by Julia Donner
The sun hovered above the treetops by the time she reached the cottage. Pecking chickens and free-ranging swine noisily announced her invasion of the barnyard. Two dogs warned her off with growls and snarls but didn’t attack. They followed her across the yard on stiff legs and with hackles fully raised along their spines. They sensed what she would do to them if they got close enough and stayed out of reach. Rufus snorted, sidled and blew at the circling hounds.
A woman came out of the back of the cottage to toss slop to the hogs and fowl, narrowly missing Cassandra as she came around the corner. Cassandra yelped and leapt back, bumping into the gelding’s chest.
The dogs immediately and uproariously set upon her and the startled horse. One slashed a nasty gash in the sorrel’s back leg. Without a crop, Cassandra was in the process of kicking the vicious dogs away from her frenzied mount when the farmer came running from the barn, shouting for peace.
Rufus caught a peripheral view of a man with waving arms coming on fast and shied sideways, crashing into a woodpile. The sharp edges of the logs gouged his glossy coat with fresh wounds. The horse leaped away when the dogs came in for a second attack.
Cassandra stood in her shoddy habit, forlorn and now horseless. She’d lost the reins during the foray, an unforgivable sin for an experienced rider. Freed, Rufus took off at a bucking run from the pursuing dogs, his back leg bleeding from a deep gash.
In the following minutes, Wicks, the farmer, and his wife made it clear that they found it difficult to accept Cassandra as a member of the Quality or a visitor from Ravencourt. There was also the stigma of her not belonging to the district. Country bred Cassandra understood that any person from outside of one’s county was considered a foreigner and not to be trusted.
After insisting that she was a guest at Ravencourt, she managed to bully a ride from the farmer. By the time Farmer Wicks finally arrived at Ravencourt, the sun had safely tucked itself behind the trees, as if sensing the altercation to come. She wasn’t sure how she was going to talk her way out of this fiasco.
Dirty and disheartened, she rode in the back of the farmer’s creaking tumbrel, her head bowed as she dolefully watched the passage of the road between her dangling boots. She heaved a sigh. How was she to face Farnsby? She prayed that Rufus had found his way home and the groom wouldn’t be too cross with her for taking such poor care of his favorite.
Farmer Wicks directed his bony carthorse and tumbrel up the back road to the servants’ entrance and knocked vigorously. He kept banging on the stout door, all the while grumbling about unanswered doors and lazy servants.
Cassandra ignored him, too dispirited to care. When she slipped off the back of the cart, the cuff of her habit caught on an exposed nail. This time, most of the left sleeve came away. The farmer continued to pound on the door, while she extricated the material. After shaking her head at a rent impossible to mend, she wearily looked up. She frowned, tilting her head at the scene. The overall climate at Ravencourt appeared unusually disorganized.
People ran to and from the stables in what seemed to be a state of unchecked panic. She surmised that everyone must be involved in whatever caused this strange state of affairs, since no one bothered to answer the backdoor. An unknown catastrophe must be why no one paid any attention to Farmer Wicks and her arrival.
Too discouraged to wonder about the chaos, she ignored the uproar, no longer caring if the place blew up in a thousand pieces. She’d damaged property in her haste and had yet to face a host she consistently insulted with demonstrations of arrogance and ruthless acts of stupidity. She’d come to a point where—once again—she must accept an enforced marriage and had sunk so low in appearance and state that not even a simple farmer recognized her as a lady. Hungry, tired and close to tears, anything would be better than her present state. She dearly wished to be back up in Scotland in the cold and dismal castle, where her Uncle Duncky always took care of her problems. Perversely, she admitted to herself that she felt ready to be spoiled.
The thudding approach of a galloping horse nudged her out of self-pity and wishful thinking. She looked up to see a lathered and blowing Poseidon slide to an earth-rending halt almost on top of her, so close that she instinctively flung up a hand.
Ravenswold glared down at her. He backed up the excited horse. Poseidon flung his head up and down, casting abroad the foam from his bit in a display of his displeasure over such unfamiliar and harsh treatment.
