The Promise

by V J Dunraven

  Cassandra suppressed the seed of frustration that bloomed in her belly. Why couldn’t fate be kinder? Why couldn’t she have him to herself when here he was, offering himself to her without reserve? What had she done that had been so wrong as to offend the Gods in heaven and bestow such inevitable doom upon her head?

  “I don’t even know your name,” Richard whispered in her ear. “I’d like to see you again, princess, if you will let me.”

  Cassandra snapped her head up, alarm rising in her throat. She had almost forgotten. They may have spoken to each other at Almack’s, but she had never given him her name! He didn’t know who she truly was, nor did any of the guests in this room. Both of them were just anonymous painted faces in a sea of kings and queens, princes and princesses, and a number of costumed others.

  Could it be possible for her to be with him for just one night, shrouded under the protection of anonymity? To delight in his embrace, to lose herself in his kiss—for just a few stolen moments before he was gone? Could she have Richard—at least once—before he was taken away from her forever?

  Cassandra’s heart lurched in earnest at the thought. He could never be hers—what else was there for her to lose? Life was too short to spend wondering about what could have been. What difference would it make if she took her chances with him now? One night was all she needed. To share an embrace and a few kisses—a treasured moment in time where both of them belonged to no one, but each other.

  “Meet me by the fountain in the garden,” she said with a slight tremor in her voice as the waltz ended. Then, she slid from his arms and disappeared into the festive throng of colorfully dressed guests, her back straight and heart pounding with excitement.

  A few minutes later, she emerged from the veranda and made her way into the dimly lit gardens below. Lanterns lined the path and flickered from the trees as she wandered deeper into the hedges. Around her, concealed from view, she could hear the giggles and murmurs of couples out on a rendezvous.

  She wrinkled her brows as she came upon a centerpiece with the statue of Aphrodite on a pedestal. From where she stood, the pathway divided into three lanes. She wondered where the blasted fountain could be, before deciding that the most practical way would be to take the middle. However, as she neared the end of the trail, she heard the gush of water not just from ahead, but also from either side of the tall hedges separating the pathways.

  She paused in her tracks, uncertain of what to do as she realized there was more than one fountain. The garden on this part of the property was very dark, save for an occasional flickering lantern here and there. The silken light of the moon washed over the landscape, turning everything it touched into a somber shade of silver-gray, crowning the ebony shadows waving in the slight breeze. Everything appeared unfamiliar and mysterious, inciting a spurt of doubt in her bosom.

  Cassandra wondered if she should just give up and turn around. Maybe this was a mistake. Perhaps she should return to Mama and Allayne.

  Then, from the corner of her eye, she caught a movement. Spinning around, she caught a glimpse of him up ahead, resplendent in his magnificent prince costume. He had his back turned, facing the enormous fountain—waiting for her.

  A renewed determination shot through her veins. She could do this—wouldn’t miss it for anything. Fairly trembling with anxiety and anticipation, she sneaked up to him until he was just a breath away. But a crackle sounded as she stepped on a dried leaf, and he turned swiftly to face her. On impulse, she stood on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a passionate kiss before she completely lost her nerve.

  And God, did he match her passion with his own! He was a wonderful kisser, just the way she’d imagined him to be.

  Their tongues twined and he explored her mouth with such skill it made her moan and melt in his arms. The kiss went on and on until she felt his hand slide up to cup her breast and squeeze it gently. She gasped as his thumb rolled her nipple over the thin silk of her dress. Then, he plundered her mouth some more, in a demanding kiss that sucked all the air from her lungs.

  Cassandra’s knees turned to jelly. She leaned heavily against him, lost in her own world of rapture. His arms tightened more possessively around her, crushing her into his hard, muscled chest. She didn’t know what to think when suddenly, his mouth left hers and skimmed over her throat, gliding downwards in a lazy course until his tongue found the cleft between her breasts and dipped in with wet, slow strokes.

