” she muttered inconsolably.
Her memory had to be fooling her because there was no possible way the kiss was as scintillating as she remembered it to be. Surely, he had not made gooseflesh flush all over her body, nor had his kiss curled her toes in her slippers.
Flinging herself at Gabriel had been an imprudent thought. Had it been a thought or an action? Either way, she had acted worse than a trollop.
Why was Cassian affecting her so when she had made a promise to herself not to let him get under her skin? She did not find anything alluring about the bounder. Even if she found him the teensiest bit attractive— in a rough, uncouth sort of way— it was no excuse for her actions.
It was confusing, and that wasn’t even accounting for her reactions to the man. Her cheeks grew uncomfortably warm at the memory of that infernal, drunken kiss with him.
Beneath that blithe, nonchalant exterior, the one who could jump out of windows at three in the morning and be at Westminster debating bills by noon was a man who coveted his privacy like a pirate and his gold.
But the more she thought about it—the more it made sense.
If someone really wanted to hide who they were, what better way to do that than to give everyone a false impression, a scandalous impression, that it deterred one from looking further?
“It is sort of ingenious, actually,” she admitted to herself.
She was not even sure he had shown her a good deal of his true temperament for her to make a judgment yet. She finally slipped into an uneasy sleep, not sure what to expect from Cassian the next morning.
Her intuition about not sure of what to expect to from Cassian was spot on as she walked into the breakfast room to find—
“Is that a tally?” She gawped at the large board nailed over the east window, the chalk title reading, “Days Cassian has bested Cecilia.”
Under it was a Roman numeral for one.
Disbelief and aghast, she turned to find Cassian, but the room was empty. Turning back to the sight, she bristled. How could this grown man be so childish?
She called for the butler, and when Andrews stepped in, he looked unflappable. “Your Grace?”
“I need a chair and some chalk,” she ordered. “That board needs a bit of adjusting.”
“Your Grace—”
From his tone, she could tell that he was going to talk her down from playing into Cassian’s game, but she stopped him with a look.
Lips twitching, Andrews bowed, “Give me a moment, Your Grace.”
She gazed at the blackboard, her insides prickling. Vowing to herself to make sure the tally was even by the end of the week, she peered out of the window, trying to see if Cassian was at his precious outbuilding.
Sadly, the angle did not show her the backyard, only a section of the side.
“Here we are, Your Grace,” Andrews announced as he set one of the chairs down and rested a small basket holding a cloth and two sticks of chalk. “May I help you up?”
“Please,” she said, while stepping out of her slippers.
Accepting his hand, she folded her skirts and stepped onto the chair. Taking the cloth, she wiped the title off, then split the board in two. “Thank you. If His Grace is going to join us, please add a pot of coffee to the sideboard.”
“I would prefer to stay with you, Your Grace,” Andrews replied. “Until you successfully descend from this chair.”
“I’ll be fine,” Cecilia reassured, then dismissed him.
As he left the room, she wrote both her and Cassian’s names on the other side, and for a title wrote, Fifty Rounds. “Since he is so fixated on boxing.”
Did she really think they would go fifty rounds? They were only here for sixty days, which would mean a battle of wits almost every day.
Gritting her jaw, she wrote out his point but scowled at it as if it was the one that offended her. Casting through her mind, she tried to find an incident—any incident—in the last weeks or so since the kiss where she’d had a leg over him.
Nothing came to mind.
She glared at the stark white mark, wishing she could wipe it out. Turning, she rocked dangerously on her feet and remembered she was a foot and a half off the ground.
“Glaring at it won’t make it vanish,” Cassian’s teasing tone had her startling—and teetering.
The pattern on the walls was stark and bright before her eyes as she fell through the air. Raw panic caged her throat, and bracing for the short fall, she flung her arms up to protect her head— it was all for naught as strong arms interrupted her crash.
Powerful arms held her, and she was too weak with relief to protest at being held against a muscular slab of his chest like a sack of grain. His cologne, a subtle alchemy of citrus and spice, flooded her nose.