Cassandra managed to stop herself from gaping. The earl’s clothes were in disorder. He appeared almost naked without his coat. His partially unbuttoned shirt hung open, the sleeves rolled up to expose muscular, dirt-smeared forearms. Dried mud clung to his breeches, and his boots were sheathed in glistening slime.
He leapt down from his horse and strode toward her in total and wholly uncharacteristic disregard for his mount. Poseidon, having had his fill of careless treatment, wheeled and loped away to the safety of the barn.
Coming to a halt, Ravenswold towered over her, his glare furious and scorching. Surprised and curious, Cassandra blinked up at the fuming giant and wondered whatever made her think this man was placid.
“Damn and blast, woman, what the devil is wrong with you?”
Cassandra tilted back her head and scowled up at him. She couldn’t see where a broken fence should cause such a fuss. She felt truly sorry for her rude behavior and for the unintentional damage done, but she certainly never expected this. During the course of a hunt, any number of fences and fields were ruined.
When she continued to mutely glare up at him, he took a step closer, looming and threatening. Heat poured off him. His passion was palpable. He startled her when he took rough hold of her arm. “Damn it, answer me!”
Cassandra’s temper crackled to life. She jerked free of his grasp. “Unhand me!”
Farmer Wicks, having mistakenly assessed the manner in which his lordship addressed her, joined the fray. Smug and large with the knowledge that the pert piece of baggage that kicked his dogs and disturbed his milk cows was of no importance, Wicks stepped closer and shook his fist at her.
“Aye, yer lordship! And she destroyed me fence, the filthy cow.”
Cassandra prepared to kick the farmer in the shins for the crass insult but Ravenswold lunged. The staff from the stable joined the house servants, who had gathered at the backdoor. The crowd watched in open-mouthed shock when the earl jerked the stocky farmer up from the ground by the coat lapels and shook the man like a dog with rag. They scattered in terror and confusion, their world gone topsy-turvy.
Cassandra, unbalanced by the spectacle of a man she initially thought to be the possessor of a tranquil and conspicuously boring temperament, stared, momentarily awed by his volcanic rage. She had a temper of her own and was rarely affected by the same exhibition from others, but Ravenswold was capable of seriously hurting someone without trying.
He tossed the farmer into a nearby hydrangea bush. “Take yourself off, Wicks, before I wring your neck!”
When Ravenswold moved to make good on his threat, Cassandra dashed into the breach to separate this huge and unfamiliar monster from the cowering farmer.
“Ravenswold, get yourself in hand before you do something you’ll regret!”
She planted herself in front of Ravenswold and held onto his arms, bracing her full weight against him. Farmer Wicks staggered upright and ran for his cart. He scrambled up onto the seat and whipped the nag into a broken run.
When Ravenswold started to follow the farmer, Cassandra attempted to dig her fingers into his biceps. “Pull yourself together, sir! You could’ve severely hurt that silly man.”
When the earl’s smoldering gaze left the retreating cart and latched onto her, Cassandra hastily stepped back. She wasn’t afraid of the violence of his glare but was smart enough not to let Ravenswold do to her what he had done to Wicks.
***
Rave struggled to bring himself under control. He stared down at Cassandra’s indignant scowl, his heart thudding insi
de his chest. She had no idea how much he still suffered from the residual fear of losing her and the recent impact of learning how much he cared about this exasperating female.
He’d spent the afternoon in a waking nightmare, haunted by the memory of Rufus, bleeding and shivering, having returned without his rider. Only minutes ago, one of the servants found Rave at the pond and babbled that Miss Seyton was being brought up to the house in the back of a tumbrel. He mounted his horse, thinking the worst. Overwhelmed by the image of her broken body covered by a tarp, he didn’t think to question the servant further and galloped off for the house.
It never occurred to him that she might be unhurt. No lady would deign to look at a manure cart, much less ride in one. She’d have to be unconscious or dead. So he raced off to confront a terrible reality, only to find a disheveled but very much alive Cassandra.
