“You’re right,” Cassandra said, examining the masonry. “But that would mean it was originally a sideways number eight. That makes no sense at all. Unless …” She paused as understanding dawned. “You think it was the symbol for infinity?”
“Yes, but not the usual one. A special variant. Do you see how one line doesn’t fully connect in the middle? That’s Euler’s infinity symbol. Absolutus infinitus.”
“How is it different from the usual one?”
“Back in the eighteenth century, there were certain mathematical calculations no one could perform because they involved series of infinite numbers. The problem with infinity, of course, is that you can’t come up with a final answer when the numbers keep increasing forever. But a mathematician named Leonhard Euler found a way to treat infinity as if it were a finite number—and that allowed him to do things in mathematical analysis that had never been done before.” Tom inclined his head toward the date stone. “My guess is, whoever chiseled that symbol was a mathematician or scientist.”
“If it were my date stone,” Cassandra said dryly, “I’d prefer the entwined hearts. At least I would understand what it means.”
“No, this is much better than hearts,” Tom exclaimed, his expression more earnest than any she’d seen from him before. “Linking their names with Euler’s infinity symbol means …” He paused, considering how best to explain it. “The two of them formed a complete unit … a togetherness … that contained infinity. Their marriage had a beginning and end, but every day of it was filled with forever. It’s a beautiful concept.” He paused before adding awkwardly, “Mathematically speaking.”
Cassandra was so moved and charmed and surprised, she couldn’t speak. She only stood there holding Tom’s hand tightly. She wasn’t certain whether she had reached for his hand, or he’d reached for hers.
How eloquent this man was on nearly any subject except his own feelings. But there were moments such as now, when he allowed her extraordinary glimpses into his heart without even seeming to be aware of it.
“Kiss me,” she said, her voice barely audible.
Tom tilted his head in that inquiring way she had come to love, before he drew her to the side of the house. They stopped behind a sheltering arbor of winter jasmine starred with tiny golden blooms. His head bent, his mouth finding hers. Wanting more, she let the tip of her tongue play against the seam of his lips. He opened for her, and she kissed him more insistently, until their tongues had entwined and his arms had clamped around her.
She sensed rather than felt his body changing in response to her nearness. Her heart drummed with excitement at the thought of what was happening to him. She wanted to feel all his skin against hers, and take him deep inside herself.
Tom finished the kiss and lifted his head slowly, his heat-drowsed eyes staring into hers. “Now what?” he asked huskily.
“Take me back to La Sirène,” she whispered. “I want a few minutes of infinity with you.”
IN THE QUIET afternoon hush of their hotel suite, Cassandra undressed Tom slowly, pushing his hands aside when he began to reciprocate. She wanted to see him, explore him, without the distraction of her own nakedness. As the tailored garments came off one at a time, Tom was patient, submitting to the procedure with the faintest hint of a smile.
She flushed a little as she worked at the buttons of his trousers. He was so aroused that the waistband of the trousers caught on the jut of his erection. She reached out to unhook the fabric from the swollen tip, and carefully pushed the trousers down over his hips. His body was so elegantly made, the muscles cut clean and fine, the bones long and perfectly symmetrical, as if turned by lathe work. A light flush had started on his upper chest, rising over the fair skin of his throat and face.
Coming to stand in front of him, Cassandra traced the strong lines of his clavicle, and pressed her palms to the hard muscle of his chest. “You’re mine,” she said quietly.
“I am.” There was a flicker of amusement in his voice.
“All of you.”
“Yes.”
Slowly Cassandra trailed her fingers downward through the hair on his chest, letting the tips of her nails scrape gently over the little points of his nipples. His breath altered, roughening, deepening. She stroked down to his straining erection, and took it gently in both hands. He was heavy, thick, pulsing with readiness.
“And this is mine,” she said.
“Yes.” No amusement now. His tone had thickened with arousal, his body rigid with the effort to hold himself in check.
