‘Mr Ufton’s on the warpath again,’ Cassie heard one of the footmen whisper gleefully.
There was a scuffle, a feminine squeak, and then Ufton gave an exclamation of wrath and dragged a figure out through the doorway by the scruff of its neck. Cassie heard William give an exclamation.
‘Grant!’ William’s face stiffened as he saw his valet in Ufton’s iron grip. ‘What in God’s name were you doing down there?’
One of the footmen stifled a guffaw. Cecil Grant smoothed back his hair and ostentatiously adjusted his breeches. There was a very self-satisfied smirk on his face. In that moment it was clear to everyone exactly what he had been doing on the backstairs.
The maid was snivelling and Sarah Mardon had put a comforting arm about her. ‘That Mr Grant is a devil with the servants—’ the maid gulped ‘—but since he took up with her ladyship he’s been even worse! Like a ravening dog, he is.’
Anthony Lyndhurst put his cousin to one side and strode forward. His voice cracked like a whip. ‘Kindly explain yourself, Grant.’
Cecil Grant remained insolently silent. From the staircase below came another feminine shriek and voices upraised in a sudden babble of sound.
‘I do believe,’ Anthony said grimly, ‘that your latest paramour has been caught fair and square down in the kitchens, Grant. I can scarce believe such profligate behaviour with the female servants. Disgraceful—’
He broke off abruptly as Timms and Eliza appeared through the door, dragging between them the dishevelled figure of Lady Margaret Burnside. Her hair was falling down, her skirts were crumpled and, most shockingly of all, her bodice was askew and unbuttoned.
‘Mr Grant’s paramour, Major,’ Timms said expressionlessly. ‘Found in flagrante, so to speak.’
Everyone looked at Lady Margaret, who was trying vainly to force her ample bosom back into her bodice.
‘Lady Margaret!’ Sarah Mardon said in horrified tones.
‘I cannot believe it!’ Cassie said, shocked to the core. She stared in fascinated disbelief at the once-immaculate figure of her chaperon.
‘Trollop!’ Eliza had been waiting a long time to have her opinion of Lady Margaret confirmed. ‘Hugging and kissing on the backstairs like a common strumpet! Carrying on for days, they have been, but too clever to be caught out ’til now.’
Cassie looked from Lady Margaret to Cecil Grant. ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘It was Grant I saw you with in the gardens two nights ago, Lady Margaret, not—’ She glanced up at Peter and fell silent abruptly.
Anthony’s face was like thunder. He turned on the pair. ‘You are both dismissed. You will leave this house at once.’
William Lyndhurst-Flint started to protest. ‘Dash it all, old fellow, what am I supposed to do without a valet?’
‘You may use Timms’s services if the matter concerns you so much,’ Anthony snapped.
William reddened as he glanced at Timms’s impassive face. ‘No, no—there’s no need for that. One of the footmen will do.’
Anthony made a brusque gesture. ‘Whatever you wish, just not now, William!’
His cousin fell silent, biting his lip.
Lady Margaret was smoothing the disordered skirts of her gown. She looked angry and disdainful. There was a slash of colour high on her cheekbones and her lips were a line of compressed fury as she confronted Anthony. ‘You dare to dismiss me like a servant, Major Lyndhurst? I am the Lady Margaret Burnside!’
‘You may be the Queen Dowager for all I care, madam,’ Anthony said, furiously. ‘You will not behave thus in my house!’
Lady Margaret’s eyes narrowed. Her gaze swept around the group, travelling from face to face. Cassie’s gaze followed. Sarah was looking horrified, with the sobbing maid wilting against her; John Mardon had an expression of absolute distaste on his face as he regarded the chaperon; William was failing to meet her eyes. Cassie took Peter’s hand in hers and gripped it hard.
‘Very well,’ Lady Margaret said slowly. She fumbled in the pocket of her skirt and extracted a crumpled piece of paper, brandishing it in one shaking hand. She turned to Cassie and there was a bright, malicious gleam in her eyes that made Cassie recoil.
