Chapter 6
Lord Westbury’s study smelled of pipe smoke.
Cassian had been there for perhaps four minutes, and Lord Westbury had not yet spoken, so he had taken the time to look around.
Heavy oak furniture. Hunting prints. A decanter of Madeira on the sideboard, three-quarters full. A clock on the mantel that ticked too loudly. A Turkish carpet going slightly bare where Lord Westbury’s right foot would land when he rose from the desk in irritation which he evidently did often.
Lord Westbury rose now. He gestured to one of the leather chairs in front of the fire, made his way to the sideboard, picked up the decanter, and poured two small glasses of Madeira without asking whether Cassian wanted one.
“Your Grace.” He handed Cassian the glass. “Please, take a seat.”
“Thank you, My Lord.”
“I should very much like an explanation.”
Cassian sat and folded his hands in his lap. He looked at Lord Westbury, who had returned to his side of the desk and was leaning one hip against the corner, and he understood that the man was setting the room.
He could let him think he had the upper hand. He had kissed the man’s daughter, after all. He would not be so ungenerous as to remind his future father-in-law that he outranked him in his own study.
“There is very little to explain, My Lord,” he said. “I kissed your daughter. I am here to ask for her hand in marriage.”
Lord Westbury blinked. “That is the explanation?”
“That is the explanation.”
“Your Grace, I had thought—”
“You had thought a great deal more would be forthcoming. I am sorry to disappoint you. Lady Alice was, by my fault, placed in an extraordinarily compromising position last night. She has done nothing to deserve the consequence, and I will not let her bear it. I shall bear it instead by the most direct means available to me which is to make her my Duchess. The license can be procured within the week. The banns can be read within the month. I shall, of course, defer to your preferences regarding the wedding, but I should very much like to have the matter formally settled this morning.”
He picked up his drink and took a sip.
Lord Westbury watched him for a long moment. Cassian had been on the receiving end of such moments many times since he had inherited his title, and he had learned to wait them out. He looked with mild interest at the painting above the mantel which was a hunting scene of indifferent quality.
“Your Grace,” Lord Westbury said at last.
“My Lord,” Cassian returned. “As I said, I would like to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
“I imagine you would, Your Grace. Especially after last night.”
“Plainly.”
“Plainly, Your Grace. I am a plain man.”
“You are not, My Lord.”
Lord Westbury’s eyes narrowed. It was almost a smile.
Cassian had not seen it before. He filed it away.
“Plainly enough, then,” the older man said.
“My Lord, I admire your daughter. I shall make her, in plain terms, the Duchess of Langton. She shall have her own household, her own income, her own carriage, her own staff. She shall have the freedom of my estates and the use of my name. I shall settle on her a sum sufficient to her independent comfort should the worst befall me. I shall, in short, give her every protection my title and my fortune are capable of giving her, and I shall not give her cause to regret accepting it.”
“You speak well, Your Grace.”
“I have had occasion to.”
“And yet I thought, after last night’s spectacle, you would not be the one offering. I thought I would have to demand it.”
Cassian set down his drink. He had been ready for the remark, but he had not been ready to hear it from this man.
He looked at Lord Westbury, who had finally sat down behind his desk and was watching him with the deliberate attention of a man who could not be easily handled.
So that is where she gets it, he thought, with a flicker of surprise. At least one thing of her father’s, but she would never give him the credit for it.
“I have known your daughter for two years, My Lord,” he said carefully.
“I have not, in that time, treated her well. I have made my dislike for her friendship with my sister abundantly clear. I have, on more than one occasion, been actively rude to her. I am not in a position to make any romantic claims, and I will not insult either of you by attempting to. What I will say is this: I will be a faithful husband. I will, in time, be a fond one. And this morning, I am the only man in London who can repair what was broken last night.”
Lord Westbury looked at him for a long moment, then nodded once. “You are a strange man, Your Grace.”
“I have been called worse.”
“My wife will be delighted. My eldest daughter will not.”
“I am aware.”
“Very well, then. You have my blessing. You shall have my eldest daughter.”
“No!” The voice came from the other side of the door.
Cassian was on his feet before Lord Westbury had finished turning his head. He crossed the room in three steps, grabbed the handle, and pulled the door open.