Delicately, as if performing a ritual, she cupped the cool weight of him below, tenderly kneading the twin spheres and feeling the movements within. Her fingers inched up the rock-hard shaft. She let the soft pads of her thumbs ease across the silken tip, and glanced up as he made rough sounds, almost as if he were in pain.
The flush had spread over his face. His eyes had dilated and darkened.
Holding his gaze, she curled her fingers around the thick length of him, and stroked up and down.
She felt him pull a few strategic pins from her hair. His fingers slid into the loosened mass and gently rubbed her scalp, and nerves all over her body tingled with delight. Beneath the layers of her skirts, she pressed her thighs together against the throb of arousal. Following an impulse, she sank down to kneel in front of him, and gripped the upright shaft with her hands. She wasn’t quite sure what she was doing, but she knew how the intimate kisses he’d given her had felt. She wanted to give him that same pleasure.
“May I?” she whispered, and he uttered with a few words that, although not terribly coherent, sounded like enthusiastic consent. Careful and intent, she lapped at the soft, dense weights below before running her tongue up the satiny length of him. The texture was silkier, smoother, than she’d ever thought skin could be, and brazier-hot.
A tremor shook Tom’s fingers as they moved lightly in her hair. She continued to explore the hard shape of him, kissing and stroking with her tongue, then trying to fit her mouth around him.
“Cassandra … my God …” Panting, Tom pulled her up and fumbled with the fastenings at the back of her dress, the long placket of hidden buttons. He was impassioned to the point of clumsiness, tugging until a few of the buttons popped.
“Wait,” she said, trembling and laughing. “Be patient, let me—” She tried to reach around to undo them herself. It was impossible. The dress had been designed only for women who had lady’s maids and ample leisure time. Tom was in no mood to wait.
He picked her up and sat her on the edge of the bed, rummaging roughly beneath the mass of her skirts. With a few demanding tugs, he stripped off her drawers and stockings. Her legs were pushed apart and held wide as he made a space for himself. She shivered as she felt his hot breath against the tender skin of her thighs … the graze of his tongue against the little peak. A sigh stuck in her throat and melted like honey, and she collapsed slowly on her back. Every stroke of his tongue sent a delicious curl of sensation through her belly. He licked at the throbbing as it grew stronger, the weight of pleasure building inside her, searching for release. The muscles of his arms and hairy chest pressed against her bare legs, keeping her open, anchoring her.
He climbed over her, settling between her widespread thighs. “I can’t wait,” he said hoarsely.
She reached for him, moaning, hitching upward. There was the smooth, hard pressure she craved, the head of the shaft entering her, stretching the wet flesh. Shaking with excitement, she ran her hands over his naked body, loving the flexing strength of him over her, inside her, working deeper. His hips rocked and circled gently, the thickness caressing different places within her. He pushed deep in long strokes, using his weight to press down on her in exactly the right way. It felt maddeningly good, each impact creating more tension, more pleasure, until nothing existed except the steady thrusting between her thighs. She arched and spread herself wider, wanting more, and he gave it to her.
“Is this too hard?” he asked huskil
y.
“No … no … just like that …”
“I feel you tighten on me … every time I go in.”
“More … please …” She bent her knees and lifted her feet, and whimpered as he went deeper.
“Too much?” he asked raggedly, but she couldn’t answer, only gripped him between her thighs as the waves of release rolled over her, tumbling her, washing her senses with ecstasy. He went rigid, his heat pumping inside her, and that made the feeling go on and on, quivers echoing through her body.
Tom made a project of undressing her fully after that, rolling her to her stomach and working on the row of tiny, stubborn buttons. It took a long time, especially because he kept pausing to reach inside the openings of her dress, or beneath the crumpled skirts, caressing her with his mouth or fingers. She loved the sound of his voice, sated and deep, as if he spoke to her from drowsy distances. “You’re so beautiful everywhere, Cassandra. Along your back, there’s the faintest line of golden down, like a peach … and here’s your magnificent bottom … so full and sweet … so firm in my hands. You drive me mad. Look at how your little toes are curling. They do that right before you come for me … they clench and turn pink, every time …”
After Tom had unfastened the last button, the dress was tossed unceremoniously to the floor. He kissed her everywhere, and made love to her with diabolical slowness. After coaxing her to her hands and knees, he took her from behind, his body a sturdy frame around hers. He slid his hands to her front, cupping the hanging weights of her breasts, pinching and tweaking her nipples softly, teasing them into hard points. All the while, he thrust straight into the core of her body, in deep, lustful plunges.
