Chapter Ten #3
The Duke noticed immediately and touched her arm, concerned.
She shook her head and whispered, ‘It is so sad.’
‘How so?’ he asked staring down at her.
‘That such a majestic creature will never know freedom. She and her friends were designed by the Lord to run wild in the jungle. To hunt and play…’
‘And mate,’ he suggested, which shouldn’t have surprised her.
But he was right. ‘To have more of their kind. To live and die under the open sky. But instead, the poor things are trapped here so that we can gape at them. Fed on dead meat. Even the kitchen cat has more freedom.’ She reached for the handkerchief in her reticule and wiped her eyes.
The Duke was faster, offering her his. ‘You have a tender heart,’ he said.
She glanced around her at Bessie and the other visitors, who seemed to be enjoying the show, and muttered, ‘You must think me quite provincial.’
‘Not at all,’ he replied. ‘To care so deeply about helpless animals is an admirable quality.’ Then, he smiled. ‘I knew a girl very like you once, willing to walk into the den of a miserable beast and ease his suffering.’
‘I am not that brave,’ she said, glancing back at the leopardess. ‘I do not think I can bear this a moment longer.’
‘Let me take you out of here,’ he said, and turned to Bessie. ‘There is no reason you cannot stay and enjoy the sights. I will not take your mistress any farther than the courtyard.’
The girl gave him a doubtful look, which lessened when he produced a gold coin from his pocket. ‘I mean no harm. I simply do not wish her to be unhappy.’
She hesitated a moment longer, then took the coin and turned her back on them.
Cassie looked helplessly at her, knowing that she should refuse. But at the moment, she was tired of London and all the foolishness connected to it. She needed air as much as these cats did.
For all she knew, the Duke was no more interested in her future happiness than the rest of the men she’d met. But he was at least willing to help her right now. So she took his arm and let him lead her down the stairs and out into the open air outside the tower.
Once there, he led her along one of the walls to a bench, sitting down beside her as she turned her face up to catch the sun so her tears would dry.
It was better here, but not as nice as her little house in St John’s Wood.
And definitely not the same as the country had been.
‘The air is not so fresh as it is at home,’ she said with a sigh.
‘The misfortunes of living in a city,’ he agreed. ‘I do not often go home to my estate. But I must admit, it is very peaceful there. Very clean.’
She glanced over at him. ‘Why do you not spend more time there?’
‘It is lonely as well,’ he admitted. ‘My grandmother died over a year ago and I have no family left. I do not feel it so much when I am in town. But when I go back to the manor? I am alone with my memories and conscious of the loss.’ His smile had disappeared and he stared down at his feet, scuffing at the dirt with the toe of his boot as if trying to erase the past.
He was so rarely serious that the change surprised her. But the way he looked now felt raw and real. He was in pain, just as he’d been when she’d nursed him and did not have the strength to conceal his intentions with a wink and a grin.
He looked to her again, and his smile returned, though it was sadder than before. ‘Now you are looking at me as you did those cats. I am not as hopeless as that.’ Then he added, ‘At least, not anymore.’
Which meant he had been hopeless once. Or perhaps more than once. She thought of what Portia had told her after the rout. ‘May I ask you a question?’ she said, trying to catch his eye.
He looked up, puzzled, then said, ‘Whatever you wish.’
‘When you were at Oxford, what was your favourite subject?’
The question seemed to surprise him. Then, he looked down again as if embarrassed. ‘I did not actually complete my course of studies.’
‘So I have been told,’ she said, dipping her head, as well.
When he looked up, his usual sardonic smile had returned. ‘It was decided that, if I meant to study barmaids and dice and general drunkenness, I would be better off doing graduate studies in London.’
‘An interesting way to describe expulsion,’ she said, and waited for a better answer.
‘I had left the university in spirit long before I was asked to physically depart. It hardly seems fair to blame the dean for coming late to a conclusion that I had already arrived at.’ He gave a small nod as if hoping that it would put an end to the questions about the past.
‘But I am interested in the time before you left. Before the barmaids and the dice and the drinking. I assume there was a time when you took your studies seriously.’
‘Why would you think such a thing?’ he asked, giving her an intense look meant to make her squirm just as her questions seemed to affect him.
She stared back at him, struggling to hide her discomfort. ‘Why would I not? I have heard that it was not until your final year that you were sent down. It stands to reason that you did something with the years before.’
‘You have heard?’ he said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Why, Miss Fisk, have you been asking after me?’
‘Perhaps,’ she admitted. ‘But now, I am asking you directly. What was your course of study?’
He seemed to try and reject various responses in his head before speaking, as if seeking something that was more clever than the truth. Then, he surrendered and said, ‘Moral philosophy and ethics.’ Then, he gave her a worried look, as he waited for her response.
He was probably afraid she would laugh. Instead, she smiled and nodded.
‘You are not surprised?’ he said.
‘Cynics are nothing more than optimists who have known too much disappointment,’ she replied. ‘It makes perfect sense to me that a rake might be made from a disenchanted ethicist.’
‘That is probably true,’ he said, as if he had never considered it. ‘It did seem, at the time, that high standards and upright behaviour gained me very little.’
