Dash of Enchantment

by Patricia Rice

  Wyatt tipped her chin up. “Has your mother explained nothing of what happens in a marriage bed?”

  “Only that it is unpleasant. But I thought that what we did...”

  Her voice trailed off as a smile curved Wyatt’s lips. He touched her cheek gently. “Yes, what we did is what happens between man and wife. For some, it is unpleasant. I can vouch for that. We are among the lucky ones. But did she not explain the results of our lovemaking? Come, Cass, you are a country girl. Surely you know what comes of coupling?”

  She stared at him in confusion. Wyatt sighed and pressed a kiss upon her forehead. His palm sought her breast beneath the linen nightshift.

  “You have shared my bed for nigh on two months, my sweet. Not once have you refused me because of your courses. Can you remember the last time you suffered them?”

  This was really too intimate a conversation. Cassandra attempted to sit up and escape, but Wyatt bent to place a kiss upon her ear. At the same time, his hand insinuated itself beneath her gown, and she groaned with the pleasure they had not shared in a week. Desire flooded her, and she arched welcomingly, turning to nibble at his throat.

  “I’ll have your answer, Cass. It is important.”

  “I don’t remember, Wyatt. Why is it important?” She suddenly sat up when he withdrew his hand. “Am I ill? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  Wyatt chuckled and continued unbuttoning the multitudinous seed pearls of her gown. “Not ill, my love, just increasing, I suspect. I would know better if you could bring yourself to remember some dates.”

  Increasing? Cassandra searched his face for some sign of a jest. “Increasing, like Christa? I don’t look like that. I’m not married. I can’t be increasing. That means carrying a baby, doesn’t it? Only married ladies have babies. So I can’t be increasing.”

  She sounded so very logical that she almost convinced herself. Wyatt continued smiling as he shook his head and began to push the voluminous gown down over her shoulders. “Married ladies and ladies who behave as married ladies. What we do here in bed is reserved for husbands and wives. That is why I have been trying to persuade you to marry me. You are in all probability carrying my child, Cass. You have no choice but to marry me now.”

  Stunned, Cassandra scarcely noticed as the gown fell from her shoulders. She didn’t look pregnant. He was making up that tale to persuade her to his thinking. She couldn’t think when his kisses caressed her like that.

  They had denied each other for too long, and the need was stronger than thought. She gave herself up to his touch, reveled in the pleasure of his flesh against hers. Only in the back of her mind did she understand: he could be putting his child inside me.

  The notion was compelling, more primeval than desire. Cassandra rose up to meet his thrust with an eagerness and a fear unmatched in their previous experience. Wyatt’s child. She could bear Wyatt’s child. The phrases sang through her mind as her body convulsed with the frantic urgency of his rhythm, and she opened wide to receive his seed.

  She was pregnant. She understood it now. Somewhere deep inside where they had joined, a baby had grown of their joyous coupling. She, Cassandra Howard, carrying the Earl of Merrick’s child. The scandal would be enormous. She didn’t care. Turning on her side to keep him inside her when he rolled over afterward, she kissed his shoulder.

  “When you first took me to see Thomas, that was the last time,” she murmured sleepily.

  Wyatt cuddled her closer, knowing what she meant. That was well over two months ago. They hadn’t wasted any time. It had taken months to get his wife pregnant. It had taken Cass a mere week or two. His joy bordered on triumphant.

  His arm tightened around her, and he prayed feverishly to a God he had taken for granted too long. Blessings came in strange ways. He just hoped this wouldn’t turn out to be worse than the plague of Job.

  But as Cassandra lay warm in his arms, Wyatt imagined a lifetime of nights like this, and he relaxed. It was worth every bit of trouble she got him into.

  When they finally set out for home, Merrick treated Cassandra with such care that Lotta and Jacob immediately became suspicious. Cassandra laughed and threatened to take his horse and leave him with the cushioned carriage. Later, she was grateful for his concern when the corrugated roads left her stomach in her throat, and he ordered an early rest.

