Shackles of Honor

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  Cassidy turned from him to hide her tears and wept bitterly into the down pillow that smelled so completely of Mason Carlisle. “At least,” she whispered to herself just before fatigue overtook her consciousness, “at least I know you will keep me safe.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cassidy awoke abruptly as the door to Mason’s room burst open. Though barely awakened and with blurry vision, she beheld Mason standing in the doorway speaking with Havroneck. “Very well then. Proceed thus and have the lock changed this day. Two keys are to be made. One will be kept in the possession of Miss Shea. The other…well, to put it simply to you, Havroneck…I will take charge of the other.”

  Cassidy did not miss the disapproving raising of Havroneck’s eyebrows as he nodded and said, “Very well, Lord Carlisle.” Havroneck glanced quickly beyond his master to where Cassidy sat blushing in Mason’s bed.

  “You need not arch that chiding brow at me, Havroneck. I questioned the safety of the miss last evening is all. And should an unkind word spread, I will well know the source of its malicious birth. Do you understand me?” Cassidy was somewhat astounded at Mason’s superior and threatening tone with Havroneck.

  “Yes. Of course, sir. You know I’m to be trusted, sir,” Havroneck assured Mason.

  “Carry on then, man,” Mason ordered rather than instructed.

  Fully entering the room, Mason closed the door at his back and stood studying Cassidy for a moment. Immediately she was self-conscious, realizing what her appearance must be. No doubt her hair was completely mussed, her eyes red and swollen from the night’s tears, and she knew she must look most unrefined to him.

  He grinned, obviously amused and apparently having read Cassidy’s thoughts. “There you sit, Miss Bliss, simply dwarfed in that massive bed. I never before noticed how large it is until this very moment. Definitely more befitting were I in it with you.”

  Immediately Cassidy was entirely elated with his flirting, yet she knew that feigning vexation was the only acceptable thing to do. “How dare you imply such atrocity!” she scolded.

  He chuckled aloud, entertained by her reaction. “Come now, Bliss. This old quarrel is getting far too tiresome. You well know that I will continue to tease you about such intimacies as well as I know that you are bound by propriety to rebuke me for doing so. Though I think you enjoy it far more than you let on.”

  “You!” she growled at him. Throwing back the large quilt that had warmed her during the night, she stood and marched to meet him in the middle of the room. “You intentionally let that man see me in here!”

  “Who?” he asked, feigning innocence. “Havroneck, you mean?” Cassidy simply sighed deeply and clenched her teeth tightly to try to control her anger. But Mason continued in his jest. “Oh, there is no need to worry about Havroneck. He is as silent as the grave.”

  “You’ll find yourself in the same silent grave if you do not cease in persisting to torment me about…about…things!”

  “I see you are quite recovered from whatever frightened you and sent you running into my arms last night,” he mumbled, folding his arms across his broad chest.

  “I did not come running into your arms, sir!” Cassidy defended herself. “I was frightened, yes. I needed support…protection and reassurance perhaps. But I did not come running into your arms.”

  “You have to admit, though, Bliss,” he said, grinning slyly at her and lowering his voice, “they are the kind of arms in which any woman would want to find herself, are they not? Quite a good set of appendages.”

  All at once Cassidy’s resolve to barricade her emotions and show only anger and contempt to him began to fail. “I despise you,” she whispered as she felt her eyes fill with tears. She tried to push past him, but he caught her arm.

  “Do you?” he growled. “Or is it that you are indeed beginning to miss me…my teasing attentions, my way with a kiss?”

  “You’re far too puffed up in your own vanity, sir. Now, let go my arm.”

  He did so, the amused grin disappearing from his face. As she opened the door and walked out into the hallway, he called after her, “The lock to your chamber will be changed this day. There is no other entrance into the room. There should be no further need for you to disturb my precious night’s rest from this day forth.”

  

  Another day, another battle. This one at least was more pleasant, more nearly mirroring the kind of banter they had shared in the days before LaMont Carlisle’s death. Still, it was short-lived, for Mason slipped all too easily back into his brooding, indifferent ways.

  Cassidy wished she could simply sleep through the next two months until the wedding. However, the awakeness of the days wore on. There were several dinner parties given in honor of Lord Mason Carlisle and his betrothed. Each time Mason was congenial and attentive. But the moment they entered the carriage to return home, he was silent and distant and seemingly unaware of her completely.

  Lord and Lady Ashmore held a ball in their honor. Cassidy both dreaded the event and longed for it. She had not seen Gabrielle since Lord Carlisle’s death. Even then, Mason was so grief-stricken and preoccupied that Cassidy felt very little anxiety at Gabrielle’s being near to Mason. She often still wondered whether Mason and Gabrielle met in secret when he rode to Haggarty for business, for it was well known, and Ellis’s letters indicated it as well, that Gabrielle was staying with an aged aunt there for some time. Still, at the invitation to the ball at the Ashmores’, Cassidy wondered if she would be able to endure seeing them together, especially since she feared she may have lost any hold on Mason that she had gained.

  Yet Mason would dance with her. Cassidy knew that, if nothing else, he would be bound to dance with her, and in that, she would revel. It would be another moment of the closeness with him she had longed for since his father’s death. He would hold her in his arms, and she would be reminded of his “teaching her to dance” in the library one cool spring evening that seemed so long ago—that blessed evening when she had read to him and he had kissed her so deeply. For that reason alone did she long for the event.

