by V J Dunraven
A small smile tugged the corners of her mouth as Cassandra gazed at the portraits once again. They all depicted memories of their childhood, cherished moments frozen in oil and canvass, forever immortalized.
He had never forgotten.
Her gaze settled on the last painting covered in white muslin. Unable to resist, she cautiously lifted the drape. As the unfinished rendering of Richard and she came into view, Cassandra gasped in awe. They were sitting atop their horses, Apollo and Artemis, looking at each other against the backdrop of the rising sun. Both of them no longer portrayed as children, but rather as a man and a woman meeting for the first time.
“Do you like it?” She abruptly turned at the sound of Richard’s voice behind her.
“Richard!” She felt her cheeks flame. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s all right.” He took the muslin from her fingers and unveiled his work. “Another day or two and it should be finished.”
“It’s beautiful,” she exclaimed, as the full length of the painting was revealed.
“So are you,” he whispered, and their eyes met.
Cassandra’s heart jumped to her throat. He had the bluest eyes she had ever seen. The scent of his cologne replaced the vapor of turpentine. She found herself enthralled by his nearness, the sheer breadth of his shoulders, and the masculine perfection of his body which might as well been carved by a sculptor. He looked so handsome that when she was little, she always thought he was an angel sent from heaven to watch over her in secret. Every time she witnessed his solemn acknowledgement of his God at the beach, or turned up just in time to rescue her from all sorts of mishaps and relentless teasing from Jeremy and Allayne, she believed it more and more. The fascinating connection between him and the man up in the clouds he called his Father was undeniable. Four days ago, the first time she saw him again with his eyes closed and face upturned to the heavens—he looked exactly like an archangel in a conversation with the Divine.
But in spite of Richard’s spirituality, he was never religious. He wasn’t one of those people who went to church every Sunday or memorized every bible verse like a preacher. He never prayed aloud on his knees nor sang hymns of praise to profess his devotion. Richard always communed with his God in a special way. In fact, everything about him was special. For her, he was the epitome of what an ideal man should be and she adored him endlessly.
Someone cleared his throat noisily.
Startled out of her cogitation, Cassandra swiveled her head at the same time as Richard, towards the doorway.
“Hello, sweetheart.” Jeremy strolled in and flicked his dark eyes at Richard.
He had been standing by the doorway watching them and he had felt offended. No—he was not jealous by any means! Just slightly upset that Cassie was here alone with Richard—looking up at him like a besotted puppy, ready to lap on his—well, if that wasn’t offensive, then, he didn’t know what was. After all, they were supposed to be betrothed—and he had all the right to feel resentful, right?
“Jeremy!” Cassie colored into a bright shade of pink.
Ah, how enchanting! Jeremy thought with satisfaction. Her reaction was exactly what one would expect from a blushing bride-to-be. He regarded her upturned face, with her large emerald green eyes and her soft pink lips slightly parted, and he couldn’t resist—the brat could slap him later when they were alone, but right now, he was determined to kiss her.
And he did—longer and deeper than he had intended.
Watch and drool, old chap! Those were his last thoughts before he felt Cassie lightly bite the tip of his tongue in warning. He pulled away and gave her his most charming crooked smile, ignoring the fury blazing in her eyes. “How are you doing old chap?” he turned his attention to Richard who looked every bit as embarrassed as she did.
“Fine, and you?” he replied with a little frown.
“Never been better.”
“And how was London?” Richard said in a tone that had a stern ring to it.
“Busy—what will all the—ah—errands and such. But I’m glad that’s all done and over with. I couldn’t wait to get home for I miss my sweetbrat, ahem—I meant—my sweetheart.” He wrapped a possessive arm around Cassie’s waist and pulled her close, keeping her half turned alongside him so that her breast pressed nicely on the side of his chest.
Ah, and wasn’t that just wonderfully erotic? His cock twitched in his trousers in response. No—he was not thinking that, because he liked it, but because they were betrothed and he was supposed to feel like he liked it—right?
Richard’s tawny brows furrowed and he glanced at the large diamond ring on Cassie’s finger. “Congratulations on your engagement,” he said in a voice that did not reflect his approval of his good fortune.
“Thank you.” Jeremy tightened his hold on Cassie and dropped a quick kiss on her lips, paying no heed to the heavy stomp she inflicted on his foot.
“How long have you two been courting?” Richard turned to Cassie.
“Er, ah—”
“A year,” Jeremy cut in.
“A year.” Richard narrowed his eyes at him. “Weren’t you seeing Lady Bosworth six months ago—at the same time as Miss Davis and Madame Le Blanc?”
Cassie gasped.
Jeremy’s amusement faded. “I didn’t know that news of my exploits were common-knowledge in Europe,” he replied icily.
“No, in fact they were not. It was Cassie who had apprised Allayne and me of your adventures through her letters.”
Cassie’s cheeks colored into a deep shade of red. “I-I—”
“Why don’t you run along and see the Duke?” Jeremy released her, angry now for being put on the spot. “Gordon told me you were here for a visit.”
