Shackles of Honor

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  Exclamations and all manner of applause followed at a near deafening roar, and Cassidy forced a smile and a nod in the three main directions before her.

  “I shall die before this is through,” she said quietly.

  “You shall not,” Mason commanded. “You’re my betrothed now…officially. You’ve not my permission to die,” he said, smiling while nodding at the assembly. “Please. Everyone,” he continued, raising his voice. Once the fanfare had died away, he added, “Please…join me in my celebration at this most blessed of evenings as Miss Shea and I begin the dance.” Motioning to the musicians, he led Cassidy, still half dazed, into the midst of the multitude, which moved away as a wave, leaving a large empty expanse of floor in their honor.

  As Mason took Cassidy in his arms, one at her back, the other supporting her hand, she whispered, “Too close, sir. Far too intimate!” For she was somewhat shocked and very self-conscious at the proximity to his own body at which he held her.

  “Nonsense, Miss Shea,” he mumbled. “There’s no such thing.” As the music began, he led her skillfully in the dance. It seemed eons that she danced with him, gazing into his eyes, a false smile of delight upon her face, before her parents and Ellis with, of all women, Gabrielle joined them on the floor, signaling that all could participate.

  The music seemed to go on forever, and with every measure Cassidy’s body weakened in Mason’s arms. Now that everyone’s attention was not fully focused on them, she was able to consciously realize that she was dancing with Mason. He was not a graceful man in the dance, nor would she have him be so. He moved with rather a heaviness, a stiffness, that told her this was not his favorite activity. As if reading her thoughts for a moment, he muttered, “Someday I shall show you the only enjoyable way to dance.”

  “To not dance at all, you mean?” she asked, assuming that was what he meant.

  “By no means, but it would not be appropriate here. Remind me one day, Miss Shea. Remind me to teach you to dance.” With that the music stopped, and Cassidy was whisked away by a young man she had never theretofore seen.

  

  So the night went on. On and on and seemingly endlessly on. All the while, Cassidy had only the one original dance with Mason. Never had she been in the arms of so many men. And ever was she more assured that it was only in Mason’s arms she wished to be held. Only the dances with Ellis were moments of respite. She longed for another moment in Mason’s arms, but it did not come. He was ever occupied with men in immaculate dress, women at his arm or in the dance. It was only occasionally that she caught his eye, and he would nod at her in reassurance.

  It didn’t take long before Cassidy began to notice the suspicious glances and whispering tones of the women in the room. Often several men would be in a circle talking, glance simultaneously in her direction, and then return to their conversation. It had begun—the gossip, the speculation, the rumors. With that knowledge, every last shred of courage and confidence was stripped from Cassidy.

  Oh, how she wished for a champion! Where was Ellis? She needed him now. It was no use in hoping for deliverance at Mason’s hand. He was forever engulfed in a virtual sea of feminine admirers. As the music stopped again, she began wringing her hands. The doors that led to the veranda were not far. Perhaps she could make for them quickly and find a moment alone to collect herself.

  But as she began to casually stroll toward the doors, Mason took her elbow from behind. “I suppose another one for us is in order by now,” he said.

  “Yes. Yes, I suppose,” Cassidy stammered as he took her in his arms. Surely his strength would lift her. Surely she could draw courage from the depths of him.

  But instead, Cassidy could feel every inch of her body begin to tremble. The trembling was borne from within, for as she danced in Mason’s arms, glancing beyond his broad shoulder to the other dancing couples looking on and those who stood observing the festivities, her emotions began to get the better of her. It seemed to her that every pair of eyes upon them held an expression of knowing—not mere suspicion—that this handsome young bachelor was about to be wed to a girl for whom he did not care. No. It was not suspicion that was apparent in their eyes. It was knowing—pure knowledge.

  As her confidence, her self-esteem, and every thread of her pride was stripped away in the realization, she unknowingly whispered out loud, “They know. They all…every one of them knows.”

  “What did you say?” Mason inquired of her.