  They proceeded at a much slower pace than before, and Cassandra felt stronger at the end of this journey than the other. When the carriage drove past the drive to her house and continued on to Merrick’s home, she leaned out the window in puzzlement, trying to find Wyatt for explanation.

  It wasn’t long in coming. When the carriage rumbled to a halt at the entrance stairs, Wyatt beat the footman to the door. Without a word of warning, he slid his arms beneath her legs and shoulders and lifted her clear of the carriage. Cassandra grabbed his neck for support, and then she was resting comfortably against his chest while the Earl of Merrick carried her across the threshold.

  Thoroughly bemused, she heard him announce to the waiting servants that his wife required tea and a hot bath. She still wasn’t certain that this wasn’t some sort of practical joke when he carried her up the stairs to the family rooms that she had never entered. But when she found herself in his obviously masculine chambers and heard the dowager’s screams floating up from below, Cassandra knew she had been well and fully trapped.

  As Wyatt set her down upon the bed, Cassandra glared at him accusingly. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You have never forgiven me for locking you in my bedroom.”

  Wyatt’s lips twitched as he met the gaze of his rumpled and irritated lover. “I have never forgiven you for refusing my offer, puss. Now you have no choice.” He caught her shoulders and gently pushed her back to the bed. “It will be only a matter of weeks before it is official. Do not deny me this time, Cass. There is the child to think of.”

  The child. Well and truly trapped. She continued to glare as the room filled with servants carrying buckets and tubs and tea. Lotta entered with them, ordering the placement of the luggage, imperiously managing the operation without lifting a hand to help. At the sound of the dowager outside the door, Wyatt bowed regretfully and left her in Lotta’s care, closing the door behind him.

  She ought to call his bluff. She ought to tell all and sundry that she was St. Wyatt’s mistress, and he had installed her in his home under his mother’s nose. It would serve him right for his high-handed methods. This was little better than abduction. He could never get away with this.

  But Wyatt had a way of turning everything to his wishes. Against Cassandra’s sound judgment he had taken her to his bed, given her a home, obviously browbeaten Rupert into an annulment, and even got her with child. She was beginning to believe there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do when he put his mind to it.

  There was only one flaw in this picture. She wasn’t a Howard. The child she carried had Merrick’s noble blood and the ancestry of some unnamed commoner who had got her mother with Cassandra and disappeared.

  If she must choose between her mother’s shame and Merrick’s future, she must choose Merrick. He had to be told. As the room cleared of servants, Cassandra sent Lotta off to find the earl.

  Had it not been for Duncan, she would never have thought twice before telling Wyatt of her heritage. But she had to make him see that this would never work, before Duncan blackmailed him into bankruptcy.

  Waiting for the earl’s return, Cassandra lay in the tub that must have served many noble Mannerings. She gazed longingly at the massive draped bed on the dais between the two bowed windows. The window draperies were pulled back only enough to allow in a sliver of sun and reveal the welcoming window seats within. She could easily live out all her days here, sleeping on those pillows, lifting her arms to Wyatt as he came to her during the night, bearing his children on that bed. She would be secure here, and her child would have a chance of happiness. Why couldn’t she be granted this peace?

  The door slipped open
and closed and Wyatt was standing there, a ray of sun glinting off the rich chestnut highlights of his hair. He looked immensely weary, but a smile curved his lips as he gazed upon her lounging in the waters of his tub.

  “Bubbles become you, my sweet. What is the urgent matter we must discuss before you even have your tea?”

  He handed her a towel as she rose from the tub, but he refrained from doing more than discarding his soiled riding jacket and cravat.

  Cassandra bit back a protest as she reached for her robe. This was his bedroom and he was entitled to undress. She felt no shyness in standing naked before him, but she wanted his attention on what she had to say, not on what she wasn’t wearing. If he proceeded to undress, she would have great difficulty in forming the words.

  “Wyatt, I did not reject your original proposal without good reason. I do wish you would believe me.”