‘Since I am to be dismissed, it seems that I may do you one favour before I go, Cassandra.’ She flashed Peter a look. ‘You foolish chit, you have been finely taken in. Lord Quinlan needs to rush you to the altar before the bank forecloses and the family is ruined! He planned it all from the beginning. See…’ She held the piece of paper under Cassie’s nose.
There was a shocked, deadly silence. Cassie snatched the special licence from Lady Margaret’s hand and read it quickly. Her chaperon had been correct; it gave permission for the marriage of Peter Alexander James Quinlan to Miss Cassandra Eleanory Ward and it was dated the week before Peter had come to Lyndhurst Chase. There was no denying it: he had brought the special licence with him. He had been determined to force the marriage through. For all his fine words, it appeared that he had never intended to give her a choice.
She tried to keep her face blank, but she could feel her expression disintegrating slowly. The special licence wilted in her hand. She thought of the night before and the sweetness of Peter’s kisses in the moonlight. With all her heart she wanted to believe him sincere, but she had known him so short a time to trust him so absolutely, and she could not bear to have this happen here, now, with all these people watching her.
‘I am sorry that your cousin is nothing but a silly little girl,’ Lady Margaret was saying stridently to Anthony. ‘She is heedless and ungovernable. I suppose it is only to be expected with a mother who cared for nothing but her own ailments and a fortune that came from trade originally and no doubt brought with it some of the other qualities of the ill bred.’
Cassie made a small choking sound. She saw Anthony draw breath to intervene, but he never got the chance to open his mouth, for Peter was before him.
‘I beg your pardon,’ he said, ‘but I believe such remarks on breeding and behaviour fall ill from your lips, madam.’
Cassie gasped. ‘I—’ she began, but Peter put her gently to one side. There was a look in his eyes that stole her breath with its protectiveness and its fury.
‘Just this once,’ he said, ‘I want to speak for you. I promise I will never do it again.’ He moved until he was standing directly between Cassie and Lady Margaret.
‘Pretending that she is such a lady,’ Lady Margaret was continuing furiously. ‘Why, the Ward family is insignificant and nothing distinguishes her but that ridiculous fortune!’
‘Miss Ward is your superior in every way, madam,’ Peter said cuttingly, ‘and I think that you are well aware of that fact. It takes more than a title and a pretence of morality to make a lady. Lest you forget, we have all seen your behaviour this morning.’
The hall was so quiet that a pin could have been heard to drop as Peter continued in the same measured tones, ‘Miss Ward has the goodness and generosity of spirit that you so singularly lack, madam. If ever she has behaved in a manner that you have considered unruly, I suspect it is from sheer frustration at the strictures placed on her.’ He widened his gaze to include the rest of the family, who were standing dumbstruck now. His gaze seemed to linger on William Lyndhurst-Flint, who withered a little beneath its coldness.
‘I appreciate that most of you care deeply for Cassie and have always acted in what you have regarded to be in her best interests,’ Peter said. ‘I beg you now to allow her to choose her own future. She has the strength of character to make the right decisions, if you will only permit her the opportunity to do so. Do not force on her a chaperon whom she dislikes. Do not make her marry if she has no wish to do so. If she wants to wait until she is mistress of her own fortune, then please…’ he paused and looked around at them ‘…permit her to make that choice. And as for you, Lady Margaret…’ he paused ‘…I think it best that you go now.’
Unbelievably there was a smattering of ragged applause from the group of servants gathered by the backstai
rs door. It died swiftly as Anthony’s head snapped around to look at them.
Cassie blinked, as though she had stepped into a bright light. Something shifted in her mind then, in the dark corners where all her fears and frustrations had been penned in: the neglected child of the invalid mother, the little girl who wanted to be loved but had secretly considered herself a burden to her relatives, the ungovernable débutante who had done outrageous things for attention and the woman who had only ever been courted for her money…She looked at Peter and saw him neither as a man seeking her fortune nor as a means of escape from a circumscribed existence. He was the man who would stand up for her and speak for her against the whole world because he cared for her alone. The enormity of it all overwhelmed her and there were prickly tears in her eyes and a lump in her throat that prevented her from speaking, but through the tears she looked at Peter and felt her love for him burst free.
