by V J Dunraven
Neither his serene expression nor his heavy breathing changed.
“Jeremy!” She said in a louder voice. “Wake up—I’ve something to tell you.”
He replied with a groan and turned on his side, facing away from her.
“Jeremy!” She jiggled his shoulder. “Wake up, you oaf—I have an idea!”
He mumbled something that sounded like “Go away,” and pulled the throw over his head.
“I think I figured out what the problem was,” Cassandra prattled on, “are you listening to me?”
He replied with a grumble.
“It seems I need to change my style.” She yanked the throw off his head and held it fast when he tried to yank it back. “You see, I never really paid any attention to how important it was, but now, I am stupendously enlightened.”
Jeremy shifted without opening his eyes and snatched the pillow behind him, placing it on top of his face.
“I know you might think that I am foolish and such, but I truly believe this could be the solution to the problem.” Cassandra shoved the pillow away, letting it drop on the floor. “You must help me with my plan. Jeremy—are you listening?”
She heard a muffled curse and took that as a yes.
“Remember how we all grew up together like brothers and sister? Well—I no longer want to be viewed as the sister. I know I had my season and had the opportunity to mingle with the crème de la crème of the ton—but that was only because of you. They thought you were interested in me, so they got curious and I became all the rage. But—Jeremy—” she shook his shoulder. “Listen to me!”
He jerked his shoulder away with a growl and wrenched the throw from her grasp, pulling it over his head again as he curled into a ball.
“Like I was saying—” she tapped a finger on her cheek. “All those men wanted me because of you—which is all wrong. I want them to want me—because of me. Did you hear what I just said, Jeremy?”
His reply came in the form of a guttural sound and more stifled swearing beneath the throw.
“Oh, good—I’m glad you’re paying attention,” she eagerly pressed on. “Anyway—here’s the plan. I don’t want to be a silly country chit any more, and go gallivanting in breeches looking like a stable boy, like what my Mama always say. I want to be everything a man could want! I want to talk, move, dress and do things the right way. I want to be the most desirable woman—and become every man’s erotic dream. Yes—that’s precisely what you said about Countess Woolworth’s titties and all the men follow her around like puppy dogs.” She clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, Jeremy! Wouldn’t it be divine if I can be like her? I want to be the most sensual, tantalizing kind of woman! Will you help me, Jeremy? Oh, please-please-please—will you show me—so I can seduce Richard?”
“What!” Jeremy sat up so abruptly that they butted heads and landed in a heap of tangled limbs on the carpet.
“What the fuck are you babbling about?” he demanded in a voice that had escalated into a snarl, as he rubbed his forehead.
“Oh, Jeremy! Can’t you see?” She framed his face in her hands and grinned widely. “You must teach me how to become Princess Charming!”
Chapter 21
Capturing Princess Charming
“No, no and no! Have you gone daft?” Jeremy plunged his fingers through his disheveled hair as he paced the floor in the library.
“But you’re the only one who can teach me,” Cassie trailed after him. “Please, Jeremy—this is a matter of life and death!”
“Gah! Life and death my arse!” He paused and glared at her. “Since when did seducing an unsuspecting man become so dire to your person?”
“But it is! I can’t live without Richard and I’ll just die if he marries that goat lady!” She followed him around the coffee table as he resumed his pacing.
“Then I’ll go make sure we don’t bury you in the pasture, so the goat lady will not bother your dead self,” he snapped over his shoulder at her.
“Jeremy! I’m serious!” Cassie stomped her foot on the carpet.
He stopped and turned to face her. “What—do you think I’m jesting?” he yelled, before moving towards the fireplace. “The answer is no, brat!” He flopped down on the chaise and grabbed his boots. “I used to think you had a brain inside that skull of yours, but now I see it contained nothing more than rotten mincemeat!” He angrily shoved his foot into one boot and yanked it violently, muttering, “Gah! What a preposterous proposition!”