It felt primitive, being taken like this. It felt like something she shouldn’t be enjoying this much. Her face was hot, her insides clenching with desire. He reached down to the wet triangle between her thighs and massaged lightly, steadily. At the same time, she felt his mouth at the top of her shoulder, his teeth clamping in a gentle love bite. She shuddered hard, her body squeezing powerfully around his, detonating his release. He pushed deep and held, while she buried her face in a pillow to stifle her sharp cries.
Eventually Tom eased them both to their sides, his body still clasped within hers. She sighed in contentment as his muscular forearms wrapped around her.
His lips brushed the soft skin behind her ear. “How’s this for cuddling?” he asked.
“You’re learning,” she told him, and closed her eyes in contentment.
Chapter 25
“IF YOU DON’T LIKE this house,” Tom said as the carriage came to a halt at Hyde Park Square, “you can choose another one. Or we’ll build one. Or we’ll find something else on the market.”
“I’m resolved on liking this one,” Cassandra said, “rather than having to move an entire household somewhere else.”
“You’ll probably want to do some decorating.”
“I may be quite pleased with what’s already there.” She paused. “Although I’m sure it’s crying out for fringe.”
He smiled and helped her from the carriage.
Hyde Park Square was an elegant and prosperous area that was coming to rival Belgravia. It occupied a district filled with private gardens, cream stucco terraces, and spacious brick and stone mansions.
Cassandra’s gaze moved over the façade of the picturesque house. It was large and handsome, with bay windows overlooking the landscaped grounds. There was an adjoining coach house and fine modern stabling, and a glass conservatory attached to the main building.
“There are eight bedrooms on the first floor and five on the second floor,” Tom murmured as he escorted her through the wide entrance vestibule framed with columns and ornamental brickwork. “After I bought the house, I added several bathrooms with hot and cold water supply.”
They entered a square hall with a lofty ceiling and roof lights of stained glass. A row of servants had been lined up to greet them. As soon as they caught sight of Cassandra, there was a volley of whispers, and even a muffled squeal from some of the younger housemaids.
“They’re always so excited to see me,” Tom remarked blandly, his eyes glinting with amusement. A short, matronly housekeeper dressed in black bombazine approached them and curtsied. “Welcome home, master,” she murmured.
“Lady Cassandra, this is Mrs. Dankworth, our remarkably efficient housekeeper—” Tom began.
“Welcome, my lady,” the woman exclaimed, curtsying yet again, her square face beaming. “We’re all so very pleased—overjoyed, in fact!—to have you here.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Dankworth,” Cassandra said warmly. “Mr. Severin has spoken so highly of you. He’s praised your abilities to the heavens.”
“You’re too kind, my lady.”
Tom’s brows lifted as he looked at the housekeeper. “You’re smiling, Mrs. Dankworth,” he remarked in bemusement. “I didn’t know you could do that.”
“If you’ll allow me to introduce the servants,” the housekeeper said to Cassandra, “they would be most honored.”
Cassandra went with her to the line of servants, meeting them in turn. As she exchanged a few words with each one, and tried to commit their names to memory, she was touched by their friendliness and eagerness to please.
Out of the periphery of her vision, she saw a small, swift shape hurtling past the line and colliding with Tom, who was standing off to the side.
“That would be Bazzle, the hall boy,” Mrs. Dankworth said ruefully. “A good boy, but quite young, as you see, and sorely in need of supervision. We all do our best to look after him, but we have our daily chores to attend to.”