Lady Margaret was leaving. Angry, vitriolic to the last, she was edging away from the group and running the gauntlet of the assembled servants.
Peter’s face was tense and hard. He looked at Cassie and then shook his head slightly as though there was nothing more that he could say. He went across to Anthony Lyndhurst and held out his hand.
‘I beg your pardon, Lyndhurst,’ he said. ‘I know that I have offended your hospitality. I think it would be better were I to leave.’
And he turned on his heel, brushed past the rest of the group without a word and set off up the stairs.
Everyone looked at Cassie. There was a short silence, and then Anthony, smiling slightly, said, ‘What would you like to do, Cassie?’
And Cassie gathered her skirts up in one hand and ran up the staircase after Peter without another word.
She found him in his dressing room, throwing various items randomly into his portmanteaux. She closed the door behind her and stood leaning against it. When he saw her he straightened up and looked at her. There was a hard expression in his eyes.
‘I think that you had better leave me to complete my packing,’ he said.
Cassie took a deep breath. Her heart was hammering hard and she felt almost light-headed with apprehension, but she was not going to give ground now. She took out the special licence. ‘I want to talk to you,’ she said.
She saw his face fall at the sight of the incriminating piece of paper, but he said nothing.
‘It is true, isn’t it,’ she said. ‘You did bring this marriage licence with you with the intention of sweeping me off my feet.’
‘It is true.’ Peter threw a pair of shoes in the rough direction of the bag. ‘That was my intention.’
‘And when we met at the inn,’ Cassie pursued. ‘You said that you had not planned what happened, but was that a lie?’
‘There was never any lie nor any pretence,’ Peter said. ‘I was bewitched by you, Cassie. I fell in love with you and not your money. The only thing I could not do was prove it to you.’
Cassie’s heart leaped at his words, but she kept her tone steady. ‘And now?’
‘Now I am leaving.’
Cassie came a little closer. ‘You will have to find another heiress to court.’
Peter’s smile was tired. There were lines on his face that she wanted to reach up and smooth away. She kept quite still. If she touched him she would be lost and never finish what she wanted to say.
‘I do not think that would be a very good idea,’ Peter said.
‘Then you will lose Quinlan Court.’
‘Very probably.’
Cassie took a step towards him. She could feel her heart beating. ‘If I wanted you to stay…’ she began.
His gaze came up to hers. There was an expression in his eyes that made her throat ache. He waited.
‘You said that you had not been able to prove to me that you loved me,’ she said, and now her voice was not quite steady. ‘That is not true. You have proved it to me today.’ She looked at him, her gaze pleading with him to understand.
‘I should have let you speak for yourself,’ Peter said, with the ghost of a smile. ‘That, after all, was what I was trying to say.’
Cassie nodded. ‘Just this once,’ she said, her smile mirroring his, ‘I will forgive you. For who else would have spoken up for me and defended me and understood me so well as the man who loves me?’
She saw the vivid flash of expression in his face. The boots fell from his hand to crash on the floor and then he was across the room and was kissing her violently. He picked her up and practically threw her on to the bed, following her down into its embracing folds, tangling his hands in her hair, holding her head still so that he could ravish her mouth with feverish need.
Their clothes came off in a storm of ripping material and flying buttons. Peter’s hands were on her everywhere and her whole body lifted to meet his touch. The excitement and the urgency slammed through her and she pressed closer to him, a little shudder going through her as she felt the ruthless efficiency with which he removed the last layers of material between them. He pinned her down with his hands on her hips and his mouth was hot on her breast and when he slid inside her, her mind and body splintered simultaneously into tiny fragments and she would have screamed aloud in ecstasy had Peter not covered her mouth with his own. It was over in a few, blinding, desperate, exquisite minutes.
They fell apart, panting, damp with exertion, and Peter tumbled her into his arms and buried his face in her hair.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, muffled.