“But it’s the only thing that could work!” Cassie persisted, twisting her hands together fretfully in front of him.
“I don’t want to hear any more of this madcap scheme of yours.” he looked up and shook a forefinger at her.
“But-but—”
“Uh-uh-uh! No more buts!” He stood up and smoothed his wrinkled clothes. “I’m going home to get more sleep. I don’t want you showing up at my house and hounding me—do you understand?”
Cassie pursed her lips, plunked onto a chair by the fire and sulked.
Ha! She can mope all she wants! Jeremy muttered as he marched towards the foyer. I don’t give a rat’s ass!
“Jeremy! Are you on your way out, old chap?” Allayne rose from a chair as he passed the drawing room.
Jeremy paused by the doorway and pulled on his riding gloves. “Yes, I’m afraid I need a little bit more rest without your sister manipulating me into one of her obtuse plots.”
“Oh? And what is she about now?” Allayne strolled towards him.
“The usual demented trickery on how she could snag Richard.” Jeremy angrily jerked the edges of his leather gloves and flexed his fingers for a taut fit.
“I see. And what demented trickery is she scheming as of late?” Allayne crossed his arms over his chest.
“She wanted me to teach her how to seduce Richard.” Jeremy yanked his coat from the rack and thrust his arms furiously into the sleeves.
“And you agreed?”
“Hell—no!” Jeremy adjusted the collar with forceful tugs and scowled mightily at Allayne.
“Why-ever not?” Allayne regarded him with an amused expression.
“What do you mean—why not?” Jeremy had the sudden urge to twist Allayne and Cassie’s necks into a single braid. “Have you lost your marbles? Can’t you see she’s obsessed with Richard?”
“Actually, I believe, she believes, she’s hopelessly in love with him.” Allayne replied with an annoying dimpled half-smile.
“I don’t give a fuck!” Jeremy threw his hands in the air. “Richard is not the right man for her.”
“Oh?” Allayne raised his brows. “And who do you think is—” he narrowed emerald green eyes identical to Cassie’s at him, “—you?”
Jeremy felt the rush of heat spread across his cheeks and extend outwards to his ears. He grabbed his top hat and adjusted it low on his brow to conceal his discomposure. “I’m tired. I must take my leave,” he said in a voice that came out a bit too gravelly for his preference.
“Certainly—and may I remind you, my friend,” Allayne gave him a single slap on his shoulder. “I’m still a perfect shot.”
Jeremy stomped straight to his study at Waterford House in a dark mood. He grabbed the decanter of brandy from the sideboard, poured himself a measure and tossed the liquid down his throat.
What the hell was Allayne trying to insinuate? That Richard was a better man than he was—or that he’d put a bullet through his head if he touched Cassie? On the other hand—perhaps the idiot meant both!
Jeremy poured another measure of brandy and swallowed it all in one gulp, ignoring the burning trail it left all the way down his belly. He felt insulted by Allayne’s threat and angry at Cassie—the little twit! She’d certainly done it this time! Why couldn’t she let go of Richard? What obsession was this that a
fflicted her like a goddamn disease?
Yes—he could accept the fact that Richard was the epitome of a gentleman in every way. His life had always been perfect from the day he was born. He probably did everything right since he started crawling in the nursery. Richard was his total opposite. Damn—if one compared his accomplishments and the way he had chosen to live his life—he could never hold a candle against him.
Moreover, even though he had a definite advantage over Richard when it came to the ladies, he knew they only wanted him because he had a sterling reputation in bed, a high-ranking title to match and was as rich as Croesus—aside from being blessed with his mother’s good looks.
None of them really cared for who he truly was, how he felt, or what he thought about certain things. No one ever looked past the fancy trimmings surrounding him—the dashing Jeremiah Devlin Huntington, Marquess of Waterford. None of them cared enough to reach out and find the real person behind the caricature society has of himself. None—except Cassie. Who loved him only as a friend and whose heart belonged to no one else, but Richard.
