The Promise

by V J Dunraven

  “But Lord Cavanaugh, I beg to disagree,” she was saying to one of his peers as he battled for a better view. “If your standard for a wife is that of beauty and docility alone, surely you aren’t thinking of thirty years with her down the road. What would you do once her teeth fall out and her chin drooped to her knees? Now—if we were speaking of a horse, then I would agree with you completely. Nothing couldn’t be more pleasing than having a mount that is beautiful and docile at the same time.”

  “Cavanaugh, I believe you just got yourself bested,” the gentleman next to the dashing, fair-haired young Lord, elbowed him amidst the snickers.

  Lord Cavanaugh straightened to his full height and laughed good-naturedly. “Which is why, my dear, I am here before you with my heart on a silver platter. I have added intellect to my list and fortunately, only you could fill all the requirements.”

  A mellifluous laugh flowed like honey from her lips. “I regret to disappoint you, my lord,” she said as Richard squeezed his way only a few steps apart from her. “But alas, I prefer gold over your silver platter.”

  Loud guffaws sounded from her enthralled audience and she turned away from Lord Cavanaugh’s bewitched gaze to look directly into his eyes.

  Richard’s breath hitched in his chest.

  He’d never seen such stunning green eyes the color of emeralds, veiled by the longest lashes that curled outwards to emphasize their size. Her face was heart shaped, her nose, small and straight. She has full lips shaped in a gentle cupid’s bow, undoubtedly made for nothing else but kisses. His gaze slid down to her generous breasts, supple and ripe for the picking. A hot stream of lust shot straight to his groin.

  Good God, she truly was an angel! He feasted his eyes over the rest of her curves before he dragged them back to the jeweled green depths of her gaze.

  What he found there, unexpectedly, was recognition. His heart leapt and began to pound. Have they met before? If they have, he certainly could not recall when, where, or how. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to act? Should he feign an acknowledgement?

  He offered her a small, tentative smile. No—they have never been introduced before—he was quite sure of it. Moreover, he did not wish to appear fresh.

  But then, as quickly as he saw the look of recognition in her eyes, it was extinguished—shadowed by some semblance of uncertainty, before annoyance replaced it completely.

  The smile disappeared from her lips and she turned her face away from his, flicking her fan open, obstructing his view with the wedge-shaped silk painted with roses and butterflies.

  Richard Christopher Radcliffe, the heir to the Dukedom of Grandstone—couldn’t believe it.

  The innocent looking angel who made his blood boil and his heart pitter-patter in a rhythmic symphony, had just given him the cut-direct—in front of not just anybody—but half of London’s most prestigious peers!

  Chapter 9

  An Encounter at Almack’s

  Cassandra Carlyle needed to escape.

  She had seen him—Richard—as she parried Lord Cavanaugh’s ardent suit. Oh God, but she was not ready to encounter him just yet! Her shock in finding those piercing blue eyes in the crowd had completely paralyzed her. She had stared at him, rooted to the spot like a moon-eyed ninny—and she knew he had noticed. In spite of everything that had happened, her affection for him still thrived in her heart even if the dictates of her brain alerted her to flee as far away from him as necessary. It had taken all her willpower to do just that.

  “Gentlemen, if you will please excuse me.” she turned away from him, holding her fan up like a shield to hide the rush of warmth in her cheeks.

  “May I escort you to a seat?” Lord Cavanaugh immediately offered.

  “Would you like something to drink?” Lord Winterley asked.

  “Perhaps I can procure you a slice of cake,” the Earl of Bristol said from behind her.

  “Oh no—thank you, all of you.” she feigned a grateful smile and began to walk away on shaky legs. “I simply need some air.”

  “Allow me then, to escort you to the balcony.” A large hand caught her arm. Startled, she whipped her head sideways and found herself looking into the bluest sapphire eyes she had beheld in her life.

  Without waiting for a reply, Richard took her hand and placed it on the crook of his arm, securing it there with his own hand firmly on top of hers. He swiftly led her away from the rest of the bewildered gentlemen.

  “My lord, if you please—” Cassandra attempted to ease her gloved hand from his grasp, struggling to keep her composure. “I truly am in no need of an escort.” She had not expected this—not from the Richard she knew, who had always been considerate and well mannered.

  This man, who obviously could not take no for an answer and whom she had somewhat offended by refusing to acknowledge his wordless, but amicable greeting in the form of a tentative smile, was not to be trifled with.

  Goosebumps rose on her skin as the winds of caution enveloped her.

  “I simply wish to speak with you.” his hand closed over hers more tightly and he guided her into a nearby alcove.

  They stood face to face in the small space that concealed them from the ballroom and provided them with some semblance of privacy. His gaze roamed over her features, searching her countenance with an expression of curious interest.

  Cassandra found herself arrested once again by those intelligent, piercing blue eyes. No—she cannot be alone with him like this! She was not prepared to deal with him, to stand this close before him, to feel the dense muscles on his arm beneath her fingers and the warmth of his hand touching hers. He still affected her like an enraptured fool, leaving her agitated, trembling and mesmerized under the gaze of an Adonis.