  She glanced up into his handsome face for only a few brief moments. It took all her strength to continue dancing, to continue holding back the hot tears of heartbreak and humiliation. She felt for a moment as if the terrible need to faint would indeed win over her mind, but she simply tightened her hand in its cradle in Mason’s and held more firmly onto his shoulder as he continued to lead her in the dance.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked. She could feel his frown on her.

  “Don’t look at me!” she commanded in a whisper. “Is it not enough that they all know already? Must you further confirm it by frowning down upon me?” She faltered in her step, but it was barely noticeable to everyone, she assured herself. Her eyes met then with Gabrielle’s. The young woman was studying her unceasingly, a blatant expression of distaste on her lovely face.

  “What is wrong with you, miss?” Mason again inquired.

  “They know. Every one of them. They’re all staring at me, gloating in their knowledge of it. I cannot abide it any longer, and it’s merely the one shred of pride left to me at this moment that keeps me from fleeing the room.” Again her eyes burned with tears that demanded release.

  “You’re speaking nonsense. I can’t interpret any sense at all from your gibberish.” He was irritated, and the scolding tone of his voice caused her to miss her footing and step squarely on Mason’s foot. He, however, did not miss a step, but simply winced slightly as she looked up to him, horrified at her clumsiness.

  “Please, sir,” she begged in a whisper. The subservient tone of her voice obviously startled him, and he looked down into her pale face inquisitively. “Please,” she continued in a whisper, “support me. Carry me through to the end of this waltz, and I’ll never ask a favor of you again.”

  He was puzzled. The expression was plain in his feature, but Mason Carlisle was a gentleman. When Cassidy felt his hand leave the small of her back and grasp subtly yet firmly the curve of her waist to help support her, his other hand cupping her own extended one, lifting it higher, she was encouraged and not surprised. She knew him to be chivalrous to the bone. He would abandon no woman in her time of need of his strength and protection. Were the lady pauper, plain, or princess, he was ever chivalrous—no matter how averse he may be toward her. The room still seemed to dip to and fro a bit, but his strength sustained her.

  In a short time, the orchestra ceased, and she was able to end the dance. She thought he would leave her then. She’d expected nothing else. But as he slipped her arm through his for support, she looked up at him, finding it hard to see his features clearly, for her head was yet swirling.

  “You’re too warm,” he offered, smiling down at her. “A walk in the gardens and a bit of fresh air will help, I’ve no doubt.”

  Mason began leading her toward the veranda—toward escape of a sort. He greeted several people in passing with a nod and kind words. Cassidy managed a smile as well but as yet was uncertain her feet could carry her a step further as they walked.

  At last, when he’d led her to a dimly lit area of the gardens just beyond the veranda, he stopped, took hold of her shoulders, and glared down at her, asking in his low, growling manner, “What for, miss? What was all that about in there?”

  Cassidy drew in a deep breath, and as the sweet fragrance of lilac filled her senses, she felt her consciousness slipping away. She began losing her balance and swayed backward slightly. Mason’s strong hands steadied her shoulders, and she did not swoon as she had feared.

  “Breathe deeply for a moment,” he instructed,
somewhat less commandingly.

  The night air did indeed serve to clear her mind of the gray fog in which it was swimming. She stood strengthened a bit and staring into the cold black of his eyes.

  “What then, I asked you? Who knows what? What was all that about back in there?”

  “It’s not the same for you,” she breathed as she could not tear her gaze from his handsome face. “It’s not the same.”

  “You make no sense, girl,” he grumbled, releasing her shoulders and tugging at his cravat irritatedly.

  He didn’t turn from her and leave, however, and so she continued, for it must be said. “They all know. Every soul in that room knows how you loathe me. Every mocking eye was on me throughout the duration of that waltz…accusing, laughing, mocking me, for all of them…every one of them knows.”

  Mason seemed to wince as the tears escaped her eyes and traveled quickly over her cheeks.