Perhaps he was the bigger idiot. Perhaps the moment had come for him to get out of Cornwall and travel to Europe. Perhaps time and distance would make him forget—and give him the much-needed motivation to find someone else. Jeremy put his glass down on the table and tugged the silk bell pull hanging near the side of his desk.
His butler, Barton, tapped on the door and entered a minute later. “Did you need anything, my lord?”
“Yes,” Jeremy sat in his chair and crossed his booted feet at the ankles on the table. “Have the maid bring up a supper tray for me. I am retiring for the evening. I do not wish to be disturbed.”
“Yes, my lord.” Barton glared pointedly at the dirt from his boots that settled on the polished mahogany.
“Do not admit any guests—including Miss Carlyle.” Jeremy ignored Barton’s disapproving frown.
“My lord?” Barton tore his gaze from the dirty table and raised a brow at him. “Even your betrothed?”
“You heard me, Barton. No guests—especially Miss Carlyle,” Jeremy said in a firm tone.
“May I ask why, my lord—in case she did visit and inquired?” Barton’s normally stoic face took on a look of befuddlement.
“No, you may not!” Jeremy said irritably. “I grant you the authority to close the door on her face if she does.”
Barton’s expression reverted to his usual lofty appearance. “Very well, my lord—just the door?”
“Out!” Jeremy stabbed a forefinger in the direction of the door. “And If I catch you accepting bribes from her—I’ll reduce your station to a footman, am I clear?”
“Yes, my lord.” Barton’s face reflected not a single emotion as he bowed with a flourish. “Though I daresay those bonbons were rather excellent,” he said, before hastily retreating out the door.
Jeremy glowered at his back with an exasperated shake of his head. The problem with older servants, who have been around wiping his nose since he was a toddler, was they never could take it upon themselves to take their master seriously without being insolent.
He pulled some sheets of stationary emblazoned with his family crest from the desk drawer, and began writing to his solicitor and stewards about arrangements to be made in his absence.
Later that night, Cassandra pulled up her skirts and cloak above her knees as she climbed up the sturdy wooden ladder that Jeremy’s servants had prepared for her. Morton informed her this afternoon that Barton sent a message, saying she was officially banned at Waterford House and the cost for her re-admittance would be a large box of chocolate bonbons.
Hence, Cassandra entered into negotiations with the Waterford staff, with Morton acting as the Chief Liaison between her and Barton—the other side’s Mastermind. Within an hour, the bribe was paid, a treaty was declared and necessary arrangements were made, through the underground organization existing beneath the noses of their aristocratic masters, known as the Servants’ Union. In short order, the ladder was left in place and the latch on the window to Jeremy’s bedchamber was disengaged.
Cassandra pushed the well-oiled windowpane aside and slid into Jeremy’s bedchamber. She knew how to navigate it even in the dark with only the soft flickering light coming from the fireplace, having visited it numerous times over the years with Allayne and Richard when they came over to play.
She slipped her hand in her skirt pocket to make sure she didn’t drop the ostrich feather she’d stashed inside to tickle Jeremy. He’d been so upset when he left and she’d been so distraught, for she hated quarrelling with him. She couldn’t bear to go to bed knowing he was angry with her. She just had to see him and appease his temper, and perhaps, make him laugh. Surely, he would forgive her once he sees the extra box of chocolate bonbons she had brought for him.
Cassandra tiptoed towards the massive bed, careful not to trip on any of the furniture. Thankfully, the low fire in the hearth and the moonlight streaming in from the windows provided some illumination. She heard his heavy breathing as she got nearer, pulling the ostrich feather from her pocket with a stifled giggle.
As she came upon the edge of the bed, however, the laughter died on her lips. Jeremy lay sprawled on his stomach with a white satin sheet covering the lower portion of his legs—but other than that—he was stark naked.
