Chapter Eighteen
The Fallon garden was as lovely as Sebastian remembered it.
He was sitting at the very back of it, in a corner where the torchlight couldn’t reach.
The last time he’d been here, over a year ago, he had shared this bench with the wife of an elderly earl.
They’d taken turns sipping from the flask he’d brought before disappearing out a back gate to find his carriage, where they could be truly alone.
He had not seen that woman in ages. The last year of clean living had been an interesting experiment. But it was officially at an end.
If he’d found Cassie sooner, he might have saved himself the trouble of self-improvement.
Once she had assured herself that her brother was safe from prosecution, she had not cared one way or the other for his health or character.
She had gone contentedly back to her old life and not given him another thought.
He pulled out the same flask he’d used to woo the countess and took a long pull on it, toasted the moon and drank again. It was embarrassing to find that one was but a minor character in the most dramatic events of one’s own life. But there was the truth of it. He had not been important to her.
The recent farce they’d played was even worse.
He was now the villain of the piece: a despoiler of virgins.
The black-hearted swine who’d seduced and abandoned her after dispensing with anyone who dared to stand in the way of his courtship.
Thank God Balard had been waiting in the wings to play the hero.
If he had any sense, he was down on one knee in this very garden, making his offer. The moon was full and the stage was set. It was a damned fine night to be in love.
He took another drink and checked his watch.
The waltz had been nearly an hour ago. He’d watched the beginning of the dance, which they’d shared after an hour’s conversation.
If his assumptions were correct, the proposal would have come after, and the happy couple would now be making the rounds of the ballroom, sharing the good news.
It was an excellent time for him to catch one last glimpse of Cassie, offer her a hurried congratulation and slip away.
He dropped the flask back into his pocket and stood up. Later, when he was home, or in Soho, or whatever dark hole he could crawl into, there would be time for more brandy. Or a woman. Perhaps two. Or maybe he could take up laudanum. It was good for numbing other pains. Why not a broken heart?
He made his way up the garden path along a bank of pink roses, ignoring the couples he passed, with their sighing and discreet handholding.
He had no time for such tepid lovemaking.
This afternoon, he had lain with a goddess.
The rest of his life might be equally divine punishment, but he would not change a minute of the sin.
Then, he rounded a bend in the path and there, sitting by the fountain was his everything. Her white gown glowed pale in the moonlight, as did the pearls at her throat. Her face was tipped up, basking in the cool radiance as if she could soak it up like the sun.
She was alone. The damnable Balard was probably off getting the champagne so they could celebrate. If he was lucky, he could say his farewells and be off without having to shake the bastard’s hand.
He squared his shoulders and walked up to her, face fixed in a polite smile and said, ‘I understand congratulations are in order.’
She turned away from the moon, and stared at him with a faintly baffled expression, as if she’d forgotten his existence in the few hours they’d been apart. Her brow furrowed. ‘I beg your pardon?’
She was being more polite to him than he deserved, considering the circumstances. But there was a vagueness in her expression that he did not quite understand. She was always so sharp, so focused. Could it be?
His lips twitched. She was drunk. Perhaps he was not the only one who was suffering this evening.
‘Did you say something?’ she said frowning.
‘I offered you congratulations on your engagement,’ he said, more slowly.
‘We are not engaged,’ she reminded him, poking him in the chest with a wavering finger.
‘I am aware of that. I mean your engagement to Balard.’ When she did not respond he added, ‘He was going to propose, tonight.’
‘What do you know about that?’ Now she sounded decidedly cross.
‘I was there, at White’s this morning, when he spoke to your brother,’ he said.
‘You knew.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘You knew, all along.’
‘It was hardly a secret,’ he said. ‘The room was quite full when he petitioned your brother. Anyone could have overheard.’
She looked around her and towards the ballroom where the majority of guests were gathered. ‘So everyone knew my business but me.’
‘Well, not everyone,’ he said, wondering if he should have lied to reassure her. ‘But it was no surprise that Balard has been courting you. A proposal was inevitable.’
‘He talked to Julian, first,’ she said. ‘And you.’
‘Not to me, precisely,’ he said. ‘I was there. I wrote to you immediately after.’
‘To tell me?’ she said, her voice slurred but sarcastic.
‘To convince you to meet me,’ he explained patiently. Surely, she had not forgotten the contents of his letter so soon.
‘And then, you took me to your tawdry little apartment and deflowered me.’ She poked him in the chest again.
He looked around them, relieved that there was no one close enough to hear her outburst. Then, he said in a hushed tone, ‘That was not my plan.’