  “It’s not the same for you. For men—and I’m beginning to think them all a vile lot—men find this situation no less than amusing. Men see it as if you’ve made some menial acquisition to your properties—as a rather farcical entertainment. ‘That young Mason Carlisle,’ they say. ‘Crafty devil that he is. Why, look at that new little trinket he has acquired. No doubt he will have the little chit suitably trained within the month.’”

  Mason said nothing—did not attempt to interrupt her or deny her accusations of the male gender’s lack of character. He simply looked at her, seemingly waiting for her to continue.

  “But it’s not the same for me. They’re all laughing at me. ‘Poor thing,’ they’re saying, ‘for he detests her, you know. And she is so beneath him. So unworthy of his name. Well, it is her own lot, for she no doubt agreed to it. Or perhaps she’s truly lacking in any form of intelligence and, therefore, does not realize how fully she hampers him.’”

  Still Mason was motionless, his features void of any kind of response, as Cassidy’s tears kept up a steady stream down her cheeks.

  “For they know how little interest you have in me. What the proverbial thorn in your side I am. You, the man, are indifferent. Irritated mostly. But I…I am utterly being stripped of my pride…and yes, I do admit to having pride. So, I stand before you in a moment of complete weakness, in a moment of hopelessness. And you’re my sole resource here at this moment—the only person to whom I can confess my faults and feelings. And knowing how you feel about this whole matter…well, that makes my plight quite pitiful, don’t you agree?” Straightening her posture some, she added, “That is what my gibberish of a moment ago was about, sir.”

  He was silent for a moment and simply continued to stare down at her. Then, rather ceremoniously, he reached within his dinner jacket and withdrew a handkerchief, offering it to her. “You…you make us…all men…sound like such unfeeling Philistines.”

  Cassidy snatched the kerchief from his hand and dabbed at her tears. “Do you dare to deny then that I’m wrong in my assumptions of their attitudes?” she asked.

  Mason raised his eyebrows for a moment and looked beyond her before answering. “No. No. In fact, I’ve never heard a thing put so plainly accurate.” He looked back to her, and she caught a wave of compassion cross his face, she thought. “And the women. I’ve no doubt you’re right in that respect as well, though I’ve less experience with their ways of thinking.”

  Cassidy gazed past Mason to the darkness as she further pondered on the women’s thoughts. “They’re speculating on how long it will be before you take to a mistress. They’re wondering how quickly your chore of…how quickly I’ll conceive and present you with an heir.”

  Again Mason frowned and winced. “Surely not,” he mumbled.

  “Surely, yes,” she corrected. “I’ve overhead such conversations before at events just like this one.” She looked to him and wiped at several more tears. “They’re making bets, the men. And the women…no doubt several of the women are concocting ways to apply for the position of your—”

  “That’s enough. I’m no such man that would practice infidelity.” He was angry now, and she knew it.

  “Many good men have professed so,” she spat. “But let them perform the chore of an unwanted wife and see how long their gallant professions of morality last!”

  There was fire evident in his eyes as he glared at her. “I do not accuse you of such weaknesses. Nor do I anticipate their birth. What gives you cause to accuse me?”

  “Because you’re a man,” she stated.

  “Then because you’re a woman…should I expect then that some mystery lover will one day win your heart, thereby stealing your mind and virtue? Shall I assume that every man in that room is concocting plans of how to do so?”

  “No! No…I-I…” she stammered.

  “Then why such accusations? Such lack of faith in my character?” he nearly shouted.

  “You’re a man.”

  “Yes. I am,” he growled, nodding dramatically. “And such a man of honor, of honor to duty and moral code, that I ask you…is there a woman on the earth deserving of it?” Cassidy was speechless. Her weakened emotional state had taken her bantering ability from her. Taken her wit. “And this chore, as you so insightfully put it—this chore of furthering the family name that I’m to perform once we are wed. Is it not rather that you perceive it as such? For it must be your trial to endure. I’m merely the master of torment who will inflict said torture upon you!”

  “Do not mince words with me, sir. For it is your high moral code and honor to duty that will cause it to be so to you! Were it not for your obsession with being honorable, you could merely ignore me altogether and let your family’s name die away. At least in legitimate terms.”