Cassie struggled to free herself sufficiently to see his expression. Her mind was still spinning and her blood pounding, but she was in no doubt that it had been the most blissful experience of her entire life.
‘Sorry?’ she said. A cold breath of doubt touched her heart. ‘Was it not meant to be like that?’ she enquired politely.
She saw his rueful smile. He looked heartbreakingly dishevelled and worried and so utterly delicious that she felt her insides melt to look on him.
‘No, my darling, it was not,’ he said. ‘The first time with one’s innocent bride is supposed to be slow and gentle and considerate—’ He broke off as Cassie gave an unladylike snort of laughter and rolled over, entangling the twisted sheet about her naked body.
‘Gentle!’
‘I know. I wanted you too much. I’ve always wanted you—from the very first.’
Cassie’s laughter stilled and she put a hand out and touched his lips. The expression in his face changed. He slid a hand around the nape of her neck and swiftly, inexorably drew her face down for his kiss.
‘Like this,’ he said, in the second before his lips touched hers.
Cassie held him to her as he kissed her, rubbing her hands over the smooth skin of his back, distracted by the satiny feel of him under her palms. When he broke the kiss she pulled away a little.
‘Peter, should we not talk now?’
‘No,’ Peter said, and he took her mouth again before she could argue with him, kissing her until she was breathless. The hard, lean length of him was pressed against her and Cassie wriggled closer still, a gasp escaping from her as he pinned her down beneath his weight.
‘Peter…’
‘My love?’ He bent his head to her breast. The heat flooded through her, intense, pleasurable. Cassie gave a little moan.
‘Peter…’
His fingers slid up the soft skin of her thigh, slyly stroking, then slickly inside her. Cassie arched and squirmed as the sensation pulsed deep within her. She was tantalised, ravished, silenced. She turned her face to his in mute appeal, shifting her body eagerly to accommodate his until he answered the unspoken plea and eased himself inside her again, this time slowly and with utter tenderness. But then Cassie caught him to her and raked her fingernails down the hard muscles of his back and the whole thing became most ungentle and his gasp of urgent pleasure turned her feelings inside out. The sheer excitement and power of it sent her tumbling over the edge into absolute delight, pulling Peter with her as she fell.
A
nd after that they slept for a long time.
Cassie awoke to find the sheets tangled about her in wanton disarray, her clothes scattered across the floor and Peter’s arm lying across her in careless possession. She felt so happy that she held her breath for a long moment, afraid to burst the bubble. Then Peter turned his head on the pillow and opened his eyes and smiled at her.
‘Cassie? Sweetheart…’
‘We must get up!’ Cassie shot up in bed as she realised how late it was. ‘We have done this all the wrong way round. I never get things right!’
‘It felt very right to me,’ Peter murmured, holding her still. He pressed his lips to the damp skin in the hollow above her collarbone.
‘But we were supposed to get married first and now everyone will know what has been going on and we have missed luncheon and probably dinner as well.’ Cassie covered her face with her hands. In her mind was a vision of the entire population of Lyndhurst Chase lined up outside the bedroom door like a disapproving reception committee.
Peter took her hands gently away from her face.
‘My darling, you may have forgotten, but I have a special licence that has been hidden away in my pocket for two weeks—apart from the time it has spent in Lady Margaret’s possession, of course.’
‘Hmm…’ Cassie said. She started to feel a little easier. ‘I suppose that it would be a pity to waste it when you went to so much trouble to bring it in the first place.’
Peter leaned on one elbow and looked down into her face, smoothing the unruly hair away gently.
‘Indeed it would. And since I have just taken you without benefit of clergy, my love, I intend to remedy that as soon as possible.’ He kissed the side of her breast. ‘If you still want to marry me, that is.’
Cassie smiled radiantly into his eyes. ‘I think that would be rather splendid,’ she said. She pushed him gently away as his caresses threatened to distract her. ‘Let us make haste to find the vicar,’ she said, ‘and then perhaps we may think about doing this again—more slowly this time.’
A Regency Invitation Page 9