Staring down at her defiant, beloved face, he studied a thrill of fright at the scope of his feelings. Her blind obstinacy brought them to this point. He imagined he felt very much like a frantic parent, who had just caught his child doing something terribly dangerous. He had an ungovernable urge to slap her for her folly and kiss her senseless because she was safe.
The rasp of his own voice sounded unfamiliar. “Where were you? We’ve been over every inch of ground looking for you. I’ve been down seeing to the dragging of the pond.”
“Oh, enough, enough! You will listen calmly and control your temper.”
Through gritted teeth, he demanded, “Kindly explain.”
“I had an accident. Nothing over which to create such a bother. There was a patch of bog before the fence. It threw Rufus off his stride. We knocked down a rail and took a tumble, but neither of us are the worse for it. The farmer’s dogs caused most of the fuss. How is Rufus? I was sure he ran in the direction of the stable.”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t…? You don’t know the condition of your livestock? I call that very bad of you, Ravenswold! And the way you let Poseidon run off. And why all this commotion over a fence? I went to explain to the man. He had to be pigheaded about it, and I couldn’t right the poles by myself. He wouldn’t give me the chance to explain or tell him that I would take responsibility for the damages, which is more than anyone else would do.”
“I hold myself responsible for all repairs on tenant property, and I’m taxing every resource of my brain to imagine you repairing a pole fence.”
“There are limits that one can only hope to stretch so meager an organ, but I’m sure you are of sufficient intelligence to comprehend that I’m not a habitual liar and that I did try my possible!”
He nodded his head at her torn sleeve. “Your habit is ripped. I trust you did yourself no injury.”
“Oh, foot! Of course I didn’t. The worst of it came from when the dogs attacked me.”
“Attacked you? I’ll put a shot in every one of them!”
“Ravenswold, you will do no such thing, and if you don’t control your temper, I shall do you a mischief! If you dare to harm that stupid man or his dogs, I promise you that I will wring your stiff neck!”
He stared down at her, his voice a growl when he meaningfully suggested, “I won’t stop you, if you’d care to try.”
Chapter 19
Cassandra lost the ability to breathe. His wrath had cooled to a stillness more alarming than his fury. Heat and his now familiar scent radiated from the unfastened top of his shirt. Damp, chestnut curls fell over his brow. A bead of moisture trickled down the side of his lean cheek. His eyes contained an emotion that frightened her. He saw her fear and smiled a knowing smirk.
“You have reason to fear me, Cass. Henceforth, no more impromptu morning swims in the pond. Believe me, my dear, wet clothes clinging to a figure like yours leaves little to the imagination and would tax the restraint of a stone. Just look at what all that restraint has done to my temper.”
“You…you watched me?”
Cassandra unconsciously stepped back, caught herself in the act of retreat and stopped. She repressed the shiver of something unknown and thrilling, a liquid weakening of her limbs. Pride made up for the treachery of her body. She squared her shoulders, ready to fight back.
“You cad! Of all the rag-mannered, detestable, ill-bred—”
“You will confine your immersions to the bath, Miss Cassandra.” He ordered under his breath and took a step closer.
This time, she held her ground. “You odious, overbearing, pompous, blockheaded—”
“Concerned?” he suggested with a pinched grin, spurring her outrage.
“Bullying, overgrown, managing, uncouth, odious—”
“You already mentioned odious.”
“Puffed-up, swaggering, degenerate, puling—”
“Oh, no, Miss Seyton, never puling!”
He retreated to lean against the sturdy wall of his house to more comfortably witness her escalating outrage. She followed him and shook her fist under his nose.
“Mean-minded, high-handed, unmitigated toadstool! And don’t stand there grinning like a great, stupid bear!”
Rave watched with unmasked appreciation the rise and fall of her bosom for a few embarrassing moments. She longed to slap him. Shake him. Make him take her seriously.