Cassandra met the woman’s gaze and nodded, understanding much of what was being left unsaid. “Perhaps later,” she said, “you I and might discuss Bazzle’s situation in private.”
The housekeeper gave her a look of mingled gratitude and relief. “Thank you, my lady. That would be most helpful.”
After Cassandra had met all the servants, and introduced her lady’s maid, she went toward Tom, who had lowered to his haunches as he talked with Bazzle. She was struck by the obvious affection between the two, which she was certain Tom wasn’t even aware of. The boy chattered without stopping, clearly thrilled to have his attention. Tom reached into his pocket and took out a cup and ball game with a handle, one of the presents he’d bought for Bazzle on the island.
“For bashin’ someone on the noggin?” Bazzle asked, inspecting the ball that was attached by a string.
Tom chuckled. “No, it’s not a weapon, it’s a toy. Swing the ball and try to make it drop into the cup.”
The boy struggled with the game, repeatedly jerking the ball upward and failing to catch it. “Ain’t working.”
“That’s because you’re applying too much centripetal force to the ball. At that rate of velocity, the force of gravity isn’t strong enough to—” Tom stopped as he looked into the boy’s blank face. “What I mean is, swing it more gently.” He closed his hand around the boy’s, to show him. Together they swung the ball upward. At the peak of its slow curved ascent, the ball seemed to hover in midair, then dropped perfectly into the cup.
Bazzle let out a little crow of delight.
Cassandra reached the pair and crouched down beside them. “Hello, Bazzle,” she said, smiling. “Do you remember me?”
He nodded, seeming dumbstruck by the sight of her.
A regular supply of healthy meals, sufficient rest, and good hygiene had wrought an astonishing transformation since she’d last seen Bazzle. He had filled out, his limbs now sturdy instead of breakably thin, his cheeks rounded. The dark eyes were clear and bright, set in a fine-grained complexion warmed with a healthy glow. His teeth were white and scrupulously clean, and his hair was scissored into cropped, gleaming layers. A fine-looking boy, on his way to being handsome.
“Did Mr. Severin tell you I’m going to live here?” she asked.
Bazzle nodded. “Yer ’is missus now,” he said shyly.
“I am.�
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“I likes that pig song you sang to me,” he ventured. Cassandra laughed. “I’ll sing it for you later. But first I have a confession to make.” She crooked her finger for him to come closer, and he obeyed cautiously. “I’m a little nervous, moving into a new house,” she whispered. “I don’t know where anything is.”
“It’s awful big,” he told her emphatically.
“It is,” she agreed. “Will you take me around and show it to me?”
He nodded, a grin spreading across his face.
Tom stood and reached for Cassandra, bringing her up with him. He looked down at her with a faint frown. “Sweet, you would do better to have me show you the house. Or Mrs. Dankworth, if you like. You’re not going to receive a comprehensive tour from a nine- or ten year-old boy.”
“You show it to me later,” she whispered, and stood on her toes to kiss his chin. “At the moment, I’m not trying to learn about the house, but about Bazzle.”
He gave her a baffled glance. “What is there to learn?”
CASSANDRA REACHED DOWN for Bazzle’s hand, which he gave willingly, and he towed her through the house, starting with the bottom floor. They went to the kitchen, where he showed her the dumbwaiter closet that a tier of shelves connected by a frame could be lifted from the kitchen to the dining room. “They puts the food in there,” Bazzle explained, “and pulls this rope to make it go up. But people can’t go in there, even if their legs is tired.” He shrugged. “Too bad.”
Next, he showed her the combination pantry and larder. “They locks it every night,” he warned her. “So eats yer victuals at dinner, even the beets, ’cause ye can’t eat noffing after.” He paused before whispering conspiratorially, “But Cook allus leaves a snack for me in the bread box. I’ll share, if yer ’ungry.”
They visited the scullery and servants’ hall, but cut a wide swath around the housekeeper’s room, from which Mrs. Dankworth apparently liked to leap out and make you go wash your hands and neck in the scullery.
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