It Happened One Night

by Stephanie Laurens

  Feeling as though he’d been pummeled with ham-sized fists, he stared at the empty doorway through which Delia had left. It couldn’t have been easy for her to have faced him like that—told him she cared for him, especially knowing her feelings weren’t returned. She’d exhibited a courage that he never had. He’d never admitted his feelings to Cassie. Never told her he loved her.

  He froze, then, as realization sank in, he slowly raked his hands through his hair. Just yesterday he’d been prepared to shove the past aside and discuss the future with Delia. Had been ready to confess his feelings of friendship and respect, and let her decide if the little he had to offer was enough. If he was willing to do that with Delia, why the bloody hell wouldn’t he do that with the woman he’d loved his entire life?

  I want someone to share my life with. Delia’s words reverberated through his mind. Damn it, he wanted someone to share his life with, too. And that someone was Cassie. He had nothing to offer her but himself. There were no titles and estates. But by God, he sure as hell would never hurt her. Plus he could offer her something that bastard Westmore hadn’t given her.

  His love. And heart. And soul.

  Maybe she’d simply look at him with kindness. Or worse, pity. But maybe for a woman who’d spent the last ten empty years unhappy, lonely, and unloved, the little he had to offer might be enough. If nothing else, at least she’d know she was loved. And by God, she deserved to know that.

  Of a certainty she’d turn him down, but it was a chance he’d have to take. As things stood, she was gone from his life, so he had absolutely nothing else to lose by declaring himself. And maybe, just maybe, the little he had would be enough.

  He could at least let her decide.

  Cassandra sat in the drawing room at Gateshead Manor and tried to concentrate on the conversation bouncing back and forth between her parents, but her mind kept wandering. Luckily Mother had commenced one of her long-winded descriptions of a recent musicale they’d attended, which required nothing more from Cassandra than the occasional nod.

  She sipped her tea, using the delicate china cup as a shield to hide her misery, although the effort was most likely wasted, as she doubted either of her parents would have noticed had she taken it into her head to jump upon the table and scream, I’m miserable!

  Hmm…that wasn’t truly accurate, she decided. They’d notice. And then Mother would say, You’re nothing of the sort and I’ll hear no more such nonsense. And Father would shake his head and say, You wouldn’t be miserable—none of us would—if you’d cooperated and been born a boy.

  Well, she couldn’t argue with that. If she’d been born a boy, she certainly wouldn’t be suffering a broken heart over Ethan.

  Ethan…Dear God, she thought she’d experienced pain and emptiness and loneliness over the past decade. How ironic to learn that those years would prove to be merely practice for the future. Nothing she’d suffered at Westmore’s hands could compare to the eviscerating pain of leaving Ethan, a pain squeezed around her so tightly, she couldn’t draw a breath without hurting.

  She’d wanted to know what spending time with him, his kiss, his lovemaking would be like, and now she knew. It was everything she’d dreamed. Everything she’d been denied her entire marriage. Everything she’d always wanted—passion and laughter and caring. He’d given her those things for one magical night, one magical night she wouldn’t trade for anything on earth. But one that would render all the following nights that much more hollow.

  She took another sip of tea and closed her eyes, and instantly a parade of images flashed through her mind. Of Ethan smiling at her. Feeding her a strawberry. Looking at her with heated desire. Leaning forward to kiss her. Lowering his body to cover hers.

  He’d wanted to make their one night together perfect and he’d succeeded. So well that she despaired of ever again being able to close her eyes and not see him. Of ever drawing another breath that didn’t hurt the now vacant area of her chest where her heart used to reside. Of ever being free of the deep ache of wanting him so much. Needing him so deeply.

  Of loving him with all her heart.

  She’d known she missed him, loved him, but hadn’t truly comprehended or realized the immeasurable, fathomless depths of those feelings until she’d seen him again. Hadn’t understood that “missed” was a lukewarm description for the gut-wrenching, enervating yearning now settled in her soul. Hadn’t conceived the vast difference between loving someone and being struck by the irrefutable realization that you are deeply, intensely, insanely in love with that person.