Cassie could not remember how long she stood there gaping at him, the ostrich feather in her hand poised in mid-air. Aside from the naughty sketches of couples in various stages of entanglement and undress in Allayne’s naughty pamphlets, she had never seen a real man without a shirt before—much less without his breeches! She debated if she should stick with her plan—or jump out the window.
Curiosity won.
Threading lightly on the carpet, she inched closer and climbed on the massive bed, careful not to disturb him—and thankful that he slept deeply. She crawled on all fours in a slow, cat-like motion and cautiously sat next to the poor unsuspecting man. Her gaze traveled the breadth of his shoulders. She had never thought of Jeremy as muscular, but now the evidence was right before her very eyes. He had wide shoulders with lean ripples of flesh, and his arms were sinewy, boasting bulging biceps and a sprinkling of dark hair. Cassandra’s mouth went dry as she followed the curve of his spine all the way down to his prominent bum.
Good Lord Almighty—but that bum could smother the entire female population of England! Her hand flew to her mouth as she spotted the two indentations right above the delicious mounds. Well-well! It seemed Jeremiah Devlin Huntington had dimples after all!
He suddenly stirred and flopped on his back in a single motion, arms extended over his head, his tousled black hair falling over his brow. The sheet slid further down and draped over his knees.
Cassandra thought her right and left eye would trade places at the delectable smorgasbord of manly delights spread before her. She had never pictured Jeremy as a grown man. He had always been a young boy to her—her childhood friend—the same way Richard probably thought of her.
But now, standing here with this outrageously virile male species, cast in the same mold as the God of love and desire, Eros—wasn’t that the name of his horse? Her eyes darted in the direction of his proudly jutting sex and she felt a flood of heat spread from her hairline to her cheeks, all the way down to her toes.
Sacred myrtles of Aphrodite! She fanned herself with the feather as sweat broke upon her brow. Jeremiah Devlin Huntington certainly was as well-hung as a prime-blooded stallion—may God save the Queen! she mumbled soundlessly, making a hasty sign of the cross.
She dragged her gaze away from that most enticing part of his anatomy and studied his broad chest, chiseled with well-defined muscles and matted with thicker black hair tapering downwards into a dark line, ending in the area between his legs.
Good God in heaven, if her mother knew what she had been star
ing at, at this very moment—she would have an apoplexy and would probably never wake up again.
Her fingers twitched with the unimaginable, utterly incorrigible desire to touch the forbidden fruit. Should she—or should she not?
Naturally—curiosity won. She timidly reached out and touched a fingertip at the swell of muscles on his chest, delighting at the rough texture of the hair covering his smooth skin. He felt warm and smelled clean—a mixture of lavender, musk and mint.
She trailed her finger lower, following the column of hair that narrowed then flared into the groomed thatch of dark curls, nesting his sex. He had mentioned not too long ago how men copulated with women, but indubitably with the size of that—that sausage—surely he was mistaken? She leaned in for a closer look, and then, gently poked the appendage with the pad of her forefinger. It suddenly twitched and sprang into attention, much like a startled serpent poised to strike. She recoiled so fast, she tossed the ostrich feather and fell back on her bum, causing the bed to rattle.
“I hope you find everything to your satisfaction, Miss Carlyle,” Jeremy drawled, regarding her with a smoldering heavy lidded gaze and a heart-stopping, belly-dropping crooked smile—which could very well be fatal enough—to slay the wicked Queen and capture Princess Charming.
Chapter 22
The Prince of Darkness
In her entire eighteen years of existence here on earth, Cassandra Carlyle had never thought her short-lived life would end with death due to extreme humiliation.
She was caught where her finger—and her nose should not have been impertinently prying, and at the moment, the question of what to do or what to say to justify her behavior, had yielded not a speck of an excuse.
She stared warily at Jeremy who was eyeing her with a knowing smirk. Never mind if he did not have any stitch of clothing on, the wretched man seemed not to give a fig. She must admit, he looked quite threatening in his state of undress and did not behave like her Jeremy at all.