  A surge of warmth flooded the triangle between her thighs and she closed her eyes, allowing him to feast on her bosom. When she couldn’t stand the sensations he aroused any longer, she clutched his hair to bring his mouth back to hers. Good God, but she wanted to kiss him forever! She wanted to remember his taste, his scent, the feel of his hands on her. She wanted to imprint his whole person in her memory so that when this dream ended, she could play it in her mind over and over again.

  A small protest escaped her lips when he pulled slightly away, breaking their fervent kiss.

  “I see you’ve been practicing,” he drawled in that unmistakable voice Cassandra would recognize even on her deathbed.

  She gasped in shock and sprung away from him like a frightened rabbit, still panting from the heat of his bold advances.

  “J-Jeremy?” she managed to say in a small voice.

  “Who the devil did you think it was?” He pulled off his mask and gave her that heart-stopping crooked smile of his. “Prince fucking Charming?”

  Chapter 11

  Afterglow from The Kiss

  Cassandra had never felt so mortified in her life. “Oh my God! Jeremy, you lecherous oaf!” She shoved him away from her, shocked beyond words at her mistake and his presumptuousness. How dare he kiss her like that and fondle her—her—

  “Did you remember to bring the soap powder?” he asked blithely, as if nothing notable had happened between them.

  “What?” she exclaimed in dismay, feeling the slow burn of anger rising in her throat.

  “The soap powder—”

  “I heard what you said, you dolt! How can you just stand there and ask for the stupid soap?” She repeatedly jabbed a forefinger at his chest for every word she’d said.

  He pursed his lips and raised a dark brow. “Why? Did you forget to bring some?”

  “You just had your tongue in my mouth and your paws on my titties, you lascivious ogre—and all you can think about is the soap?”

  “Oh—that.” he grinned.

  “Yes, that!” she fairly screamed at him.

  “Where’d you learn how to kiss like that?” He waggled his eyebrows at her, annoying her even more.

  “Nowhere! What kind of idiotic question was that?” She felt the blood rush to her cheeks and was thankful the darkness hid her embarrassment.

  “Just wondering.” he shrugged.

  “Wondering? Wondering about what?” She fisted her hands on her sides. Oh, how she would love to plant a shiner on his jaw right now!

  “Nothing.” he raised his shoulders in all innocence—which fueled her ire to increase another notch.

  “Nothing? That’s all you can say—nothing?” she yelled with another stab of a forefinger on his chest. “You’re not even going to apologize for molesting me, you shameless, insensitive beast?”

  “Why should I?” he snorted with a twist of his lips. “You started it.”

  “I—what?” She gaped at him with incredulity.

  “You—” he retaliated by pressing his forefinger on her forehead with a little jolt, as if to juggle her brains on the correct order of things, “started. It.”

  Cassandra was at a loss for words. Yes, she had sort of—started it, didn’t she? And he had sort of—played along with her, didn’t he? Her anger melted into a puddle and she would have admitted her gaffe right there and then—if he would have j
ust shut his mouth and waited for her to wheedle her way out of her faux pas.

  But oh no—this was Jeremy, the King of Unmannerly Louts, and he had to mumble something about her attacking him with a lewd kiss, like some lusty tart, compromising his virtue as a proper gentleman.

  After that audacious retort, she failed to hear the rest of what he was saying. Her wrath had thundered back with a vengeance and to describe her state of mind at that moment—well—she simply lost it. The devil himself must have possessed her sensibilities because the expletives that spewed from her mouth shocked even the jaded Jeremy. She had thrown a tantrum so furious that the next thing she knew, her fan had broken into two, Jeremy had ended up in the fountain clutching his groin, and for some reason, she had lost a shoe.

  All she could think of, as she marched off in a huff minus one slipper without looking back was—how dare he act so dense and unmindful of her feelings after what had happened between them? Didn’t all that kissing and touching affect him at all? Did he see her as just another one of the many women he debauched without remorse?