Even with her heart still pounding out of her chest, Cecilia mustered enough courage to say, “You can put me down now.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “What if I put you down and you manage to twist your back reaching for the teacup?”
His mind-boggling arrogance rendered her speechless. She untied the knot in her tongue, “I have not done so before, and I will not do so now. Put me down.”
Silently, he set her on her feet, and she turned to jab a finger into his chest. “What is the meaning of this tally? How old are you?”
“Old enough to find some slivers of enjoyment in these two months,” he shrugged, while side-stepping her to the sideboard. He made a cup of coffee, dropping cubes of sugar and splashes of cream in.
He wore faded charcoal trousers and another loose lawn shirt. Perfectly tailored to his tall, lanky frame. His unruly dark hair was still wild around his head, and she noticed the shadows of a beard on his jaw.
Oddly enough, her breath hitched at the sight of him. Even more disturbing, her breasts brushed against her stays, the tips oddly sensitive and tingling.
He leaned on the wall and crossed his legs while sipping his drink. “I can think of other ways to pass the time, but I promised to be a gentleman and leave you untouched and unsullied.”
She scowled even while her face heated like a bonfire. “Scallywag.”
“Surely you have more creative insults than that,” Cassian rolled his eyes.
Taking a plate to the table, she deigned not to look at him. “I do, but I think it’s best to reserve those for the moments that do need them.” She cut into her eggs. “Are you going to join me?”
He pulled out the opposite chair and sat. “How was your night? Were you able to find the ammunition you need to fence with me?”
“I am still gathering,” Cecilia replied carefully. She hazarded a glance at him. “Do you mind putting the animosity to the side so I can ask you a question?”
“Is it—”
“It is not to meddle in your business or to ask about any of your past relationships by playing detective and asking your friends about it either,” she echoed as best she could. “I simply want to ask why you are so eager to destroy those books.”
“Because they belonged to my father, and suffice to say, my father and brother only noticed me when I crossed a line they explicitly said not to cross.” Cassian nodded to the young footman who had just delivered the morning paper.
“My presence was a nuisance to them, ergo their belongings are a nuisance to me.”
Cecilia paused with an oatcake halfway to her mouth. Why did that sound so… petty?
“But to destroy them for a—” She couldn’t find the right word, “—an old grudge?”
“It is more of a way to exorcise them out of my life,” Cassian replied, while thickly slathering marmalade over a slice of toast. “I can sense you judging me.”
“Actually, I have nothing to say to your rift with your father,” Cecilia replied. “But I am realizing that you have a sweet tooth.”
“Are you trying to divert the conversation?” he asked before taking a large bite.
“No,” she shook her head innocently. “Just an observation. And you have a large blob of marmalade on your cheek.”
He brushed his left cheek absentmindedly and went right back to eating. Cecilia let out an exasperated breath. “It is on your right cheek.”
Once more, he attempted to remove the smear, but he missed it again. Shaking her head, Cecilia reached over the small table and swiped it off his face. As she pulled away, he grabbed her hand, and she was stuck, leaning halfway over the table.
She didn’t think he meant it to be anything other than a simple reaction—but it sent something simmering inside her. In the sunlight, his eyes had an iridescent gleam before they grew smoky. Before she could pull away, he closed his mouth over her finger and licked the marmalade away.
The way his tongue swirled around her single finger—it was utterly scandalous, but then, when his lips sealed around the tip and he began to suck, she felt heat scald the back of her neck. His eyes were heavily lidded as Cecilia’s stomach lodged itself in her throat.
She could not hold back the shudder if she tried…
Cassian popped her finger out and went for his toast with a nonchalance that sent her head spinning.
“And no comment on my father?” He asked while polishing off his toast.
She looked down at her plate and tried to gather her scattered senses. “No.”
Cecilia could not deny that there were times when her Mother’s harsh criticisms and fault-finding had stolen all vestiges of her joy—but it had not gotten to the point where she resented her.
“I am surprised,” he murmured. “You always have an opinion on, well… everything. To wit, you argue with characters in books.”
