Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CASSANDRA
They rode home in the rain, Cassandra sitting in front of him on the horse. She wore his coat, the rain plastering them with water, but it didn’t matter to her one bit that she was soaked through. Her skin remained hot, the cold rain steaming off her.
She could smell his warmth, a hint of rosemary that mingled with his skin in the rain. Cassandra leaned back into his body, and a grunt of approval rumbled in his chest as they finally galloped up the drive.
Arthur had arrived already. The groomsman took the horse from him, and he charged up the steps, slipping on the wet stone. A footman lunged forward to assist him, and cursing, Arthur pushed him away.
She and Rowen entered the house and met them in the parlour. Lady Marjorie’s face was pale. “Arthur? What has happened?”
“He’s been secretly engaged to this girl.” Arthur gestured at Cassandra as he swiped a brandy from the servant’s tray.
“Preposterous.”
“Go on, tell them!” Arthur drained his glass.
“I am engaged to Lady Cassandra,” said Rowen. “We have been pledged to one another for some time. I had no idea about my father’s thoughts on a marriage to unite our family, and so I proceeded with my engagement. It cannot be undone.”
“You must break it. There is an agreement!” sputtered Lady Marjorie. Louise’s lips parted, and she slowly sat back down on the sofa.
“I shall do no such thing, Madam.”
Marjorie stepped toward Cassandra. “Withdraw from this engagement immediately.”
Cassandra met her gaze. “No.”
Marjorie pivoted, facing him, eyes flashing. “Must I remind you that family comes first? Is she some trollop you brought back from your travels abroad and you kept her hidden until it suited your purposes?”
“If it is the purity of the Oakley bloodline you are concerned with, Marjorie, have no fear. Lady Cassandra is a Viscount’s daughter. Their estate is nearby.”
Marjorie’s face reddened further. “Is she your mistress?”
“I have no mistress. There is no trollop.” His heavy gaze settled on Cassandra, who stood perfectly still in the chaos. He took in a breath. “Only my intended.”
Arthur refilled his glass himself. “I should have expected this.”
Rowen ignored him. “Morgan, pack my things, inform the groomsmen, tomorrow morning at first light, Lady Cassandra and I are leaving Tidesfar. You shall come with us.”
“Your Grace.” Morgan bowed to his Duke and darted from the room.
“Where are you going?” Arthur asked, his voice pinched.
“Scotland, of course.”
Scotland.
Cassandra’s wild heartbeat pounded that word and all that it signified through her veins. Louder and louder, over and over.
“This cannot be. You are in mourning!” exclaimed Lady Marjorie.
“I am, but I am alive and in fiery lust with my fiancée, and I will not wait any longer to have her.”
“Disgraceful!” Lady Marjorie’s hand flew to her mouth, her face streaked with red, and she grabbed onto her sister-in-law’s arm. “Come, Louise, this conversation has taken an ill turn. We must quit this house at once. Arthur? Arthur?”
Slamming his glass down on a table, Arthur glared at him. “Just like your father. Selfish, indulgent, cruel.”
“Ah, another compliment from my cousin.” Rowen grabbed the bottle from the servant and refilled his glass.
“You shall pay for this insult.”
Rowen glared at him. “How dare you call my engagement an insult.”
“How dare he!” cried out Marjorie, her voice shuddering through the great hall as she and Louise rushed up the stairs.
The flames in the hearth seemed to roar in the silence the cousins left behind. “Are you sure, Your Grace?” Cassandra whispered. “Quite sure?”
“Of what exactly?”
“Of marriage. To me.”
He loosened his necktie, tugging on it, until finally it gave way, revealing his long throat, the firm lines of his chest. “I realise I did not ask you before I made the announcement, but no time was afforded me. I shall ask you now…”
Her pulse pounded in her ears. His hands on his waist, his jaw a sculpted line, he seemed to tower over her in the flickering light of the hearth, his eyes a cold blue fire. She couldn’t look away. “You don’t need to ask me. I owe you my freedom. My life.”
“You shall not be bound against your choosing. Not by me.” His rough whisper was more like thunder through her veins. “I owe you my life as well. Would have been my funeral today if not for you.” Rowen cleared his throat and poured another.
“Suddenly, you and I have so many secrets to protect. For my part, we have no outstanding mutual obligations. I would not wish you to marry me because you—”
“As your guardian, it is my duty to protect you. And marriage to me would be your ultimate protection from your uncles and the men at my father’s party. As my wife, they cannot even attempt to harm you in any way. It would be useless, and they all know it.”
She had to say it. She wanted a clean foundation between them. “Marrying me is also the only way you have of releasing yourself from an engagement to Lady Louise?”
“Yes.” He let out a breath and finally met her gaze with his clouded one. “Cassandra, a girl like you deserves a handsome young man who writes her pretty verses, whispers in her ear as they dance, and offers her the world at her feet.”
“I do not need flirting or dancing or empty promises. I need steady ground beneath me.”
“You and I have had a raw beginning, and—”
She touched his chest, and he stopped speaking. “I shall marry you.” A fantastic impulse. A practical choice.
He took her hand in his warm one. “Come.” He led her up the staircase to a bedchamber.
His own? He tugged his wet long coat from her trembling frame, and she shivered.
Was it the sudden cold and the wet fabric which clung to her body?
His heavy gaze burning over her? “I won’t have you catching your death before you become my wife, and I can bed you properly.
” He nimbly worked the small buttons on her dress, undoing them all.
She bit her lower lip as his warm breath fanned her bare shoulder.
“Take off the dress. Stand by the fire, and I’ll bring you my dressing gown. ”
Naked, she stood by the fire, her skin warmed in the almost overwhelming heat.
A swathe of silky soft fabric suddenly covered her shoulders and wrapped around her.
His breaths had grown heavy, and he held her about the waist for a moment.
Her every instinct led her to pressing back against the warm wall of him, but he immediately pulled away and guided her arms into the oversized robe. “Now you will go to your room.”
“I—”
“Take the taper.”
She reached for the lit candlestick on the dresser and, taking her by the elbow, he guided her down the dark hallway, now only lit by the candle she held.
“I would gladly take you to my bed, make this house tremble, and let them listen,” he breathed.
“But you, Lady Cassandra, are not a weapon to wield for my whims.” They stopped at the door of her bedchamber, and he brought her hand to his lips–a quick warm brush over her skin that sent a blaze of heat flaring through her.
“Good night, Your Grace,” she whispered. It seemed such an ordinary thing to say in such an extraordinary circumstance. But what else could she say?
Rowen only scowled as he released her hand. “Won’t be.”
And he left her.