Chapter 13 #3
Ahead, a horse moved left and another right, then a clump of spectators suddenly dispersed and the way cleared.
At the end of that clear way stood Liam—sweaty, dirty, raw energy cascading off him in waves.
The whip lash to his cheekbone was mostly healed, but a faded red mark remained.
If anything, it made him look even more dashing as he offered a smile to all and accepted congratulations from every direction.
She suspected half the bruises on his body tonight would be from all the congratulatory slaps on the back.
His gaze shifted and the roar of the crowd and the sweet scent of churned earth and the touch of the breeze faded into insignificance as he locked eyes with her.
She would’ve sworn the world had gone still—her and him included—but then she was standing before him.
She’d been moving all along, toward him.
Of course, toward him.
That was the only direction she moved these days.
His smile went lopsided, as if concentrated fully upon her. “Lady Saskia.”
As she opened her mouth to respond, she could only hope and pray her voice didn’t fail her. “Mr. Cassidy.”
She was rather proud of herself. How proper and correct she sounded. Anyone from the outside would see two people very correctly, very properly maintaining professional boundaries.
Those people wouldn’t know they’d kissed.
That he’d placed his mouth on places that were neither proper nor correct.
Those places that yet craved him.
His mouth.
She was staring at it.
A throat cleared beside her. Saskia snapped to and found expectant eyes upon her, waiting. “I, erm, I suppose everyone knows Mr. Cassidy.”
It was Mr. Lancaster who galloped into the breach, hand extended. “Michael Lancaster,” he said. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Cassidy. The performance you put on for us was nothing short of a marvel.”
“Ah, well,” said Liam, “all credit to Morningstar.”
Some people put on a show when it came to expressions of humility. Not Liam. Saskia happened to be in the position of knowing that for a fact.
“Looking to take the Triple Crown?” asked Blaze. “Have I got that right?”
“I think Lady Midnight will have something to say about that.” Liam offered a bow toward Celia.
Celia lifted her brow. “Indeed, she will.”
Liam nodded, slowly, though there was no mistaking the spark of competitive fire in his eyes.
“Now,” said Blaze, “the first dram of whiskey at the Royal Reform Club is my treat. Join us, Cassidy.”
And that was every one moving to partake in the madness of Derby Day, for though the race was run, this day wasn’t done. In fact, the day wouldn’t be ending until dawn tomorrow morning.
That was everyone moving along—except Saskia.
“Sister?” Viveca had been watching Saskia a mite too closely these last few minutes for her comfort.
A hasty search of her mind just so happened upon the perfect excuse. A rarity these days. “I need to return to the inn and record the race while it’s still fresh in my mind.”
Viveca gave her a long, penetrating look. “If you’re sure?”
“I am.” And she even managed a smile.
Viveca gave her hand a quick squeeze before moving on to join her husband and the rest of their party, who had already disappeared into the crowd. Her head and her heart irritatingly conflicted, Saskia turned her feet in what she guessed was the direction of the King’s Head.
Then she felt it—a hand close around her upper arm. She attempted to shake it off—she supposed she was an unchaperoned and unprotected lady—as a familiar voice said, “Saskia.”
She stopped in her tracks, even as her head whipped around—Liam.
“You’re not joining us?” He was all but shouting.
“I have some writing to do,” she shouted back.
His eyes searched hers. “Then you’re back to London?”
“I’m staying the night at the King’s Head.”
Of course, she’d owed him an answer, but she hadn’t owed him that answer. A straightforward, “I’ll be returning to London tomorrow,” would’ve sufficed. Instead, she’d told him not only that she was staying, but where she was staying.
Should she offer him her room number, too?
He looked disinclined to relent. “You could join us later.”
She shook her head. “It’ll be an early night for me.”
He nodded, slowly, as if only accepting her answer with great reluctance. “Shall I escort you to—”
“I can manage on my own,” she cut in. “A good day to you.”
And she, again, pointed her feet in the direction of the King’s Head, this time determined to stop for nothing and no one.
Not even for Liam Cassidy.
Especially not for Liam Cassidy.
The thing was she didn’t need to record her impressions of the race straightaway or retire early tonight.
Those had been lies—necessary lies.
The truth was simple.
She couldn’t trust herself around him.
He appealed too greatly to an untamed part of her.
The part of her who was Arabella, the reckless wanton at the mercy of her desires.
Nay, not desires in the plural sense.
Desire—singular…him.
Liam called to some place inside her that had no choice but to respond.
No, she couldn’t trust herself.
His look of disappointment when she’d declined his invitation to celebrate with him had nearly undone her intention.
She didn’t like the idea of disappointing him.
In fact, she might want to please him…too much.
And then what?
It wouldn’t only be her intention undone, but herself, entirely.