“Yes.” Cassie immediately scampered away without looking at either of them.
Jeremy watched her disappear through the doorway before he turned irately at Richard. “What are you trying to suggest?”
“I should be the one who should ask you that.” Richard pinned cold blue eyes at him.
Jeremy clenched his jaw. Richard had always been a keen interrogator. He had been careless—he should have discussed details with Cassie and prepared for questioning from him. Richard was the kind of man who would not be easily persuaded—especially if he suspected something was amiss.
“Are you trying to imply that I am unfaithful to Cassie?” Jeremy asked in a rigid tone.
“Are you?”
“Whether I am or not, I believe it is none of your business.”
“Cassie’s well-being is my business.” Richard straightened to his full height—an inch over his own.
“Is it now? Did you even wonder about her well-being when you came home with your betrothed in tow? Do you know how much that hurt her?”
Richard eyes softened for a moment. “Why—I don’t understand—why would my engagement wound her?”
“Because she waited for you, you idiot!” Jeremy jabbed a finger on his chest. “Every Christmas, she sat by that damn window overlooking Rose Hill Manor drive, waiting for you to come back! Ten years, Richard—she waited ten fucking years and when you finally came home, you had Glenford’s daughter with you.”
“Good God.” Richard shoved his fingers through his hair. “I had no idea she would take a childhood promise so seriously.”
“Yes—it’s goddamn stupid—unbelievable even, but there you have it—she did. She was devoted to you and she missed you terribly. And when you returned with another girl, she felt betrayed. In her mind, she thought you had forgotten her—it didn’t matter if she saw you as her best friend, or her idol, or if she was infatuated with you. When she saw that other chit by your side, she thought you had replaced her.”
“Lord—no, that isn’t true,” Richard shook his head. “I missed her to
o, but I have always remembered her as a little girl of eight years. I admit I never pictured her as a grown young woman.”
“Well, she is—now.”
“And you’ve asked to marry her and she accepted,” Richard said gravely.
“Yes.”
“When you did decide to get leg-shackled? I didn’t get the impression that you were ready for a lifetime commitment.”
Jeremy shrugged. “I am. I took the plunge, didn’t I?”
“When did you ask her father for her hand? Did you get rid of all your mistresses before you began courting her?”
“Like I said before, my affairs are none of your business,” Jeremy said through his teeth. He hated being grilled in such a fashion, especially if he didn’t have definite answers to counter Richard’s pointed questions.
“Do you love her?” Richard regarded him with a reproachful look that made him feel like a defiant adolescent.
“Yes,” he replied without hesitation—not that he meant what he had said. He simply said what he was supposed to—the way Cassie’s future bridegroom should react—right?
“Well, so do I.” Richard looked him straight in the eyes.
And somehow, for the first time, Jeremy felt the sting of fear and vulnerability in losing Cassie, deep in the confines of his supposed-to-be-jaded heart.
Chapter 18
The Real Prince Charming
Richard walked into his father’s bedchamber with a bitter taste in his mouth. He was not in the least bit proud of confronting Jeremy. They had been friends since they were children—and this was the first time the two of them had gotten into a serious contention. He had looked forward to seeing Jeremy and resuming their friendship after his long sojourn in Europe, but now it seemed their unanticipated dispute could put a wedge between them.
“Ah, there you are,” his father beckoned from his bed.
Sitting on a chair by his bedside, Cassie looked up from the book she was reading for him.
Richard took in the domestic scene, delighting in the fact that Cassie had kept her visits to his father during his absence. They had always been fond of each other—an unusual proclivity for the normally somber Duke.
“How are you today, Father?” Richard leaned over the side of the bed to kiss the top of his head. His handsome countenance was gone, replaced by the haggard face of a man who had gradually deteriorated over the years. His strong, proud physique had become decrepit and his blond hair had turned silver, making him look much older than he was.
Richard blinked back the sudden sting of tears behind his eyes. After his mother had died just as he turned thirteen, his father had never stopped mourning her. But unlike other men who relieved their grief with dissipation, his father had withdrawn into himself, carrying the shadow of lingering sadness on his shoulders for over a decade until it finally consumed him.
“I feel wonderful,” his father replied, his weathered visage wreathed in a rare smile.
Richard sat on the edge of the bed and regarded him thoughtfully. His father’s bright blue eyes had faded with age, as did the zest for life that used to shine in them when his mother was still alive.
Ah, his parents were so devoted to each other—so happy and so in love—an extraordinary love-match in spite of the fact that their wedding was pre-arranged—a common practice in the upper class. Growing up, he had always watched their affection and faithfulness to each other, the warmth of which spilled over to him, their only beloved son. He remembered thinking, he wanted that same kind of life—to love and be loved with such great devotion by the woman he would marry someday. His gaze wandered to Cassie.
The corners of her mouth lifted as her brilliant green eyes met his. His heart fluttered in his chest. She was looking at him the way his mother used to look at his father from across the room. He stifled the sudden urge to reach over, cup her cheek with his hand and bring her lips closer for a kiss.
