by Meghan Sloan
His shoulders rose in a lopsided shrug, “He wanted to make things right when he saw how genuine I was about it all. And once we went over the business plan Norman and I had drawn up between us, Father could see that I was doing really well with it all. I had things set out, and I wasn’t being a fool about it. He’s happy to own Montgomery’s and let me run it.”
If this were anyone else, Cassandra would be really happy for them. It was a big thing for a father to pay for something as big as a business and turn it over to their child. But with Gabriel, it felt like there was a catch.
“Sounds like he’s trying to hold something onto you.”
“Not really. He says he’ll turn ownership over to me eventually,” Gabriel paused. “There is a catch, though. I must be married by Christmas.”
Married by Christmas? That was several months away, so why…
Then Cassandra realised what Gabriel was trying to say. Her heart racing, she shook her head.
“Oh, no. No, no. Don’t ask me to marry you, Gabe.”
“Why not? I love you, and I do want you as my wife. What’s wrong with that?”
“The fact that you broke my trust and used me isn’t a factor in all of this?” Cassandra shot back. “I can’t trust you. Not after what happened.”
Gabriel sighed and pushed himself off the window seat. Now she was seeing the man she had first met. Someone who had the confidence to swagger into the world and not care about anything else.
“And how long do I have to grovel before you’ll forgive me? Because if you give me a chance, I’ll make sure I do that every day for the rest of my life, as long as it makes you happy. I don’t want anyone else except you.”
“How am I supposed to be with someone who’s in charge of a rival business? Father won’t be too impressed.”
“We can work it out together. Make it a family business.” Gabriel took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, “I’ll do anything as long as I have you.”
He was really insistent on this. And considering that her way was blocked, he wasn’t going to let her leave until he got an answer. Preferably an answer that he wanted.
Don’t lie to yourself. You want this as well. You’re just trying to find another way to say no. And you’re running out of reasons why you can’t be together.
“Cassie,” Gabriel took a step towards her before he hesitated. He swallowed, and for the first time since Cassandra had entered the room, he looked unsure of himself. “I love you. And I want you to be my wife. Whatever you want, I’ll do it. Even if you make me beg every day we’re married until you find it in yourself to forgive me for what I did. Say yes, and I’ll make it my duty to make you happy every single day.”
“And if I say no?”
She saw the flash of pain across his face.
“I hope to God you don’t, but if you say so, I’ll let you leave. You won’t have to deal with me again.”
He would as well. Cassandra could see it. He really would let her walk away, and it would be the hardest thing he had done in his life.
“That will break your heart if I say no, won’t it?”
“Yes,” Gabriel swallowed. “It will.”
Cassandra knew she wouldn’t be able to leave with her head held high. Not after an admission like that. Pushing off the door, she walked towards him. Gabriel didn’t move, watching her approach him with a flicker of hope. Cassandra reached up and cupped his jaw, running her hand through his shortened hair. It was a good look on him.
“And it’ll break mine if I don’t see you again.”
“Was...was that a yes?”
Cassandra blinked back the tears, and she nodded.
“Yes. But you’d better start grovelling now.”
Gabriel growled. Then he wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her neck.
“I plan to do just that. You won’t regret it.”
This time when he kissed her, she could feel him smiling.
THE END
Can't get enough of Cassandra and Gabriel? Then make sure to check out the Extended Epilogue to find out…
Will Gabriel finally win Ernest Seton’s trust and approval?
What is the big announcement that Ernest Seton has to make? How will his exciting news affect Cassandra and Gabriel’s life once and for all?
What are Cassandra's special plans for Emily and Percy?
Click the link or enter it into your browser
http://meghansloan.com/cassandra
(After reading the Extended Epilogue, turn the page to read the first chapters from “Everything a Lady Craves”, my Amazon Best-Selling novel!)
Everything a Lady Craves
Introduction
Alice Sinclair’s delicate heart has longed for love since she was a little girl. However, when a charming man asks for her hand in marriage, she is hesitant to turn a new page in her life. Having heard the whispers about the man’s missing fiancée, she can’t help but wonder whether she could ever be anything but second best for him. Once they finally meet, the desire that sparks between them is undeniable, but there will soon be clouds on the horizon… Will Alice be able to finally satisfy the burning passion she holds for him, or will this romance be doomed forever?