Well actually, it had been his plan. Seduction followed by elopement, topped off with a letter of apology posted to Julian from an inn in Scotland, explaining that his sister was now a duchess. But that had been when he’d thought Cassie loved him.
‘And then, you sent me home,’ she said, ignoring his confusion. ‘Because you thought, by evening’s end, I would be engaged to someone else and there would be no consequences for your actions.’
‘Wait.’ That had not been his intention, at all. At least, not when the day had begun. And he had not withdrawn, as he would have with any other woman. He had been so sure that they would marry, he’d been unforgivably careless. ‘I didn’t…’
‘Ha!’ Her finger poked his chest, yet again. ‘Your plans have come to nothing, you…you… Despoiler of innocents!’
‘Shh,’ he held his hands out as if he could muffle the sound.
‘I showed you,’ she said, snorting. ‘I refused him.’
‘You… What?’
‘Turned him down, flat,’ she said with an emphatic nod. ‘Not that it would matter to you.’
‘It does…’ He looked around again and finished more quietly. ‘I do not want you to be embarrassed. This will be the talk of the ton tomorrow.’
‘Then people should mind their own business,’ she said, standing up and far too close to him. ‘Some people, especially.’ Each word was punctuated by another poke.
In the ballroom, the music stopped, and there was a smattering of polite applause.
In a minute, the garden would be crowded with couples taking advantage of the intermission to enjoy the night air.
He had to calm her down and end this conversation, as quickly as possible.
But after what had happened between them, she needed to marry someone.
‘You will feel differently about Balard in the morning. There is nothing wrong with the fellow. It would be an excellent match.’
‘Then, you marry him,’ she snapped. ‘He is a paragon. He would likely do your character some good.’
‘I am not a woman,’ he said, laughing a little too loudly and grinning at a couple passing by to show them nothing strange was going on.
‘And you are not ready to marry,’ she said, her fists balled in anger.
‘I am not.’ After the mistakes he’d made with her, perhaps he never would be.
‘Then why are you bothering me?’
‘I…’ Because, even knowing he was not worthy of her, he could not stay away. ‘I shouldn’t have bothered you.’ He turned to go.
Before he could take a step, she grabbed his lapels and dragged him back. ‘You shouldn’t have bothered me?’ She was shrieking so loudly that everyone must hear. He could hear the murmuring of voices as a crowd formed.
He laid a hand on her shoulder, hoping it would soothe her. ‘I am sorry. Now, can we just…’
‘You do not bother me,’ she shouted, her hands punching into his chest. ‘I am not bothered, you philanderer. I am totally fine. You are the one who has the problem.’
‘Cassandra.’ He should not be calling her that. ‘Miss Fisk.’
‘Debaucher! Amorist!’ Her fingers dug into his coat, clinging like grim death, pushing and pulling, punching and shaking, her anger uncontained.
‘Cassie, please.’ He pried at her hands, twisting away from her until his back was to the fountain, but she would not release him.
‘Deviant!’
‘What the devil is going on?’ Julian pushed through the crowd that had formed around them.
At the sound of his shout, her hands sprang back, releasing Sebastian just as he tried to pull away.
He felt the marble ledge of the pool against the back of his knees, blocking his progress for only a moment.
Then, his feet were up in the air and he was flat on his back, with a nose full of water.
He sputtered upward, pushing lily pads out of the way as his coat was grabbed again by hands far stronger than Cassie’s. He was on his feet for only a moment before Julian’s punch connected with his jaw, knocking him back to sprawl on the marble bench.
‘Stop!’ When he looked up, Portia was clinging to her husband’s arm, ready to halt the next blow.
And his darling Cassie, the only woman he would ever love, had grabbed Portia, trying to pull her free and was shouting, ‘Hit him again!’
Sebastian held up a hand of surrender, closed his eyes and said in the calmest tone he could manage. ‘It is late. Perhaps we can continue this conversation in the morning, Septon.’
‘The usual place?’ his friend said, lowering his arm.
‘Pistols this time, I think,’ he replied. ‘I did not like being stabbed very much. Let us see if a bullet wound is any better.’ He smiled and pulled a wet handkerchief from his pocket, mopping at the blood on his lip.
‘Very well.’ Julian turned to the two women, who were now standing in silence at his side. ‘I think that will be enough for the evening, Cassandra. Portia, if you would pay our respects to the hostess? I have an early morning, tomorrow.’
Then, they were gone. The crowd around him dispersed as well, turning their heads away as if it was possible to exile him from Society by ignoring him.
And he was alone, just as he deserved to be.