‘Probably because you were seeking the wrong things,’ she said, thinking of the Duchess of Ashton.
‘Now you sound like a vicar’s daughter,’ he replied.
‘Because that is what I am,’ she said with a wave of her hand. ‘Tell me, did a change in character achieve your goals?’
He hesitated again, then admitted, ‘The woman I sought to impress no longer interested me. Why have one woman when I could have a dozen, each prettier than the last?’
‘Your heart was not engaged,’ she said.
‘It does not do to think with one’s heart, when one lives the way I do. The less one feels, the better.’
‘I see.’ But really, she did not. The statement did not tell her what, if anything, he felt for her.
‘That is not to say I am incapable of feeling,’ he said quickly, as if sensing her confusion. ‘It is just that I have lost too many people not to be cautious. I never knew my mother. She died when I was born. My father was gone before I came of age. And my grandmother…’
He paused and swallowed before continuing. ‘The poor woman had great hopes for me. She died disappointed.’ He was staring at his feet again, his expression bleak.
‘I recall seeing the notice of her death in the newspaper,’ she said gently.
He did not look up. ‘It was shortly before the duel. I was still in a funk about it when I quarrelled with Septon.’
‘You must have been very fond of her,’ she said.
‘She was fond of me, more like,’ he said with a short laugh.
‘When my father did not remarry, she took it upon herself to help with the raising of me until I went off to school. She loved me, even as I dragged the family name through the dirt. I did not deserve her affection. I lied to her nearly every time I saw her. Told her the gossip she’d heard about me was nothing more than exaggeration. ’
‘And was it?’
‘No. No, it wasn’t. But in our visits, we both preferred to maintain the fantasy.’ He looked up, his brow furrowed. ‘She was lying, as well. Pretending to believe me. She told me so, near the end. She said it was about time that I grew into my rank and stopped being such an ass.’
‘Perhaps she was right,’ Cassie said.
‘I agreed at the time,’ he said. ‘I promised that when next she saw me, I would be a changed man.’
‘I am sure the promise made her very happy,’ she said.
‘And I am equally sure she saw it for the lie it turned out to be,’ he said with a bitter smile.
‘She summoned me on the night she died. She sent a messenger with a letter asking me to come to dinner. He was to wait for my response. I was planning to go gaming with Septon and end the night with my mistress. So, I fobbed the old lady off with some excuse about a late session of Parliament.’ His voice gave a surprising crack and he took a moment to steady himself before speaking again.
‘I knew she followed the news closely. She was well aware that no such thing was happening. It was her last night, and I would not even take the time to lie properly, much less keep my promise or accept her invitation.’ He fell silent, lost in the past.
She could not think of a response, either.
Her father would know what to do in a case like this.
He always seemed to have the right words when people were hurting, as Sebastian clearly was.
She reached out a hand and took his. ‘I think you underestimate her. She loved you. And falling out of love with you is harder than you may think.’ Then, she touched his chin and turned his face to her for a kiss.
It was nothing, really. Just a touch of their lips. Over before it had begun and with none of the passion that they’d shared a year ago. But it was a kiss, all the same. And she had been the one to give it.
She looked around her, sure she must be blushing furiously for her skin felt hot and prickly as if she’d sat for hours in the sun.
There were few people about and none that she knew.
With luck, none of them recognized her, either.
She turned back to the Duke who was pink, as well.
‘Why, Miss Fisk,’ he said, with wide eyes and a slowly dawning smile.
‘I should not have done that,’ she said, placing her fingertips on her lips.
‘Too late for regrets,’ he said, staring at her mouth. ‘And you must call me Sebastian, when we speak of this again.’
‘We will not,’ she said. ‘Speak of it, that is.’
‘Shall I tell your brother that you are toying with my affections?’ he said, fanning himself with his hand.
‘Don’t you dare,’ she whispered, turning to look straight ahead as if she could pretend he did not exist.
‘Oh, ho, ho,’ he said, slapping his knees in delight. ‘If I were you, I would not take that tone, Cassandra Fisk. You must be much nicer to me if you wish me to keep quiet.’
‘You are horrible,’ she said, scowling. Why had she forgotten the fact? Bessie was just coming out of the doorway that led to the menagerie and would be with them in moments, and she didn’t want the Duke talking casually of blackmail in front of her maid.
‘Call me Sebastian,’ he coaxed. ‘Say, “You are horrible Sebastian”.’
‘You are,’ she whispered. ‘Horrible. Sebastian.’
‘But I will meet you, tomorrow in Hyde Park at two in the afternoon,’ he added, with a placid smile.
She let out a moan of frustration.
‘I would hurry,’ he said softly. ‘Your maid is almost here, and it will take a promise to seal my lips.’
‘Tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Hyde Park. But I am not coming alone.’
‘Bring Bessie,’ he said, waving to the maid.
As she arrived at their side, he stood and took her by the hands, swinging her around until she laughed and pushing her down onto the bench beside her mistress.
‘I am sure she will welcome the exercise. But for now?’ He pulled off his hat and swept it before him in a theatrical bow.
‘Fare thee well, ladies. Until tomorrow.’ Then, he strolled off down the path, whistling.