The Conquest of Lady Cassandra

by Madeline Hunter

  He moved, and she felt the bed respond as he left it. She closed her eyes, and the sounds of dressing came to her. Then his steps crossed the chamber.

  She thought he had left and opened her eyes. Instead, she found him standing near her, looking down. He reached over and slid his fingertips down the side of her face in a caress that moved aside some wild strands of her hair. “I will tell them to prepare a bath for you.”

  Then he was gone.

  She sat up in the middle of the damp sheets and erotic smells of the bed. A bath and one caress. It was something, at least.

  Yates stopped his horse at the top of a low rise of land. He surveyed the landscape in front of him. It was mostly flat, and the nearby sea had intruded to create an uneven and changeable coast in the distance. Tracks of marsh alternated with farmland that hugged what high ground could be found.

  He had to laugh at himself when he saw the unpromising vista. He should have listened to his father and left this alone. No wonder the dispute had never been investigated. If the rest of the property looked like this, he was on a fool’s errand. Better if he had stayed at Elmswood with Cassandra.

  Since he had ridden this far, he went the rest of the way. A half hour later, he approached a flock of sheep being herded by two dogs and a man. Yates hailed the fellow who gave him a solid inspection before returning the greeting. His garments suggested the man was not a shepherd but a tenant. He wore a coat that while old still bestowed the appearance of a squire.

  Yates swung off his horse and introduced himself. Mr. Harper, who had pointedly taken note of Yates’s coats and saddle, brightened when he realized his visitor was a lord.

  “Come to see about some defenses here, finally?” he asked. “I don’t know what it takes for Parliament and the services to act. I’ve seen lights on the swamps at night that say someone is up to no good. Some men were here in June seeing what was what, and I told them that. Now with the Irish all but handing their western coast to the enemy—I’m thinking of sending my wife to her family up north, for protection.”

  Yates gazed to the coast. It was not far from here to Southampton, and he doubted there was any danger. Mr. Harper no doubt felt vulnerable, however. The terrain might not be hospitable to French landings, large or small, but it also meant isolation for the few who lived here.

  “I do not speak for the army or navy,” Yates said. “But I will report what I see to those responsible.”

  Mr. Harper decided that was an invitation to show him everything. He pointed to the spots where he claimed to have seen lights, and led to an especially swampy area to point out an abandoned boat. The boat appeared half rotted to Yates, and he guessed it had been there many years already.

  He let Harper talk, for the man had much to say. It was not until an hour later, as they walked up to where the dogs kept the sheep waiting, that he broached his real reason for being here.

  “Are you a tenant, Mr. Harper? Or is this land yours?”

  “I hope if I ever own land it is better than this, sir.”

  “Who does own it, then?”

  “Well now, that is not clear.”

  “You must pay your rents to someone.”

  Mr. Harper laughed. “Money leaves my purse, that is sure. Whether and how it lands in another’s after that, I do not know.”

  “Surely it lands in the purse of the person with whom you signed as a tenant.”

  “One would think so. That is how I expected it. But my family signed with one person, then it was sold to another.”

  They waded into the flock. The sheep shuffled along like a large, flat, formless animal with many little hooves.

  “With whom did you sign?”

  “A land agent. My father told me the property was Highburton’s when we took it. This was, oh, a good thirty years ago he told me that, and my family has been here twice that long. But at some point another land agent began coming for the rents, back when I was a boy. When I took over, I told him we needed some improvements and to ask Highburton about them. That was when I learned it wasn’t his any longer.”

  Yates judged Mr. Harper to be in his forties. Back when he was a boy was a long time ago. Whatever dispute had entangled this property had done so well in the past.

  “What is the name of the land agent who collects now?”

  Mr. Harper peered at him skeptically. “You be wanting to talk to him? If you think to buy it, you need to know that it is good for naught but sheep, and barely for that. So there’s no point in thinking of more rents.”

  “No one is looking to raise the rents. I am sure whoever owns this land is grateful for your long tenancy, and any future owner would not want it to end. I am asking for a family member who has expressed interest. I can see it is good for little, but I promised to look into it.”

  “Well, now, if the rents stay the same, not much difference to me who has an interest. The man I dealt with stopped coming years ago. No one comes now. I send the rents to town now, to the Bank of England.”

  It sounded as if the property were held in a trust. If so, it might be difficult to learn much more about it.

  He thanked Mr. Harper and mounted his horse to ride the rest of the property and see if it had as little to offer as this section did.

  Cassandra rearranged herself on the library’s divan and propped her book on her stomach. While she enjoyed Ambury’s company, the last two days alone had been very pleasant. These were the first hours she had enjoyed on her own since she went to Mama’s house, and she had missed being with her own thoughts and with no obligations for conversation.

  Gently crisp air entered the window nearby. It contained just enough of autumn’s scents and chill to announce that summer’s heat would not return for many months now.

  She wondered if Ambury had been glad for an excuse to leave for a few days. He was no more used to the constant company than she was. True, their sojourn here had permitted a variety of sensual explorations, and no man minds that.