It had been such a long time since he had experienced the liveliness of her company, the laughter and camaraderie that came with her friendship, and the joy of spending time together doing the simple things they both loved. Ah, how he missed those days and how he regretted coming home too late.
Cassie. God, she was perfect—but already taken—of all people—by one of his best friends. And so was he—of all things—bound in a betrothal to please his father who was dying.
He glanced at his dear father, frail and fading before his very eyes. Could he bear to disappoint him during his last few days on earth in lieu of pursuing his own happiness?
His mind drifted to Cassie. She was no longer free. Could he really act like a heartless, unscrupulous, evil swine, throw away everything he’d been taught as a proper gentleman and steal her from a good friend who was more like a brother? Could he live with himself if he did?
He gazed at her, unable to hide the bleakness that suddenly crept in his heart.
Cassie’s expression changed into that of concern. “Richard?” She tilted her head and searched his face. “Is anything the matter?”
“What? Oh—no.” his eyes slid down to the large engagement ring she wore over her gloved finger and he forced a smile, ignoring the burgeoning heaviness in his chest. “Jeremy—he’s waiting for you in the drawing room downstairs.”
Jeremy checked his fob watch for the third time as he stood in the drawing room. Half an hour had passed since Cassie had gone to see the Duke and he was getting restless. His short but tension-filled exchange of words with Richard left him feeling like a fool—a juvenile caught with his hand in his pants. But Richard always had a way of assessing certain things—people included. When those piercing blue eyes of his scrutinized him, he felt as transparent as his flimsy lies.
Jeremy glanced at his watch once again before he shut its elaborately engraved cover with a snap and slid it back into his waistcoat pocket. He looked around for anything to keep him occupied and found himself staring at the large family painting on the wall.
He wandered over to the imposing portrait, flanked on either side by ornate Venetian sconces. The Duke and Duchess of Grandstone looked back at him with eyes filled with bliss. Their only son, Richard, barely two years old at the time the portrait was painted, sat with a wide smile on his mother’s lap, his blond hair and bright blue eyes identical to that of his father’s. The three of them personified the exuberance of a happy family.
Jeremy felt a twinge of envy. He wondered what it would be like to grow up in that kind of home. His mother had died when he was very young—of a broken heart, according to rumors, for his father was a scoundrel who constantly taunted her with his numerous affairs, including one with a pretty chambermaid.
After his mother had passed, his father had left him under the care of his tutors and servants while he went on with his scandalous ways. He barely knew his child existed, so Jeremy spent his childhood years squeezing his way into Allayne’s family, craving for a morsel of affection, which the Viscount and his wife, who was a dear friend of his mother’s, had given him aplenty.
And then one day, three years ago, he walked into Waterford House and found his father dead with the gun barrel still lodged in his mouth and his hand on the trigger.
Fuck him. He may have gone into mourning to satisfy protocol, but he spared not a single tear for the lousy bastard! His drinking, womanizing and gambling had bankrupted the coffers of Waterford Estates, leaving him, his son of barely twenty-one years to deal with the consequences. While his friends regaled themselves in Europe, he was left scrambling to save what was left of his inheritance. He used his share of the income coming from his overseas business ventures with Allayne and Richard to pay for his father’s staggering debts, but even then, it was not sufficient to save Waterford Park from ruin.
The burden on his shoulders almost destroyed him. Out of sheer embarrassment, he kept the real status o
f his finances from his friends. He had never felt so alone, so uncertain, and so frightened in his life. Were it not for Cassie, who continually pestered him and dragged him out of the house to Rose Hill every single day so her mother could fuss over him to eat his meals, he would have followed his father’s example and pumped a bullet through his head.
May the rotten scoundrel burn in hell for eternity! If not for his devil’s luck in attracting a good number of heiresses who not only willingly opened their legs, but also their purses to help him put the financial disaster of Waterford Estates to rights, his entire patrimony would have been squandered amongst his father’s shrewd creditors.
He flinched at the memory. He felt cheap, vile and dirty. More than anything, he hated himself, but he had to do what he needed to do—and it paid off handsomely. His prowess for numbers and his keen eye for investments worked to his advantage. In a span of only one year, he successfully restored Waterford Park to its former glory, making it one of the wealthiest estates in all of England.
He had no regrets—except for the fact that he sold his soul to the very same devil who possessed his old louse of a father. Every time he indulged in his philandering ways, he saw more and more of his loathsome bastard sire in himself. It would only be a matter of time before the tentacles of hell slithered and coiled around his neck in his sleep, and collected his collateral at stake.
“Jeremy?” Cassie’s voice was like an angel’s torch in the darkness that had saturated his thoughts.
He turned and she slipped her arm through his—the way she always did for as long as they had been friends. “What are you doing here scowling at the Grandstones?” She tugged him to her side as they walked towards the door. “I apologize for taking so long. Will you have dinner with us at Rose Hill? Allayne was wondering about what you’ve been up to, and Mama and Papa wanted to see you. We can play whist afterwards.”