  Both were silent for long moments. Then he seemed to calm his temper and, in a lowered voice, said, “Actually, if the truth be told, I find it somewhat encouraging to see that such human element as this exists in you. Your calm, composed, confident exterior hides your emotion, your tender pride, much better than you can imagine.” Afraid of bursting into tears before him once more, she turned her back to him and held her breath until she could surely restrain her tears. “Still, I’m a man of compassion, and I see no reason why your pride should be utterly destroyed as it threatens to be.”

  “It has been done already,” she nearly whispered.

  “There’s not much in life that cannot be undone.”

  Cassidy gasped as she felt his hands at her shoulders and looked up in the same moment to see Gabrielle approaching from some distance. Gabrielle was looking here and there between the rosebushes and shrubbery as if searching for something. Cassidy had no doubts as to for what she searched. There were several other young ladies at her heels, all whispering conspiratorially.

  “I hope you’re far more accomplished an actress than you are at containing your emotions at social gatherings,” he whispered.

  “What?” Cassidy asked, utterly perplexed at his question.

  “Through yon pathway comes your pride’s salvation, milady. If you’ve the strength to endure.”

  Cassidy’s perplexity was vanquished instantly as she felt the soft moisture of a lingering kiss on the bareness of her right shoulder. Gasping, she turned to him, asking, “What are you about?” But he simply took her shoulders once more and turned her away from him again.

  Again he kissed her shoulder lingeringly, and her breathing stopped and every limb in her body froze as the delirium of the realization that it was Mason’s kiss, Mason’s very mouth, that toyed with her flesh, enveloped her whole being. His right hand went to her waist, holding it firmly as his left hand caressed her left shoulder. Slowly and very deliberately he placed soft, moist kisses along the right of her neck and shoulder. Every inch of her flesh tingled with the blissful sensation of erupting goose pimples.

  “For pity’s sake, girl,” he whispered beguilingly into her ear, taking pause from administering the blissful kisses, “do not hold yourself so rigidly, and for once be my ally, or I’ll never be able to save your pre
cious pride.”

  With adherence to his command and complete failure in her resolve to stand firm borne from the ecstasy of his kiss, Cassidy exhaled the breath that had held her body rigid. She closed her eyes as her determination to retain her composure was lost, and she was rendered helpless as his right arm now encircled her waist, pulling her back against his powerful form. His mouth left her shoulder, and her head obeyed the prompting of his hand and tilted to one side as he now brushed the long ringlets from the opposite side of her neck before he continued to place his hot, deliriously enticing kisses there. His roughly shaven face and warm breath tickled her neck, and she flinched slightly. He brushed the locks from the back of her neck, her head dropping forward as he placed several kisses there as well.

  He was drowning her in the euphoria he was creating, and her hands went to his arm at her waist, and she tried to remove it. But he was undaunted, and his free hand caressed her shoulder and neck softly as it came to rest at her throat for a moment before taking her chin. Moving her head to one side, he kissed her cheek persistently just near the tiny beauty mark above her upper lip. When she tried to turn from him, he somehow maneuvered her quickly, turning her around so that she faced him, her body flush with his own, and his arms wrapped bindingly around her.

  “There’s no need for this,” she whispered an instant before he bent, placing a long kiss on the hollow of her throat. Instinctively, for she found it increasingly difficult to hold onto reality in her present predicament, she placed her small hands against his solid chest and tried to push herself from his arms. This couldn’t be real. After all, it felt like a dream. And she knew that such rapturous sensations could not possibly exist in reality.

  He said nothing, and she weakened, letting her head fall back as he kissed her throat several times in slow, deliberate succession. He kissed her chin lightly, and she sensed him looking at her. Holding her head erect once again, she searched his eyes for any hint that might tell her of his own thoughts. But his eyes were as dark and cold as ever. Still, his face seemed to have softened, and he stared at her with an intensity that made her feel as if he were reading her mind, knowing how completely he had controlled her in those past moments.