  In saying he liked having a wife he could treat as a mistress, she had given him permission to do just that, it appeared. The result had been astonishing. A few of his commands had even shocked her, although she never let him know that. There were gestures of affection too. And yet—an essential intimacy had been lost from their first nights together, even if the pleasure more than satisfied on every count.

  He did not mind the hours in bed, then. He also appeared to enjoy the dinners to which the county neighbors had invited them, and the long rides to inspect the estate. Still, such frequent companionship was not normal between husband and wife, and she suspected he longed for town and his clubs and more varied activity.

  The fair day beckoned, and she set aside the book to go stroll in the garden. Her path took her through the big gallery. It was a tall, wide, and fairly gloomy space. Dark paintings lined its walls, and few of them offered much interest. Many of them could not even be deciphered. She decided that she would ask Emma for instructions on how to clean them.

  The light today permitted more to be seen than in her past viewings, and she stopped to admire a landscape that had caught her eye before. Today she noticed it included some tiny figures in the middle ground of the scene. Two of them carried something, perhaps a shrouded body. The lush and extensive landscape overwhelmed whatever burial had been depicted.

  Several portraits hung above the landscape, stacked in a vertical row all the way up to the molding. Her gaze followed the line up to the picture of a woman at its top. The woman’s eyes arrested her attention, then her mouth and the line of her jaw. The resemblance to Ambury was remarkable. The woman’s regalia marked her as a past countess, and from the fashions she wore, perhaps his great-grand—

  Her thoughts halted. Her gaze froze on the woman’s powdered wig and the earbobs dangling beneath its overwrought curls.

  She squinted hard at those jewels. Aging varnish obscured them badly, but—unless her eyes failed her—it appeared that beneath the yellow haze, sapphires hung from sett
ings holding large diamonds.

  Piercing disappointment stabbed her heart.

  Ambury had indeed been investigating her aunt, but not for some nameless individual. He thought the earrings had been stolen from his own family.

  Her mind jolted into a scramble of thoughts regarding what that meant and whether his promise to protect Aunt Sophie had been honest. She cursed herself for carelessness while she strode back and forth beneath the eyes of that ancestor.

  I will, however, promise to protect her, no matter what, so long as it does not compromise my honor. A lot of good that would do if he concluded Aunt Sophie was a thief.

  She cursed herself again, for not seeing what he was up to and for not understanding how he qualified his promise. She needed to talk to Sophie and be very pointed in demanding the truth, so she would be able to find her own way to offer protection.

  While she debated and plotted, a footman entered the gallery. He bore a salver on which a letter rested. She recognized her aunt’s hand from five feet away and rushed to take the letter. She told the footman to wait because she intended to jot a quick reply. While he retreated, she opened the seal.

  “Danger! Drama! Another Rescue! That is what I write to you about, dear Cassandra,” Sophie’s letter began. Alarmed, she devoured the rest.

  “Your tedious brother came to the house to remove me again. Fortunately, Highburton’s footmen refused him entry. Thank goodness you arranged for Angus to replace Sean”—Cassandra had arranged nothing. If one Scot had replaced another, it had been a coincidence. “There is nothing like a Scot built like an oak to send a coward like Gerald running. What a disappointment Gerald is to me!

  “He threatened something about the law and a solicitor and a forthcoming summons to Chancery. Angus sent at once for Southwaite. The denouement is I have been moved to Emma’s house, but Southwaite cannot ignore a court summons if one arrives, and it is only a matter of time before Gerald discovers I am here. I am sure that I have sanctuary until you return to town, however, and we will decide what to do then.

  “You are not to worry, dear. All is well for now.”

  Not worry? Her brother was acting like a madman. He had to know by now that she had married and was out of his reach. His pursuit of Aunt Sophie should have ended now that it lacked any coercive power.

  Instead, he had tried to abduct Sophie again. As punishment for Ambury thwarting him? In retaliation for ruining his plans? Perhaps it had been nothing more than an expression of his pique and anger. Who knew how long he would continue on this path?

  All kinds of potential developments raced through her head. She could return to town next week and find Sophie gone, and Gerald named her guardian.

  She dared not risk that.

  She strode down the gallery to the waiting footman and sent him for the butler.

  London was asleep by the time Yates stopped his horse after a grueling ride with minimal rest. He tied the animal in front of his family home, then let himself in. The servant manning the entry startled out of a dream when he shook the man’s shoulder. Embarrassed, the servant jumped to his duties and set about having the horse cared for.

  Yates mounted the stairs to his chambers. Inside, he stripped off his coats and shirt and washed with water a servant brought up. Higgins had been left at Elmswood to follow in a carriage, so he did for himself.

  Once Yates learned that Cassandra had departed Elmswood Manor in haste, he had himself done the same, even though it was not clear if that were necessary. All Yates learned from the butler was that a letter had come that called her back to town. Her own explanation—a brief note saying the letter had come from her aunt—hardly illuminated matters.

  He expected to find the entire household asleep, so it surprised him to see the line of light at the bottom of Cassandra’s door when he looked down the narrow passageway. He had assumed he would wait until morning to find out why his bride had bolted without more than a one-sentence explanation. That light raised concerns that banished the irritation he had carried with him all those hours on horseback.