  Later that night, she was still ruminating about the same questions in her head as she lay in her bed staring at the ceiling. She could not understand her reaction to his kiss and his caresses. He had woken something she was unfamiliar with—a yearning, a need to experience all those things she’d covertly read about in Allayne’s naughty pamphlets hidden under his bed. In spite of her resentment of what he had done, she could honestly not find it in herself to feel violated.

  On the contrary, she was more disappointed when he nonchalantly dismissed the episode. She had been waiting for him to bestow her that crooked smile—and tell her how amazing their kiss had felt, how different she was from all the other girls, how wonderful, how special it had been. But instead ... Cassandra frowned in the darkness.

  Apparently, the cad did not feel the need to reassure her. He was as bland as a boiled potato and as romantic as a side dish of turnip. She couldn’t believe he’d fondled and licked her breasts, and then a minute later—had forgotten all about it! The salacious beast! She recalled how she’d dunked him in the fountain and she sniffed in satisfaction. Serves him right! She pounded her pillow and pulled the sheets up to her chin, willing herself to stop thinking about the infuriating, wicked man, as she drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 12

  The Spectacle at the Soiree

  Three days later

  The Templeton Soiree

  Jeremy Huntington stood with a flute of champagne in his hand next to a large pillar on the stairway landing, watching Cassie hold her court in the ballroom below. She was dressed in an emerald green and gold gown instead of the tawdry, virginal white that debutantes favored.

  Her court was impressive as usual, composed of high-ranking peers of the realm and a few others who had the gall to pay their suit, despite the intimidating rivals. His plan of increasing her chances for a good match had certainly worked. Her suitors now included the most eligible bachelors of the ton.

  Jeremy slid a little further back into the shadow of the pillar to conceal himself not just from the Matchmaking Mamas, but also from Cassie. She had been utterly furious with him for what had happened at the Libbey’s Masquerade Ball, and had since refused to see him.

  Jeremy smiled to himself as he took a long sip of the bubbly liquid. She had been vexed in the extreme when, after she’d recovered from her shock, he asked her if she’d remembered to bring the soap powder for the fountain—as if nothing of import had occurred in the past ten minutes.

  She had thrown quite a nasty fit, kneeing him in the groin and breaking her fan over his head, not to mention all the horrid names she had called him—which he had taught her himself, by the way. Then, when he had told her she was the one who had started it, kissing him like a tart in the first place—he was clobbered with a shoe and pushed into the fountain without much further ado.

  Ah, so what if he had gone home dripping like a wet rag, his costume smudged with slimy moss, to the dismay of his coachman and discomfiture of his valet, Percy? Truth be told, that was the most fun he’d had in the last fortnight! Jeremy chuckled as he swirled the last of his drink in the glass.

  However, after three days had passed and still, Cassie refused his calls, he’d begun to miss her. He’d even worried that he might have overstepped his boundaries, for even though he’d meant to just play along in the beginning, the moment their bodies touched, he was made aware of the fact that his little brat—was no longer little. In fact, she was a full-grown woman with luscious curves and a coquettish streak that had both astonished and aroused him.

  It had not been his intent to get carried away—no, absolutely not at all, but his libido had taken over his brain and everything had gone quite fervid from there.

  Jeremy tipped the champagne flute to his mouth and drank its entire contents. Tonight, he planned to grovel at her feet to gain her favor back. He had likewise pledged to remember that Cassie was Allayne’s little sister. If even a peep of what he’d done to her reached her brother’s ears, he would be facing a duel opposite Allayne’s gun barrel at the first crack of dawn.

  He sobered at the thought. Allayne’s aim was so damned sharp he could blow anyone’s brains off with his eyes closed. It would be in his best interest if he kept his hands to himself and maintained a respectful relationship between them.