The last thing Silas Wilmington expected after the unforeseen disappearance of his fiancée, was another tempting woman by his side. Tired of being haunted by his tormented past, he chooses to accept his inevitable fate with a heavy heart. But little did he know that the beautiful and seductive Alice was about to start a fire inside him... After having mourned his great love for a long time, he could have never imagined that romance could be on the cards for him again. Will Silas eventually let his wounds heal and surrender to Alice’s charm?
Just when they start unfolding their growing feelings, someone who holds the key to Sila’s broken heart appears and everything is about to crash down. Will their newly fledged passion endure a quick death, as the wounds from the past are still bleeding? Or will they survive to meet the passionate future they could have together?
Prologue
London, Summer, 1814
The woman stumbled slightly as she walked down the cobblestone alley. It was dark, and she squinted as she tried to make out the names of the shops. They were all hanging on wooden signs, which were squeaking and rocking in the wind. She felt her heart pounding harder. What if she could not find it?
The wind had created a tunnel, twisting and howling through the narrow alley. It was so ferocious that her bonnet suddenly flew off her head, as if a hand had reached down from the heavens and snatched it away. She stumbled more, as she awkwardly chased it, tumbling along the ground.
Eventually, she managed to pounce on it, picking it up with shaking hands, and tying the tattered ribbons beneath her chin tightly, to secure it.
She was tired. So tired, that she could barely put one foot in front of the other. Her eyes hurt, stinging with fatigue. All that she wanted to do was lie down and close her eyes. She wasn’t even fussy where at this point, as long as blessed sleep could overtake her, and she could rest, at long last.
She jumped at the sound of a cat mewling loudly behind her. She turned her head and watched the thin wretched creature dart past her legs. It was marmalade, with high pointed ears and large, almost haunted, green eyes. In its mouth it carried the skeleton of a fish, obviously pilfered from scraps that were lying all around. It did not even acknowledge her as it ran away, disappearing into the shadows with its prize.
Her heart started to slow down, just a little. She was jumping at everything. It was only a stray cat. It could do her no harm.
She kept walking, quicker now, staring at the wooden signs. She had never been in a place like this before and she was scared. Oh, she had heard all about the bad areas of London, the places that no respectable soul would ever enter. Her father had told her all about them when she was a little girl, although her mother had scolded him for scaring her afterwards.
There was the area known as the Min
t, he told her, which was the very worst. A slum, only ten minutes from London Bridge. A former genteel area that had collapsed into ruins and now was a pit of squalor, housing at least three thousand unfortunate souls. And then, there was the Almonry, near Westminster Abbey, known colloquially as The Devil’s Acre. Another was called the Rookery, or Little Dublin, on account of the high proportion of starving Irish who filled its putrid buildings.
She could still remember some of the street names of these notorious London slums. They had made her shiver in horror. Cat’s Hole, Dark Entry and Pillory Lane. It was a whole other world, a dark story that she had never imagined she would even glimpse, let alone be walking the streets.
London was an entirely different world for her. She had not been to the great city many times, but they still shone in her memory, like precious jewels. A matinee at Covent Garden, when she was ten years old, to see the ballet. A visit to the Royal Academy of the Arts, to view an exhibition. An afternoon at a genteel tearoom, where she and her mother had sipped the finest brew in white china cups, watching the parade of fine ladies and gentlemen strolling the pavement.
It was all a far cry from where she was now.
Her eyes widened in alarm as she saw two figures leaning against a lamppost. A gas lamppost that her father told her had only been introduced to the city this very year. The gas hissed and sputtered in its glass enclosure, flickering dimly, casting a wan light over the wet, grey cobblestones.
The figures were two women, she noted, as she drew closer. Young women dressed in garish gowns, their knotted hair hanging loose around their shoulders. One had a bright green feather boa wrapped around her neck. The other had hair an unusually bright shade of yellow. They stopped talking, watching her, as she walked by.
“Ooh, well, aren’t you a fine lady, then,” called the one with the yellow hair in a mocking tone. “Did your carriage break down, duckie?”
The two women laughed. It sounded like the cackles of witches in the night. She raised her chin higher. She would ignore them.
“Cat got your tongue?” called the other woman, with the feather boa. She turned to her companion. “She thinks she’s high and mighty, this one. We should teach her a lesson, bringing her airs and graces down Gilley Lane.”
They peeled themselves away from the lamppost, approaching her, almost circling her, like prowling cats. She felt a shiver of pure fear as her head whipped around watching them.
“Please,” she said in a small voice. “Please, will you tell me where the Black Swan Inn is?”