  Perhaps her aunt had suffered some accident or illness. Maybe the situation had turned tragic. He did not like to think of Cassandra sitting in her chamber all alone if that were true.

  Pressing the door open, he saw her sitting at her writing desk, intent on whatever she scribbled. The light from her lamp gave her profile a golden glow. Her eye appeared very dark, and her lashes very thick, and the tumble of curls falling down her back had already escaped whatever discipline a brush had imposed.

  Picking up a small chair by its back frame, he set it down beside the desk so it faced her, then sat. She set her pen in its holder and slid her letter under the blotting paper.

  “I did not expect you for several days,” she said. “I told the butler to tell you that you should complete what you needed to do in Essex, and that I would manage here on my own.”

  “He is too discreet, and wise, to ever pass on a message like that. He would worry that I would not take well my wife giving me permission to act this way or that, and he probably feared that I might blame the messenger if I heard it.”

  Those dense lashes lowered, obscuring whether she hid sparks of humor, regret, or rebellion from his view. “My apologies. I left in such a rush that I did not think of the proper way to do it.”

  “There was no proper way to do it.”

  Ice entered her tone. “Was there not? Even when an emergency changes one’s plans?” She fished through some papers on the corner of the desk, plucked one out, and handed it to him.

  He read Sophie’s dramatic salutation, then the rest. “It appears that Southwaite had matters well in hand. Your aunt herself writes that you were not to worry.”

  “She also writes that Gerald threatened to bring the issue to the courts. Southwaite could not disobey any summons to produce her, and had no standing to defend her. It was incumbent on me to find another place for her, quickly, where she would be safe and where Gerald would never think to look.”

  He tapped the letter against the desk’s wood while he decided whether to have the row that was waiting now or later. She stared at him, not cowed in the least.

  “Where did you move her?”

  “I think it would be better if you did not know.”

  “You are my wife. I am responsible for your actions. I need to know what you have done, whether you think it a good idea or not.”

  “You are no more likely to refuse the courts than Southwaite. You might bar the door to Gerald, but you will not disobey a summons.”

  “And you would?”

  “If necessary, yes.”

  “I cannot permit that.”

  The look she gave him said what wisdom kept her from speaking aloud. It does not matter what you will permit.

  “I always knew you were bold enough, Cassandra, and not given to obeying rules that you did not accept. I can’t be surprised that you refuse to be an obedient wife, I suppose.”

  “I am obedient enough, Ambury. Since I married you to protect her, you cannot be surprised that I will disobey you to do so too, however.”

  The row still waited, like a storm on the horizon. It made the air brittle and their conversation pointed. The gaze she gave him dared him to stir those dark clouds, as if she welcomed a good tempest.

  For the first time he wondered if in the name of honor he had condemned himself to life with a stranger. Not because she had so quickly abandoned their honeymoon without a thought for his feelings. Not even because her loyalty to her aunt took precedence over her loyalty to him. And not because she had equated their marriage to the arrangement between mistress and protector, and had tempted him into doing the same.

  The real reason he wondered was in the way that she watched him.

  She did not trust him.

  “Tomorrow I will explain to you what I expect and don’t expect about some of your behavior in the future. For now, let us just go to bed.”

  She looked at his naked chest and a
question entered her eyes.

  “I will bid you good night, Cassandra.” He stood and walked away. “I have been riding too long to have much heart for giving my wife lessons of any kind tonight.”

  He strode to his bedchamber. No lamp had been lit there, and he could not be bothered with bringing the one from the dressing room. Without undressing further, he fell onto the bed and was half asleep before his face hit the coverlet.

  His hand felt a bulge beneath it. He flexed his fingers and groped. Velvet and lumpy, the bulge gave off various tiny sounds from its contents.

  Curious, he got up and carried the discovery into his dressing room. As soon as the lamp there illuminated it, he knew what it was.

  He opened the velvet purse’s drawstring and poured the contents into his palm. Sapphires and diamonds flashed. A folded paper floated to the floor. He picked it up.

  I retrieved these from Prebles this afternoon. The thirty days were up. Since our circumstances have changed, I give them to you at no cost. Return them to the family treasury, Ambury. As the future countess, they will eventually be mine again, I expect.

  He set down the jewels and the note that made clear Cassandra now knew why he had been so insistent in wanting to know how they came into her aunt’s possession. No wonder she had been so cold tonight, and so wary of him. Of course she did not trust him now, if she ever had.

  Chapter 21

  Cassandra rose early, putting a merciful end to a very restless night. The reunion with Ambury had played in her head the whole time she stayed in bed, and she hoped that getting dressed would exorcise the uncomfortable memories.

  She had never seen him truly angry before, but had guessed he would not be the type of man to bellow and yell. Instead, his mood poured out of him with silent intensity. His face possessed the ability to become quite hard when he did not soften it with smiles and wit. Last night, when he sat down in that chair that he swung beside her writing table, he had appeared carved out of ice.