She opened her mouth to tell him that trait had evolved because she had been trained to tame her tongue for years—but then clamped her lips tightly shut. It was a secret she had held tight to her chest for years, and it felt too personal to tell Cassian so casually.
“Me arguing with characters is—is…” she swallowed and shook her head. “Why did you do that?”
“Do what?” Cassian replied.
She felt like she was about to internally combust. “Suck my finger… that way?”
His gaze met hers, and slowly, an unholy light sprang into the grey depths, and his mouth curled into a smirk. “You had marmalade on it. You know the saying; Waste not, want not.”
Although she blushed to the roots of her hair, her gaze was steady. “But… like that?”
He scoffed, “If you are scandalized by that, you’ll probably have a conniption when I kiss other areas,” he looked up. “Though, by the bonfire on your face, I am thinking you were feeling something other than scandalized.”
“Everything about you makes me scandalized,” Cecilia breathed.
“Good,” he stated. “I’ll be working on the outbuilding today, so please, do not disturb me.” He took a swig of coffee and rose, pushing away from the table. “And I expect that note on my desk by this evening.”
A knock on the door had them pausing as Andrews walked in; he was holding a basket of letters in one hand and a letter on a silver platter in the other.
“I apologize for the interruption, Your Graces,” Andrews said, bowing to Cecilia. “But many letters are here for you, Your Grace, and one important letter for you, Sir.”
Setting her tea down, she took the basket, the heap so high that a few of the letters almost tumbled from the stack. “Oops.” She caught the top cards. “There are dozens of them.”
Cassian smirked over the top of his cup before setting it down and taking his lone letter. “You do remember our other agreement?”
“I am in charge of all correspondence,” she began, narrowing her eyes at the basket. “But there are dozens in here.”
He pushed away from the table and lifted his cup in a mock salute. “Sadly, I must put the renovations on hold. It seems I must go to the town to meet the town mayor. Apparently, a bridge has collapsed.”
Pulling away from the table, Cecilia massaged the palm of her hand with a wince. Writing out thirty-eight thank you cards was tasking, and glancing at the unanswered pile—at least twenty more cards— she decided it was time to take a break.
“A fortifying cup of tea and some orange cake will do the trick,” she sighed while calling her maid.
She asked for the refreshments, but then, while waiting, took a walk to the library, seeking a book she had not read yet to keep her company.
As she headed to a shelf, her eyes slid to the window, and that dratted outbuilding centered itself in her vision.
What on earth could Cassian want so dearly with that building that he would ban her from even setting foot in it?
Could it be that he wants to entertain other women without my knowledge?
The errant thought made a needle of ice pierce through her heart. Instantly, she shook her head, unrooting the feeling. “He promises he would not do that to me while we are married, and he is leaving England the moment the sixty days end…”
The weathered door of the outbuilding called to her like a siren’s call. The more she stared at it, the more she felt the temptation to slip under the threshold and see what was inside.
“But he banned you from entering it…” she murmured to herself. “But he is off on business—he will never know…”
Crossing her arms, she tapped her fingertips on her opposite arm. She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth, debating on what to do.
Before she dug into the thought much longer, she spun on her heel and headed out to the outbuilding. Lifting her skirts as the grass was still high, she headed to the door and tried the door handle—it was locked.
Circling the building, she tried to find a window to peer into. She finally found one on the other side of the building and peered in through the broken slats.
It was not what she had expected to find, and even with her limited view, she could see that it was a disappointment. Everything was in some stage of fade or rust; the roof over her head had a gaping hole, but was covered by the oiled tarp.
“At least the floor is clean…”
As she gazed on the poorly-papered walls… the hairs suddenly lifted on the back of her neck. Even though she had not heard any footsteps or heard the door scrape open… she knew he was there.
Cassian’s presence was akin to having lightning strike right by you and leaving the air sizzling in its wake. Her pulse leaped as if she’d ran the Greek marathon, and she lifted her head.
“…Cassian?”