Lady Alice fell into his arms. He caught her elbow with one hand and pressed the other hand against the small of her back, steadying her.
He held her longer than was strictly necessary. She was warm against his chest, and the line of her body where it pressed against his hip and waist and side registered before he could decide whether to permit it.
She was wearing pale blue. He had not noticed the color when he had been shown in earlier. Now, he saw it. Her hair was pinned up. There was a loose strand at her temple, and the morning light from the corridor danced across her face. She smelled faintly of lemon.
He looked down at her and realized, with immense shock, that he had been thinking about her for nine hours straight.
A loud, deliberate clearing of a throat broke the moment.
Cassian set Alice on her feet and took a step back with the smoothness of long practice.
He frowned, because it was the only natural expression available to a man who had just been caught holding a young woman a count too long, and crossed his arms. Her eyes flicked briefly to the motion and then back to his face.
“Lady Alice.”
“Your Grace.” She flushed, the red hue crawling up the side of her neck and into her hairline. He looked at her face. Her eyes were very green.
“You were eavesdropping,” he said.
“It is hardly eavesdropping when the conversation concerns me, do you not think?”
“Unfortunately, it is still eavesdropping.”
“It is very much not eavesdropping. In fact, it is the very opposite of eavesdropping, whatever that may be.”
There she was. There was the hellion.
He felt the involuntary tug at the corner of his mouth that he had been suppressing all morning.
“Whatever that was, My Lady, I want none of it in my house when we are married.”
“Married?”
“Of course.” He said it loudly for the benefit of her father. Then he leaned toward her ear. “It is a deal,” he murmured, his voice pitched low for her ears only. “Remember?”
She glared at him. The blush, which had been receding, came back. Her eyes flicked to her father, who was watching them with the long-suffering expression of a man who had rather hoped not to be present for any of this, then back to Cassian, and she lifted her chin.
“Father.” It was the voice she had used last night, just before she had announced that she must be ruined. “I should like to speak with His Grace alone.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Father, please.”
“Well,” Lord Westbury said after a moment as he closed the ledger on his desk with considerable care, “I suppose you have done worse than just talk to him alone. That is why we are here this morning.” He came around the desk.
Cassian watched him. He had thought he had taken Lord Westbury’s measure, but he had been wrong. The man was more difficult than he had assumed. He saw, in the way the man crossed the room, that he was reaching the end of a long tether.
“I shall leave the door open,” Lord Westbury continued.
“And I shall return in a few minutes. But I warn you, you foolish girl, do not ruin this agreement unless you wish to be sent away from London. I will not have you ruin our reputation again just because you suddenly fancy yourself adventurous.”
The fire went out of her face.
Cassian saw it go. It was a strange feeling. He had spent two years wishing somebody would put Alice Lockwood in her place and promising himself that one day he would do it. He had pictured the satisfaction of seeing her chin dip, of seeing her fold the way other young women folded.
He had not, until this moment, ever seen it happen.
She did not fold dramatically. There was no scene. The fight in her simply left, and her shoulders dropped. She looked down at the carpet and said in a voice he did not recognize, “Yes, Father.”
Cassian hated it. He had stepped between them before he had thought about it. Alice was behind his shoulder. Lord Westbury was in front of him. He had not decided to do it; he had just done it.
“With all due respect, My Lord.” His voice came out colder than he had meant. “This is my bride, and I will not allow anyone to disrespect her again. Not even her own father. And I really do not like threats.”
Since his father had died, Cassian had spent a long time learning how to use his voice. Now, he used the flat, low tone his father had used in his worst moments and watched Lord Westbury’s expression do the quick reassessment of a man who realized he had miscalculated.
“Your Grace.”
“Five minutes, My Lord.”
Lord Westbury opened his mouth then closed it. He nodded sharply and then walked out of the room. The door swung half shut behind him, leaving them alone.
Cassian turned back to Alice. Her chin was up again. Her eyes were not. The fire was coming back into her face by slow degrees, and her mouth, when she opened it, did the thing it did when she was about to be unforgivable.
“Have you lost your mind, Your Grace?”
“He needed to be put in his place. No offense.”
“That is not what I am talking about.”
“Then what?”