“The Black Swan?” said the woman with the feather boa. “Now, why would a fine lady like you want to know where that gambling den is?”
“It ain’t for the likes of you,” said the other, still circling her. “They play cards all night there and would sell their mother’s soul for an ale. Why do you want to go there? Are you selling trade?”
“That’s it,” said the feather boa woman, with delight in her voice. “It’s a trick, so it is! She’s dolled up like a fine lady to get custom. Some punters like to think they are with a bit of quality, don’t they?”
She stared at them, appalled, blushing fiercely. She finally realised what they were talking about. They were insinuating that she was a prostitute. As she stared at their garish gowns and painted faces, she suddenly knew that she was consorting with common whores.
A frisson of horror shuddered through her. She should have known straight away, of course. Why else would they be in this lane at night, leaning against a lamppost, looking like they did? But then, nothing in her sheltered upbringing had prepared her for such an encounter. She was in unknown, uncharted territory, without a map to guide her.
She knew she had to bluff it out. To show fear to them would be her undoing. Perhaps she should play along. It might be the only way to get to her destination.
She took a deep breath, raising her chin again. “That’s right,” she said slowly. “It’s all an act. And I have someone there who is waiting for me and willing to pay good coin. Could you tell me where it is, and I can be on my way?”
The woman with the yellow hair smiled suddenly, exposing a row of rotten teeth. “Well, aren’t you the clever one, then?” Her eyes, which had previously been cold, were now shining with admiration. “Do you pay extra to get the fancy clothes? It must be worth it. And your accent is ever so good.”
She took another deep breath. “Yes, I practice it, during the day. I talk with it all the time now. Makes it easier, you know?”
The woman with feather boa nodded. “I knew a girl who did that once. Called herself Lady Clara and acted like a toff to draw in a certain clientele.” Her smile faded. “I can’t do that, though. Can’t afford the coin for the good clothes, and besides, everyone around here knows that I am just Nellie from Little Row Lane. Where are you from, then?”
Her heart started pounding harder. That was the problem with lying. It often became so complicated. She couldn’t tell these common whores the truth. Suddenly, her mind flashed on an area of London that her father had told her about, the day he had talked about the slums.
“There are slightly better areas, of course,” he had said, frowning slightly. “Certainly not genteel, but not slums, either. Lambeth is one. Labourers and artisans live there, semi respectably. They are not rich, but neither are they thieves and scoundrels, like in the Mint, or The Devil’s Acre.”
The two whores were waiting for an answer. She took a deep breath.
“Lambeth,” she said. “I am from Lambeth. Meeting a client, at the Black Swan. I am already late, and he won’t be happy…” Suddenly, she knew how she could extract herself from this situation. “I can give you both a shilling, if you take me there. He pays well, and I got some, in advance.”
The women looked at each other. Then the one with the yellow hair nodded slowly.
“We will take you there, for a shilling each,” she said slowly. “Trade is slow tonight, and that wind is killing my ears. Besides, us working girls have to look after each other, don’t we?”
She smiled at them, so relieved that she almost felt like kissing their painted faces.
They didn’t talk any further. They simply started walking down the lane. She hesitated for a moment then followed them. She would simply have to trust that they would be as good as their word. She had been wandering these lanes for over half an hour now, looking for the Black Swan Inn, and she was growing anxious.
They all looked the same, with their grey cobblestones and shabby storefronts. It was like a maze. And she simply could not remember the name of the street or lane that the inn was located on. All she recalled was the name of it.
The woman with the feather boa glanced back to see that she was following. Then they turned, ducking into a narrower lane. She held her breath as she smelt something putrid rising to her nostrils. It smelt like burnt cabbage left out in the rain. A terrible, rotting smell, that she somehow knew she would never forget.
This lane was even darker, not even lit by a lamp. But suddenly she heard singing in the distance. An old folk song that she had heard the servants singing from time-to-time. This rendition was clumsy and raucous. And the voices were all deep and masculine. There was a hiccup or two amongst the words.
They are in their cups, she thought, a shiver of fear falling through her. They are so deep in them that they are stumbling over the words.
She almost felt like turning back and fleeing. She had never been around people who were the worse for strong drink, but she had heard about it. Her own parents were temperate, never allowing alcohol in the house, not even a glass of wine at dinner.
But she had come so far. And she knew it was all too late now. The die had been cast. She was on this journey, for better or worse.