Chapter 21
“Your Grace,” Andrews’ voice interrupted Cecilia’s soft daydream of last night. Did she remember Cassian’s tender hold on her waist, or had she been dreaming?
She shook her head, “Yes?”
“You have visitors,” the butler said. “Lady Emma Montrose and Miss Rosalind. I am aware you were not ready for visitors, but—”
“No, no.” Cecilia stood from her seat in the library. A flush of warmth and comfort ran through her heart at knowing her friends were there, despite knowing she was not ready for visitors yet.
Why are they here, though?
“Let them in, and please send up a tray of refreshments,” she said, “thank you.”
As soon as she turned around, Rosie was blowing through the door like a tempest about to blow. Alarmed, Cecilia rushed, “Rosie! What is—”
“I am this close to exploding!” Rosie’s peach gown fluttered behind her as she paced like a springing horse. “Whitmore is milking your shame into something so much worse.”
Cecilia frowned, “Like what?”
“He’s spreading rumors,” Emma said quietly.
“About what?” Cecilia’s eyes shifted between the two.
Emma twisted her hands. “I am sure you could not have heard because you are so far from London, but Earl Somerton has told me—”
That name sounded familiar. “Earl Somerton? As in Benjamin Hadleigh? Cassian’s friend and solicitor?”
“Yes,” Emma said tightly. “Last night, he related to us at Lady Franklin’s ball that Gabriel is telling every lord he passed paths with salacious passages of a letter you wrote that show how you were—” she bit her lip, “—trying to seduce him.”
Her blood chilled in her veins. “What?”
“He says there are several other letters you wrote to him as well, but I do not believe that,” Rosie added. “The man is a bumbling liar.”
As stunned as she felt, the hurt she expected to feel did not hit her as hard. Instead, sore, grating disappointment dropped in her heart.
And to think I was going to marry this man. When was he going to show his true colors?
“I am sure that wretch he is with is putting him up to this,” Rosie huffed.
Cecilia shook her head. “It might be true, but that is mean, Rosie. She might be bad, but we are all seeing Whitmore’s true colors. They are probably feeding off each other.”
With an aggravated puff, Rosie sat and rooted through her reticule to pluck her fan out and began to beat the air as if it insulted her. “If I had the power, I’d call him to Rotten Row.”
Amused, Cecilia said, “You’ve never touched a pistol in your life.”
“I’d find a way to injure him,” Rosie huffed. “Right where it hurts too.”
A resounding crash had all three of their heads turning to the window, and while two maids came in with their trays of refreshments, Cecilia went to the window and looked out.
Cassian was at it again, taking a sledgehammer to the outdoors room, the tails of the loose shirt he wore over the faded tan breeches flapping in the wind.
By his side, one of his hounds, Cerberus, was playing amid a pile of leaves.
He straightened to whisk sweat away from his forehead and slid the hammer down so he held it just under the head.
“What in heaven’s name is he doing?” Rosie gawked, her face showing complete mystification.
“He is… renovating it,” Cecilia murmured.
“By himself?” Rosie spluttered. “He does know that there are people who are willing, knowledgeable, and who excel in such things, yes?”
“He does,” Cecilia replied. “But he is determined to do it himself, and honestly, I don’t mind. I firmly believe he should have all the hobbies he loves to give him some purpose outside of the study and meetings.”
“That’s all well and good,” Emma said behind them as she made her tea. “What are we going to do about His Grace?”
Reluctantly, she turned from the window and joined Emma, while Rosie joined her last. “We are not going to do anything. Well, you two are not,” Cecilia amended. “I’ll handle this.”
Placing her teaspoon on her saucer, Rosie reached over and held Cecilia’s hand. “How, dear? How are you going to fight it?”
Cecilia wanted to tell them about the plan to find this woman Gabriel had a child with—but since that rumor was somewhat unfounded, she held back.
“I am going to… talk with him,” she said at last. “If he has any decency and dignity as I believed he once had, he will refrain.”
“And if not?” Emma furrowed her brows. “If he continues.”
“I’ll get the courts involved,” she said decisively. “I don’t want to, but if I must, I will.”
“It will be the legal version of what happened between your husband and Whitmore at Whites,” Rosie sighed. “Town will have enough gossip fodder for months.”
A horrendous crash outside had Cecilia darting up and hastening to the window, her heart in her throat. Cassian was standing on the roof, the hammer in hand beside a now gaping hole, and she melted against the windowsill, trying to dispel the image of his mangled body lying broken on the ground.