  Relieved of the nuisance of his coat, Wyatt undid the fastenings of his cuff. He deliberately shed his waistcoat while speaking with apparent disinterest. “Your marriage will shortly be ended, Cass. It was a mockery of a marriage and well you know it. I can see no other reason why you can’t be my wife.”

  Cassandra held the robe tightly around her. Perhaps he was older and wiser and better able to control the situations that sent her fleeing into the night, but this time the situation was beyond his control.

  “Wyatt, sit still and hear me out. I will say this only once. I never thought to shame my mother by revealing her secrets, but I cannot shame you by keeping them. Will you listen?”

  Wyatt dropped his waistcoat to study her. “I am listening, Cass, but I doubt that there is anything you can say to change my mind.”

  Cassandra nodded and gathered her thoughts. She’d only ever been sought after for one thing in her life—that she was the daughter of a marquess. She could not face him as she named herself bastard.

  “I am not the daughter of the Marquess of Eddings, Wyatt. Look at me, then look at Duncan. He is the image of the late marquess. Have you ever seen so dark a parent breed so fair a child?” She mouthed the words that Duncan had once thrown at her. They had been meaningless then, but she understood them now. Her mind wandered, wondering what the child inside her would look like.

  “Never have I seen so fair a child, nor woman.” Wyatt circled Cassandra’s waist, sheltering her against his chest. “Actually, it is quite a relief to believe you are not of Howard’s tainted blood. I feared waking up one day to discover our child looked just like Duncan.”

  Cassandra smothered a nervous laugh. “You have no fear of that, perhaps, but what kind of person would have sired me and then left my mother to suffer the result? All I know is that he is not of the nobility. He could have been a footman for all I am aware.”

  Wyatt swung her around, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her thoroughly. While she was still breathless, he replied, “Then he was one handsome, talented footman, and I welcome him to the family. You can make up any tale you like, Cass. I still intend to marry you.”

  He didn’t believe her. He wouldn’t believe her about Duncan either. Her brother would make Wyatt’s life a misery until he had what he wanted, and he never ran out of wants. She couldn’t do that to Wyatt. She couldn’t.

  But she couldn’t leave either. Giving herself up to Wyatt’s impassioned kisses, she vowed to think about it later.

  Chapter 24

  “I don’t believe a word of it. He could not possibly have married you. It is not like Wyatt to behave so impulsively.”

  Cassandra moved a rose into closer proximity with a lovely branch of white flowers in the vase and wondered what the name of the plant might be she had stolen it from. She would ask Lotta.

  To the dowager’s spiteful remarks she replied, “Not at all impulsive, Mother.” Cassandra grinned to herself at the dowager’s furious intake of breath. “He has planned the annulment for months. Surely he told you.”

  She really shouldn’t torment the woman like that, but the countess had huffed and puffed and made Wyatt’s life a misery. It was time someone took the wind out of her sails. The dowager countess, she amended to herself. Wyatt would have all the world believe that Cassandra was the new countess. The idea was patently ridiculous, of course, but the charade was certainly amusing. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been taught to live a life of lies—as well as the life of nobility.

  “It is not right. I don’t know what this world is coming to. Young people didn’t used to be so ill-behaved. They respected their elders and married where told. I cannot like this.”

  The dowager sat on the sofa and fanned herself against the heat of the afternoon sun pouring in the salon windows. Cassandra had already won the battle of the draperies, pulling them open every time the dowager ordered a footman to close them.

  At the monotony of this complaint that had been heard once an hour every day of the last week, Cassandra sighed and stepped back to admire her arrangement. “Perhaps arranged marriages like that of my parents are the reason we have decided to choose for ourselves. I can’t see that Wyatt was particularly happy with the marriage you arranged for him.”

  Lady Merrick refused to admit the truth of that. “You cannot mix meadowsweet with roses,” she remonstrated. “It is vulgar.”

  Cassandra’s smile brightened. Meadowsweet. Now she knew what to call the white flowers. “I like the mix.” Defiantly she set the vase in the center of the Adam mantel.