  Now she knew.

  And God help her, she didn’t think she’d ever recover from that brief taste of paradise. Because she would crave it with her whole heart and soul, every day for the rest of her life. With Ethan. Only Ethan.

  And Ethan was gone.

  Hot moisture pooled behind her eyes and she quickly blinked it away. She then set down her teacup and slipped her hand into the deep pocket of her gown where her fingers brushed over the note he’d left her. I cannot bear to say good-bye.

  When she’d first read those words, her heart had crumbled that she wouldn’t see him again before departing the Blue Seas Inn. But then, as she’d sat in the carriage and watched the inn fade into the distance, she realized he’d done the right thing. She wouldn’t have been able to say good-bye, either. Wouldn’t have been able to force her legs to step into the conveyance that with each turn of its wheels would take her farther away from him. And she’d had to leave.

  Hadn’t she?

  Her brows furrowed into a frown. Of course she’d had to leave. Her place was here. At Gateshead Manor.

  Wasn’t it?

  Her frown deepened, and her gaze scanned the beautifully appointed, luxurious room. She’d grown up here, among the rich furnishings and multitude of servants, enjoying the comforts her family’s wealth provided. Yet the manor itself hadn’t been what she’d loved best. Her favorite part of the estate had always been the vast grounds. Which she’d explored with Ethan. And the stables. Where she’d spent time with Ethan.

  “Don’t you agree, Cassandra?”

  Her mother’s imperious question broke into her reverie, and with an effort she dragged her attention back. “Agree?”

  Her mother pursed her lips in the display of vexation Cassandra remembered all too well. In the three hours since she’d arrived at Gateshead Manor, she’d already been treated to that look several times.

  “That when Lord and Lady Thornton visit next week, it would be acceptable to host a small musicale in their honor.”

  “Of course, if that is what you wish. Why wouldn’t it be acceptable?”

  “Because of you, of course.” She shot Cassandra’s black gown a pointed stare. “Your state of mourning.”

  Cassandra had to press her lips together to contain the bark of bitter laughter that rushed into her throat. “I won’t be the least offended, Mother,” she managed in a dust-dry tone.

  “Damn mourning period,” her father said in his gruff voice. “An inconvenient nuisance is what it is.” He pinned Cassandra with the frosty, narrow-eyed glare that had never failed to freeze her in place as a child. His pale blue eyes had always reminded her of shards of ice. “Damn inconsiderate of Westmore to leave you with nothing, but of course the man had his reasons.” He didn’t actually say the words, Because you failed to provide him with an heir, but given the way they permeated the air, he didn’t need to. “Yet all will be as it should as soon as your mourning period is over. I’ve arranged everything.”

  “Arranged? What do you mean?”

  “Your next marriage.”

  A deafening silence filled the room. One that seemed to suck out all the air. For several seconds Cassandra could do nothing save stare at her father. Surely she had misheard him. She had to swallow twice to find her voice. “I beg your pardon? It sounded like you said, ‘your next marriage.’”

  “That’s precisely what I said. The Duke of Atterly has expressed interest. I recent
ly purchased an estate in Kent he covets. In exchange, he’s agreed to settle a good sum on you and a nice bit of land in Surrey on me. His first wife, rest her soul, provided him with three sons, so your barren state is not a deterrent, thank God. The only possible problem is this bothersome mourning period of yours. What with the duke’s advanced age, being forced to wait these next ten months is a gamble. Hopefully he won’t cock up his toes before the deed is done.”

  The wave of stunned disbelief that swept over Cassandra nearly drowned her, and she had to fight to compose herself so that the next sound she uttered wouldn’t be a laugh, a cry, or a scream. Or a combination of all three. She glanced at her mother, who nodded and said, “You’re very fortunate, Cassandra. It’s an excellent match.”

  Stomach heaving, she returned her attention to her father. After clearing her throat she said carefully, speaking each word very precisely so there would be no misunderstanding, “I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake. I have no intention of marrying again.”