  “What do you want?” She lifted her chin and made an effort to look brave, even as her knees shook beneath her skirts. Good God, but he was handsome—more so than she remembered when she last saw him at that blasted luncheon! The breadth of his shoulders almost filled the alcove, blocking the light and the noise, and he smelled so wonderful that she literally yearned to crawl inside his coat.

  “I need to know if we’ve met before—”

  “No, never. I don’t know you,” she abruptly cut in, pulling her hand away almost regretfully from his loosened grasp. She had delighted in the feel of those strong fingers encircling hers, and relished the heat emanating from his skin despite the fact that her kid leather gloves provided a barrier between them.

  Richard regarded her thoughtfully and took a step closer. “Are you certain? Something about you seems familiar—”

  “No,” she interjected even more vehemently, retreating backwards until she bumped on the wall of the alcove behind her. “I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

  Richard searched her face for a moment, then, the corners of his mouth curled. He took another lazy step towards her and propped himself on his hands on either side of her head.

  Cassandra felt the breath siphon out of her lungs. His scent and the heat of his body wrapped around her like a cloak, overwhelming her senses. She averted her face and focused on his impeccably tied cravat, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to breathe in the heavy, tension-filled air that had suddenly descended over them.

  Richard’s eyes slid downwards to her quivering bosom and lingered there. Without even touching her, she could feel the intensity of his hot gaze grazing her skin, rousing her nipples to a peak. For a moment, Cassandra thought her knees would give way. He was such a virile man that his mere nearness could elicit titillation in any female. She leaned against the wall on her back for support.

  “If that’s the case, then, allow me to introduce myself,” he drawled in a deep, sultry voice, dragging his gaze upwards until she found herself riveted under the spell of those blue eyes, now smoldering with what she could only recognize as des
ire.

  He lowered his head until his breath fanned on her cheek, their lips separated only by a mere inch. Oh God, he is going to do it—he is going to kiss her! Cassandra stared at his chiseled mouth that she imagined kissing countless times in her dreams. She could almost taste its sweetness—feel its firmness, against her own. By its own volition, her tongue darted out and wet her lips.

  Richard’s eyes instantly dropped to her mouth. The fire in their depths flared into a raging blaze. Cassandra could literally see the sparks sizzling in the thick, sweltering air between them.

  Oh, how she wanted him! She craved him so badly; she could feel the burn of submission in the marrow of her bones. But she was not going to. No—she couldn’t give in. He wasn’t hers to covet. He was never hers to begin with.

  “Please, my lord,” she managed to croak over the thunder of her heart in her ribcage.

  Richard’s blue gaze met hers. “Please what?” He inched even nearer until she could swear his mouth was but a hairline from touching hers.

  Cassandra shook her head—she could talk no more. She couldn’t even think. Not with him standing this close, not with the tips of her breasts brushing against his chest, not when every nerve in her body was screaming for his caress. She could only look at him and plead with her eyes.

  His lashes fluttered with a searing gaze that washed over every contour of her face. Then, he drew a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, before the corners of his mouth lifted.

  “Lord Sunderland, at your service.” he brought her fingers to that sensuous, masculine mouth of his. “And you are?”

  “I, my lord,” Cassandra snatched her hand away, before her resolve crumbled and she made a complete twit of herself, “am leaving.”

  She ducked under his arm and sidled past him, swiftly striding towards the well-heeled crowd to separate herself from him. As to how she had gathered the strength to make her escape, she could not remember.

  All she knew was—with just one look from those sapphire eyes and one smile from those seductive lips, Richard Christopher Radcliffe, her childhood friend, the man of her dreams—had most definitely leveled the playing field.

  Chapter 10

  Finding Prince Charming

  at the Masquerade

  Two days later

  Countess Libbey’s Masquerade Ball

  Cassandra wove her way through the throng of guests in the crowded ballroom at Countess Libbey’s masquerade ball. This unconventional affair was not exactly what her mother considered appropriate for a young debutante, but she’d finally persuaded her to allow her to attend. Lady Carlyle had granted her permission—on the condition that Allayne accompany them as an extra chaperone.

  Predictably, her older brother, who disfavored overly frivolous socials that require guests to wear silly costumes, took some convincing. He only conceded when he learned that Jeremy would be meeting them there. By the time he grudgingly agreed, however, it was too late in the day. As a result, she didn’t have enough time to acquire a proper costume. Fortunately, her Mama had found a beautiful Venetian mask at a shop in Bond Street that would go perfectly with one of her gowns.

  So here she was, disguised as an ice princess, looking ethereal and utterly out of place in white and silver, amidst a sea of Medieval Royalty, shepherdesses, dominos, highwaymen and God knows what. Nevertheless, that didn’t dampen her enthusiasm for the occasion. Truth be told, this was the first gathering that had excited her in weeks. After all those tedious balls she’d been attending and the proper façade she had to put on for the sake of appearances, she was quite ready to kick her heels—and do some serious mischief.

  She surveyed the crowd for Jeremy, her partner in all things demented and wicked, but he was nowhere to be found. Either he was late again, as was his wont, or she’d probably overlooked him in the heavily disguised crowd. Of course, it didn’t help that she’d been so empty-headed lately from her encounter with Richard two days ago, that she’d forgotten to ask what costume he would wear tonight.