“Oh, thank god,” Cecilia whispered.
She watched as Cassian plucked his shirt tail up and wiped his forehead before he shouted to someone, most likely the footman helping him remove the rubble, before he climbed down the ladder at the side of the wall.
A hand rested on her shoulder, and she turned to find Emma standing near her. Her expression was neutral as she watched on; gently, she turned to Cecilia.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see the day of you caring for the well-being of the one man you once claimed was your worst enemy,” Emma said calmly.
Keeping her eyes fixed on Cassian, Cecilia said, “He is not the man I thought he was.”
“You are telling us he is not the rakehell he has assured all of London he is?” Rosie asked from behind them. “I find that hard to believe.”
Resting her hand on her middle, Cecilia said, “He created a facade for people to see instead of showing his real personality. He is not boisterous, not loud—he loves to work with his hands and play with his dogs.”
“Aside from the reports of his philandering, it seems that we do not know him at all,” Emma chimed in. “Is he treating you well, though?”
“Very,” Cecilia told no lies. “He is no prince, but I will take the dark knight that he is.”
“Will you tell him about what Whitmore is doing?” Emma asked as they returned to the table and tea. “I think if he is ready to plant a facer on Whitmore, I am sure he would take this battle on for you, too.”
“I know,” Cecilia nodded somberly. “But this time, I need to fight my own battles. I was the fool who thought Gabriel was my future, and now, all I wish is to put him in my past.”
“Well, if you need any help, you know we will do all we can,” Rosie assured.
“I do,” Cecilia replied, then turned to Emma. “Why did Earl Somerton come to you instead of telling Cassian? I imagine the first thing he would do is alert his client and friend.”
Emma went red, and she dropped her eyes to her cup. “That is because he is courting me, and it was more a slip than telling me outright.”
Delighted, Cecilia refreshed her cup and, leaning closer to Emma, whispered, “Tell me everything.”
“I am sorry I missed your friends,” Cassian yawned as he came to the doorway of her personal library in the making.
His voice drew her away from the letter she had sent off to Gabriel, addressing his constant and slanderous insults, and Cecilia looked up from the stack of books in her hand. She tucked a brow up, “No, you are not.”
He laughed and stepped inside to pawn her book off her hands, “No, I am not sorry I missed Miss Cat and Lady Mouse. Your friend Rosalind has this squint to her left eye that I am sure makes the devil himself quake in his boots.”
“Hooves,” she corrected him.
“Hooves,” Cassian repeated. “I still think she can rival him in a scathing glare, though. Now, where do you want these placed?”
She directed him where she wanted the books positioned, and he slid them in the allotted slots while keeping up a light banter. As the last book was in place, she turned to him and said, “Did you know your solicitor friend is courting mine?”
He did not look surprised. “He mentioned something in passing before.”
Her mouth dropped, and before she could control her movements, she lightly punched his arm. “And you did not say a word! Cassian!”
He grabbed her fist and tugged her closer. “Are you aching for a fight, sweetheart?”
Eyes widening, she shook her head. “No. Why would you think that?” She was acutely aware of his hold on her, the firm grip of his callused hand on her softer skin.
Closer, the scent of his warm, spicy fragrance washed over her, causing Cecilia to swallow reflexively. Instinctively, she prepared for the pressure of his mouth on hers, and when his hand slid into her hair, his palm cradling the back of her head, she was ready.
His lips hovered over hers. While their mouths did not touch, the expectation sent her heart hammering. What was he waiting for?
The look in his eyes told her that he was waiting for her to take the reins, to take what she wanted. Gripping his shoulders, she tipped on her toes and kissed him; the steely bulge of his deltoid muscle did not budge as she slanted her mouth across his.
His low growl made her tremble. She parted her lips to draw a breath, and in that instant, he claimed her mouth.
Cecilia hardly felt when he backed her up against the wall, and his kiss was hard and passionate yet held a tender note to it, everything she hadn’t known a kiss could hold at the same time.
Fireworks scattered over her skin as heat rushed through her veins and molten lava flowed in her blood.
Her limbs shook as he enjoyed her mouth with masterful intentions.
Cassian’s lips always held a smoky, sweet fire, and she felt heady kissing him as she often felt when she’d taken a sip of spirits.
He pulled away from her for a breath, then claimed her lips again, the kiss slow and drugging. Cassian’s kiss was not forceful; he was seductive, and that was more dangerous than a forceful kiss.