  Not having yet learned the danger signal of Cassandra’s smile, the countess blundered on. “You have no talent for that sort of thing. I have supervised the flower gardens for decades. I ought to know.”

  The challenge was flung, and Cassandra rose to accept it. “The gardens are cold and formal and not at all as I would like. I think I shall ask Wyatt if I might have a corner to do as I wish.”

  As the dowager turned purple, Cassandra donned a radiant smile and swept out, signaling a footman to fetch the smelling salts. At least once a day she succeeded in sending the dowager into the vapors. The sport was growing tedious.

  Restless, she retired to her chamber to change into a riding habit. Despite her outrageous threats, she had not attempted to interfere in the day-to-day operations of the household. She felt an outsider, an impostor, and she did not assert what little authority she possessed.

  Lotta had reported that the servants were whispering among themselves about the hastiness of the marriage. They had little knowledge of the legality of annulments, but sensitive feelers for scandal. She knew better than to upset the apple cart when it stood on such precarious grounds.

  The brilliant blue riding habit Wyatt had ordered for her made her happy as Lotta helped her to don it. The long train of the skirt swept elegantly about her feet, and the tailored jacket made her feel like a countess even if she were not.

  Cassandra admired the lovely fragility of the Queen Anne furniture, the white eyelet and lace of the bed hangings, and the splashes of pale green on pillows and carpets that created this chamber next to Wyatt’s. She had made few changes, liking the room just as it was. Wyatt had insisted that she needed a room of her own to escape the activity of the household. She had not understood his insistence at first, but she did now. This was her haven. No one could intrude unless invited, even Wyatt.

  Not that he needed any invitation. She smiled at the memory of last night when he had swept her from the piano bench and carried her daringly into the elegant state bedchamber and made love to her on the gold-embroidered tapestry that covered the not-to-be-touched gilded bed. She had slept in his arms every night of this week. The nights were the happiest of her life.

  The days presented a problem. Cassandra pulled on her riding gloves and started down the stairs. Problems had a way of taking care of themselves after a while. Right now, all she needed was fresh air.

  Wyatt had insisted that a groom accompany her whenever she went out. She knew he feared she would crack her head on another branch, but it was a dreadful nuisance to be followed all about. Still, he had
been so thoughtful about everything else, she could afford to make this one concession.

  The bars of the trap he had caught her in seemed remarkably flexible. She did as she pleased, went where she pleased. She didn’t know how long Wyatt would remain so complacent, but perhaps if they didn’t go about much in society, she could learn to live this way. But could Wyatt?

  It was another of those things that nagged at her conscience. Turning her mount to the apple orchard, Cassandra kicked her heels and drove the thought out of her head.

  In the orchard, she surprised a handful of village urchins seeking the young green apples among the branches. The few children on the ground squealed and ran away as she approached. With amusement, she noted the others pretended to blend in with the leaves. They weren’t terribly successful.

  The groom offered to pull the “little beggars” down, but Cassandra shook her head. Riding up under the branch where the smallest hid, she called up to her. “Those apples will make you sick. You’ll have to wait until they’re ripe. I know where there’s a lovely cherry tree. Why don’t we go see if the cherries are ripe yet? Then we can have Cook make us some pies.”

  The child looked terrified and clung to the branches, but a bigger boy leaned down from a higher roost and gave her a suspicious glance. “Who are you?”

  “Lady Merrick,” she answered without a qualm. “And these are my trees. I used to climb them when I was your age, but I waited until the apples were red. Bring your friends, and I’ll show you the cherries. I’ve grown too big to climb up in the branches anymore.”

  They seemed to accept that ingenuous statement. With whoops and laughter they tumbled from the trees and ran in the direction that Cassandra led them. Judging by the pained look on the groom’s face, Wyatt would raise an unholy ruckus when he discovered what she’d done, but it was time she tested the bars of her cage. If he didn’t understand that she had no concept of property rights by now, he never would.