He pushed away from the wall, forcing her back a step. “I’m gratified to learn that it is indeed a universal truth that red hair and a wild temper go hand in hand. Who is out of control now? I do hope I haven’t overset you with my concern for your health and well being, as little as I have seen of either, my dear, dear Miss Seyton? In spite of the fact that I’ve seen so much of the rest of you.”
Cassandra stiffened. How could he be so cruel as to remind her of an embarrassment? No gentleman would speak of such things. But she was coming to the understanding that no matter how staid and boring Ravenswold looked on the surface, what he hid underneath was something entirely different. His austere surface masked a domineering rogue. He liked her outrageousness.
Against her will, she felt drawn to him and elated with the awareness that no matter how extreme she got, Rave would never be shocked. She could always be herself and be accepted for her inner worth, not merely for surface beauty.
Cassandra caught herself in the act of succumbing to an attraction to her aunt’s choice for a husband. She gave herself a chastising mental shake and stuck her nose in the air.
“You may be assured, my lord, that I shall see to the reimbursement concerning any damage to the fence.”
His slow grin reeked confidence. “No, Cass, I’ll see to that.”
Through gritted teeth, she muttered, “Not bloody likely!”
She flounced off, very much put out that he could laugh so uproariously over her unladylike slip. She vowed to learn to control her tongue and horrid temper and shoved through the slightly open door of the rear entrance. The bewildered staff immediately stopped whispering but she’d overheard their worries. Nettlechope rescued her and showed her the back way upstairs.
Cassandra slammed into her bedchamber and flung herself onto the bed. She expected to relieve some of her frustration with a bout of tears but not one would fall. She drummed her heels on the counterpane instead.
Tessa barely glanced at the tantrum in progress. “Don’t do that, Miss Cassy. You’re ruining the coverlet with them nasty boots.”
“He’s a swine!” Lowering her voice, Cassandra narrowed her eyes and whispered with terrible relish, “A vile bastard.”
“Something bothering you?” Tessa asked, unconcerned, as she picked up the tan gloves thrown on the floor.
“Do I appear in a cheerful mood, Tessart?”
“You’d best get out of that ugly habit,” Tessa muttered, purposely unclear as to whether she meant the clothes or the tantrum.
Cassandra replied with an unladylike grunt.
Tessa pretended airy stupidity. “Who are you calling a bastard, and what’s got you kicking up such a fuss?”
“You and that conniving aunt of mine
know why. And who!”
“Why, miss, if you’re meaning the earl, his parents were tied up right and proper, so you can’t be thinking of him.”
Her rage simmering, Cassandra smiled sweetly. “Tessa, come over here?”
“Not on your life! Box me ears, you will.”
Cassandra slammed her fists into the counterpane. “Everyone is conspiring against me!”
“Oh, do shut up, and take your bath. You stink of the stables, and it’s coming on time for the dinner gong.”
“I’m not going down to dinner. I’m going into a decline. Right now!”
“Well then, you’ll be wanting a tray,” Tessa said, all sugary condescension. “I’ll go down and tell Cook.”
Before she left, Tessa bobbed a curtsy and expertly ducked the pillow Cassandra shied at her head.
“Traitor!” Cassandra shouted at the closing door.
The tears fell when she noticed the sudden silence. She stared at the closed door and fought rising panic.
“What am I going to do? There’s no stopping that man.”
Her conscience whispered the root of her problem; she was terrified of his reaction when he heard the truth about her. She couldn’t bear his contempt.
She remained in her rooms in grand seclusion due to an ankle sprain from the fall off Rufus and a sick headache, both ailments pure fabrication. She countermanded orders and finally outright supplication from her aunt. She stayed in her bed and refused to budge as more guests arrived. The relief of not having to maintain a façade whenever she encountered Asterly marginally helped to soothe the boredom of remaining indoors.
***
Rave wasn’t the least bit concerned about Cassandra’s return to seclusion. The company of so many of his friends had nothing to do with his good spirits. He now realized that Cassandra pouted when she didn’t get her way. Her earlier seclusion had been nothing more than a way to avoid him, which could mean any number of things—all favorable in his opinion.