  Jeremy handed the glass flute to a passing footman and emerged from his hiding place, striding with swift purposeful steps towards the group of men surrounding Cassie. An unfamiliar pang of regret clutched him in the chest as he neared, for he knew that one of them would someday claim her and he would lose her forever. He frowned and shoved the thought aside. Though her suitors composed of the most sought-after bachelors of the ton, none of them had a faithful bone in their bodies. None of them deserved her, except perhaps the Duke of Kingston, who was the paragon of excellence in all things, in which he, Jeremiah Devlin Huntington, was not.

  “Jeremy!” he paused and swung around at the sound of a familiar voice calling his name.

  Richard waved at him from a few yards away and began to walk towards him.

  ”It’s good to see you, old chap!” Richard patted him on the shoulder as soon as he reached him.

  “Same here.” Jeremy returned the warm gesture. In spite of the hurt Richard had unconsciously inflicted on Cassie, he did miss his old friend and was glad he was back in town. “I didn’t see you come in. Have you been here long?”

  “No, we barely arrived.” Richard cocked his head towards Lady Desiree, who was in a conversation with a group of gentlemen.

  “I thought your father was ill.” Jeremy glanced at the blond beauty and wondered how Richard could stand the constant swarm of men around her. “What are you doing in London?”

  “My father was due for his regular visits to his physicians, so here we are,” Richard shrugged. “Who is with you? Have you seen Allayne?”

  “Yes, he’s over there.” Jeremy raised his hand to beckon at Allayne, who immediately excused himself from the group of gentlemen he was speaking with and headed towards them.

  “Ah, but if it isn’t the blushing groom.” Allayne gave Richard two forceful smacks on the back. “So, how has life been treating you, old boy? Do you feel the noose gradually tightening around your neck?”

  Richard chuckled and picked up a glass of champagne from the tray a footman offered to them. He took a leisurely sip from it, watching the tiny bubbles as they rose up to the surface. When he looked up again, he saw that Allayne and Jeremy were eyeing him with interest. He sighed. They had been friends for so long that they could almost figure out each other’s thoughts.

  ”Would it be ridiculous if I told you–” he vacillated if he should tell them the truth or not, but then decided to forge ahead. After all, he only had two best friends in the whole world and both of them wer
e standing here, waiting for an answer. “I—ah ...” he chuckled again and shook his head. Now—if he could only get past the damned lump wedged in his throat!

  ”What is it, old chap?” Allayne gave him another heavy-handed smack on the back, which was probably what he had needed to dislodge whatever was blocking his windpipe.

  ”I suppose—what I was trying say was—I met someone else,” he said in one breath and even then, he couldn’t keep himself from smiling. True, the lady had rejected him not only once or twice—but thrice, God help him! However, he simply could not disabuse himself of the notion that she was not indifferent to him. Lord, just the way she looked at him made his heart croon! And despite his greatest efforts, he could not deny the certain connection he felt with her—a deep, natural affinity that both fascinated and mystified him.

  ”You’re jesting!” Allayne exclaimed.

  ”No, he’s not,” Jeremy said. “He’s gone daft, that’s what.”

  Richard felt the heat rising on his cheekbones. He definitely was not jesting, but Jeremy was probably right. He had most certainly gone daft. “I am dead serious.” he looked both men in the eyes. “I feel troubled—and trapped at the moment.”

  ”Good God!” Allayne scrubbed his hand on his face. “You feel trapped—with her.” he pointed in the direction of Lady Desiree. “One of the most beautiful, desirable, best-dowered ladies of the ton.”

  Richard let Allayne’s words sink in, before he replied, “I know it’s hard to believe, but yes.”

  “I’m intrigued.” Jeremy narrowed his shrewd dark eyes at him. “Who is this special other lady who made you lose your head? Have you slept with her? Did she possess some special skill you enjoyed in bed?”

  ”Damn you, Waterford!” Richard admonished him under his breath. “Must everything always be about sex with you?”