  Cassandra circled the perimeter of the ballroom. The ball was at a full swing and the guests were lively and daring. They laughed, drank, cavorted in dark nooks and— good heavens—even in plain view! Lord help her, she didn’t even want to know what went on in the gardens below.

  Oh, but this was all so scandalous! She shivered in shocked delight. She’d never thought she would say it, but she preferred this event over any of the formal, propriety-intensive balls she’d attended. The anonymity afforded by the masks permitted everyone to enjoy the ball freely, without cause for worry over decorum for once.

  Cassandra squeezed between a fairy and a courtier, and peered at the dancing couples in the center. Where the devil was Jeremy? She frowned at the kissing couples. Lord, they were doing it even in the middle of the dance floor! This really was a bit too much. And speaking of Jeremy—she wouldn’t be surprised if he was flirting in some dim corner with a milkmaid—the wretch! He’d probably forgotten all about their plan to pour soap powder in Countess Libbey’s Grecian fountain in the garden.

  She was about to head back to Allayne and her Mama, who were most likely going mad looking for her, when a tall, magnificently garbed prince bowed before her.

  “My princess, may I have this dance?” he drawled in that familiar voice, making her insides constrict into a tight knot.

  She tilted her head up and saw brilliant blue eyes behind his gold mask. His thick, straight blonde hair was tied at the back with a black ribbon and his lips were curled in that dazzling smile that never failed to make her knees weak.

  Richard.

  She suddenly lost her tongue and all she could do was stare at him like a simpleton.

  “Such silence, my princess.” he reached for her limp hand and kissed it. “What could it mean? Should I take that as a yes?”

  Cassandra’s mind raced. Richard was asking her to dance! How many times had she imagined herself in his arms, twirling in time to heavenly music and with eyes only for each other? Should she accept? Would it be proper? Where was his fiancée?

  She swept her gaze around the ballroom. None of the ladies present approximated Lady Desiree’s description, but then again, this was a masquerade. People were not supposed to be recognized.

  “It is but a simple dance, my princess,” Richard whispered. “I beg you not to break my heart and run away from me again.”

  Cassandra stiffened at his words. Could it be possible that he recognized her from Almack’s?

  “You do remember who I am, do you not?” He answered her unspoken question. “I must apologize for my previous behavior, but you have captivated me with your wit and beauty. I must plead my enchantment with you to excuse my bold actions. I confess, I felt more than inclined that night to offer you my heart on a gold platter to supersede Lord Cavanaugh’s silver.”

  Cassandra frowned. How dare he insinuate his interest in her when the whole of London is au courant of his betrothal? “Yes, I remember who you are,” she retorted curtly with a lift of her chin. “I am also aware that you, my lord, are betrothed to a fair lady of the ton.”

  “So—you’ve been paying attention.” his eyes held a satisfied gleam. “But she is not here now. If I may speak plainly, I have lost some sleep thinking if I may have made a rash decision and made the wrong choice. For I must confess, ever since I saw you, my mind was filled with no one else but you. You have bewitched me, my princess. I came here solely to try my luck in finding you and perhaps spend a few moments in your company.”

  Cassandra couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. He’d said everything she’d always wanted him to say, declared with utmost conviction his feelings for her. But nothing changed the fact that he was a man who was betrothed. He may have come here to be with her, but he had not yet broken his engagement—a fact that he had revealed so himself.

  No.
She couldn’t possibly allow herself to be involved with him. Her heart pounded so forcefully in her chest that her ears rang and her breathing quickened. Somewhere in the background, she heard the beginnings of a waltz and felt his fingers gently tug on her hand.

  “Please, princess.” she detected the note of appeal in his voice. “Would you grant me the honor of a dance?”

  She hesitated. Did he sincerely mean what he’d said about his feelings for her—or was everything just some cruel jest at her expense? Was he trying to charm her into submission so he could get her into his bed? She looked into his eyes and saw nothing except a sincere, open plea to dance with him. Her resistance crumbled.

  “Very well.” she allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor, all the while convincing herself that there was no need to fret overmuch. Besides, no one would recognize her except for Allayne and Mama. However, since they were not out looking for her, Allayne must have taken himself off to the card room thinking he would find Jeremy there, while her mother probably thought she was with her brother and sat with the dowagers, catching up on the latest on-dits.

  Really—there was no need to fuss. For it was only a dance.

  However, as soon as Richard swept her into the graceful movements of the waltz, she realized how mistaken she was. The heat of his hand warmed the small of her back and his broad chest obscured others from view, leaving her feeling alone with him, locked in a magical ballroom, a prince and a princess isolated from the rest of the kingdom.

  And God help her, but he danced effortlessly, flawlessly, gracefully! They glided and twirled in unison on the dance floor, with fluid steps guided by his expertise.

  His sapphire eyes never left hers and Cassandra realized, with a jolt of awareness, that this wasn’t just a dance. This was the beginning of a courtship—one that, both of them were well aware—was forbidden.