  Her father’s eyes turned from frosty to frigid. “Your intentions do not enter into this, daughter. You’ll marry Atterly immediately upon the end of your mourning period, provided he’s still alive. If he should die in the interim, Lord Templeton—whose first wife also provided him with sons—is my second choice.”

  Cassandra pressed her hands against her midriff in a vain attempt to calm her jittery insides. Then she raised her chin and met her father’s glare. “I will not marry either gentleman.”

  Crimson flushed her father’s cheeks, and his eyes narrowed further. “You will do exactly as I say. The arrangements have already been made.”

  “Then you’ll need to unarrange them.”

  “I’ll do nothing of the sort.” He rose and crossed the short distance between them in two angry strides, then glowered down at her. “A match between you and Atterly is more than you deserve. You’ll be a duchess.”

  Cassandra’s insides trembled, not with fear, but with revulsion and icy rage. She slowly stood and faced her father, locking her knees so he wouldn’t detect their trembling. “Thanks to the last marriage you arranged for me, I’m already a countess—a title that has not brought me a moment of happiness.”

  “Happiness?” The word exploded from her father in an incredulous bark. “This has nothing to do with happiness.”

  “Obviously. It has to do with you gaining the piece of land you covet. Just as my first marriage you arranged had to do with several thousand acres in Dorset.”

  “Which is precisely the sort of advantageous mergers marriages should be based upon.”

  “Advantageous for you, but not for me.”

  “Making you a duchess is certainly an advantage. Whether you want to marry him or not doesn’t matter. You will do as I say. God knows you owe me that much—you’ve not been of any other use.”

  She’d heard various themes on those words so many times, first from her father, then Westmore, that they should have ceased to hurt by now. And although they still stung, they mostly filled her with an icy, quiet calm. “I paid whatever debt you feel I owed you by agreeing to the first marriage you arranged. I’ll not agree to another.”

  His arctic eyes bored into her with pure disgust. “You are living in my home, without any means, and will therefore do as I say. I’ll not hear any further arguments regarding the matter. You have ten months to accustom yourself to the idea, and you’d best do so, as you have no choice.” He jerked his waistcoat into place and raked a scathing scowl over her. “You’d best retire to your bedchamber until dinner. You’re looking more peaked than usual.” With that he returned to his wing chair and picked up his teacup as if nothing had just transpired, secure in the knowledge that his every word would be obeyed.

  For several seconds Cassandra remained frozen in place, scarcely able to breathe, her heart thundering so loud she could hear it pounding in her ears. Her gaze shifted to her mother, whose countenance bore the same look of utter unconcern as her father. Not that she’d expected to find an ally in the woman who’d never once taken her side against her father. Still, it just brought to the fore with bone-jarring intensity the stark realization that she was, once again, completely alone.

  Feeling as if her blood had chilled to ice, Cassandra forced herself to hold her head high and walked stiffly from the room. She made her way down the corridor to the foyer, each step tightening the coil of misery and anger twisting inside her. By the time she gained her bedchamber, her breathing had hitched into broken, furious sobs, and tears ran down her face unchecked.

  Why had she not anticipated this turn of events? How was it possible that after all she’d been through, she possessed enough naïveté to believe she’d be able to return to her childhood home and quietly live out the rest of her life?

  You have no choice. Her father’s words rang through her mind like a funeral knell, the most hated words she’d ever heard. Words she was sick to death of hearing. Of living by. Words she never wanted to hear again.

  She paced across the Axminster carpet in small, jerky steps. Dear God, how was it possible that only a few hours ago she’d felt so euphorically happy, and now she felt such profound emptiness and despair?

  Because a few hours ago, you were with Ethan.

  Ethan. She halted her pacing and squeezed her eyes closed. Dear God, she loved him so much. He made her happy. Made her laugh. Made her feel wanted. Needed. In a way no one else ever had. While she wasn’t certain of the depth of his feelings, he obviously cared for her. And desired her. She didn’t doubt she’d made him happy, at least for one night.

  She opened her eyes and drew in a shaky breath, her mind suddenly racing. You have no choice. But she was filled with the realization and hope that perhaps she did have a choice—if she had the courage. The courage to consign convention to the devil, to disregard the rules of society that had governed her entire life, and return to the Blue Seas Inn. To tell Ethan how she felt about him. To ask what he felt for her. If his feelings amounted to even a fraction of what she felt for him, then there was the chance that he might want her to stay. And if so, she would. Not because she had nowhere else to go, but because she wanted to be with him—wherever he was.

  The scandal would ruin her, cut off any hope of ever reentering society. Her parents would surely disown her. She’d forfeit any possibility of ever returning to Gateshead Manor.

  And none of that mattered one bit.

  She had nothing to offer Ethan except herself. But perhaps, if she was very, very lucky, that would be enough.

  I can’t bear to say good-bye. Well, neither could she. At least not without a fight.

  Filled with a sense of elated hope she couldn’t recall ever before experiencing, she crossed the room and pulled the bell cord. A moment later a knock sounded on the door, and Sophie entered the room.

  “Yes, milady?”

  Cassandra crossed to her, then said, “I know you and Mr. Watley are departing tomorrow to return to the Westmore estate, but—”

  “Oh yes, milady,” Sophie broke in quickly. “I accept.”

  “Accept?”

  “I’d be honored to remain here with you instead.” A shy smile curved her lips. “Yer the kindest lady I’ve ever served. Truth be told, I wasn’t lookin’ forward to returnin’ to Westmore. The new earl’s wife ain’t half as nice as you. Nasty temper, she has.”

  Cassandra’s hands clenched at the thought of Sophie being subjected to anyone’s nasty temper. “Thank you, Sophie. You’re the best lady’s maid I’ve ever had. But what I wanted to tell you is that I’m leaving Gateshead Manor. Today. And I’m not coming back.”

  Sophie blinked. “Leavin’, milady? But ye’ve only just arrived. Where are ye goin’?”

  “Back to the Blue Seas Inn. Where I intend to remain.”

  Sophie’s eyes widened. “Oh…I see,” she said, although it was clear she didn’t see at all. Indeed, the young woman looked…lost.

  An idea hit Cassandra, and she said slowly, “If you would lik
e to come with me, you are welcome to do so, Sophie, although I cannot promise what the future holds. I completely understand that a village inn cannot compare to this estate—”

  “I’d be honored to accompany ye, milady,” the maid cut in, her voice filled with obvious relief. “I’d rather be with ye there than without ye at Westmore.” She offered Cassandra another shy smile. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Watley decided to inquire about work at the Blue Seas. Quite taken with the fine stables there he was. Westmore’s stable master is a nasty piece, and Mr. Watley weren’t lookin’ forward to being under his thumb again.”

  Reaching out, Cassandra squeezed Sophie’s hands and returned her smile. “It’s all settled then. If you’ll see to the packing, I’ll go to the stables and inform Mr. Watley of our plans.”

  And then she’d tell her parents she was leaving. And then she’d be on her way to Ethan. And hopefully he’d want her to stay.

  Chapter Eight

  After arranging with Mr. Watley to have the carriage brought around as quickly as possible, Cassandra entered the house through the French windows at the rear terrace. She’d just stepped into the black and white tiled marble foyer when she heard her father’s voice, laced with frigid anger, coming from the library door, which stood ajar.

  “Get the bloody hell out of my house.”

  “Not until I’ve spoken to Cassie.”

  She froze in shocked disbelief at the sound of Ethan’s voice—filled with a cold determination she’d never before heard.

  “When I booted you from Gateshead Manor ten years ago I told you to never return.”

  “And I’ll gladly leave as soon as I’ve seen Cassie.”

  “You’ll leave now or I’ll carve up your right cheek the way I did the left one.”

  Everything in Cassandra froze—her blood, her breath, as if an unseen icy fist constricted her. Several long seconds of silence followed, and the awful truth of her father’s words sank in.