  And she chose to wear the red. Yes. She would find the courage to wear the red dress that had so long ago won his attention. So desperate was she to win his glance, his smile, his kiss that madness had overtaken her, and she did indeed daringly have Katie prepare the infamous red gown for the Ashmore affair.

  Yet Mason seemed no more attentive and no more sincere as they rode in the carriage to Ashmore Heather. Lady Carlisle struggled diligently, as she always did now when in the company of Mason and Cassidy, to keep a conversation in motion. Mason basically grunted his responses, ever staring out the window of the carriage into the cool of the night.

  “I love that red,” Lady Carlisle commented in a weak attempt to lift Cassidy’s spirits. “Do you, Mason? Do you not think red becomes our Cassidy?” Cassidy winced at Lady Carlisle, begging with her expression for the woman not to try to bait Mason into issuing a compliment.

  “Every color on earth becomes her, Mother,” he grumbled. Cassidy’s heart ached at his sarcasm. In his next breath, he said, “Did you know that Lord Ashmore has acquired the Holman estates for himself?”

  Rolling her eyes in Cassidy’s direction, Lady Carlisle responded, “Really? Are not those the estates that your father sold only last year?”

  “Yes. Father did well with that sale.”

  

  When the carriage arrived at Ashmore Heather, Mason’s forced smile appeared, and he was ever the gentleman, assisting Cassidy from the carriage and taking her arm as propriety demanded. But he was cold to her—cold and indifferent.

  Throughout the evening he danced with her in silence, his jaw tightly clenched, his eyes surveying the room constantly. He would talk easily with Gabrielle or various other young ladies with whom he danced. But each time with Cassidy, his body was rigid, his muscles taut, and his manner that of irritation.

  At last Cassidy could keep silent no more. As he took her waist and suppor
ted her hand beginning the dance, she said, “We are officially betrothed now, sir. You must not torment yourself by attending to me at every turn.”

  He said nothing, simply continued to dance. Then suddenly he spoke. “Did I tell you that Lord Ashmore has acquired the Holman estates?”

  “Yes, sir,” Cassidy sighed, and Mason said no more.

  Cassidy felt as if the night would never end. She had hoped to win him somehow, or at least win his attention. But even the sordid red dress had failed her, and she wished now only for an end to the torture.

  But as she stood surrounded by a group of chattering young ladies who went on endlessly about Cassidy’s beautiful red dress and her great fortune in capturing the heart of Mason Carlisle, she glanced across the ballroom to see Mason leaning against the far wall, staring at her. Cassidy was at once intensely self-conscious. In her mind she quickly reviewed her appearance, starting from the very top of her head and continuing to the very sole of her slipper. Was something amiss in her manner of dress? Was her hair threatening to escape from its manipulated curls piled atop her head?

  Still he stared at her. The intensity of his eyes was completely disturbing! Though she tried to smile warmly at the young ladies with whom she conversed, her eyes kept returning to Mason, standing across the room, arms folded tightly across his massive chest, his unnerving, yet exhilarating, stare boring through the unrefined matter that was her flesh, penetrating the very depths of her soul.

  The dance ended, and Cassidy began to tremble as she saw Mason begin striding determinedly in her direction. Quickly she thanked the young ladies for their company, allowing them to nod in response only briefly before she turned and began walking hastily toward the veranda and away from Mason. The intensity of him was dominating the room, at least to her. She felt his emotions, whether anger or disapproval or something else that she could not quite identify. For whatever reason, they were in a state of extremity. It frightened her. She did not feel that her own emotions could endure rebuking at his hand at that moment.

  Just as she exited the ballroom to be greeted by the sweet scent of roses on the veranda, however, she felt his powerful hand take hold of her elbow and realized how foolish she had been to try to escape him. She turned to him immediately, being far too wise to go on pretending that she was surprised at his sudden appearance. Eyes cast downward at first, she was startled and gasped as her eyes met his, to find his gaze that of burning emotion. His jaw was tightly clenched. It was obvious by the firm set of it. His chest rose and fell with a density of breathing that was beyond standard.

  “Mason, I…” she began to apologize in a whisper. Yet her words would not flow, for she knew not what she had done to vex him so.

  He said not a word in response, simply looked about quickly as if searching for something. Then, sliding one strong arm around her waist, he led her to the far end of the veranda. So determined was he and so long his stride that Cassidy stumbled twice in trying to match his speed. Once they reached the far end of the veranda, Mason turned the latch of a small door leading from it. Commandingly, he pushed Cassidy ahead of him through the door, and she found herself in a dimly lit study.

  She could only stand in intense, ignorant apprehension as she watched him latch and lock the door through which they had entered. Then he strode across the room and bolted the other door, which no doubt led to the rest of the house. Without a single word to her still, his eyes surveyed the room quickly, settling upon a nearby footstool. Shoving it across the room with his boot, he positioned it next to one wall. Then his attention again fell to Cassidy. His eyes burned with…something, and Cassidy felt her hand involuntarily go to her throat in a protective manner.

  Mason reached out and took hold of her arms, pulling her toward the footstool, finally putting his large, capable hands at her waist and lifting her effortlessly to position her back against the wall to stand rather precariously upon it. Again Cassidy felt her own hand go to her throat as Mason stood before her, his eyes now nearly level with her own. She startled when suddenly his fists hit the wall against which she leaned, one great hand on either side of her head.

  Then, as if struggling with some inner conflict, he hung his head before her for a moment, and she begged, “Mason. One word, please. I beg you.”

  “No!”

  Cassidy could no longer restrain the moisture in her eyes that threatened to expose her anxiety. Closing her eyes tightly, she allowed several tears to trickle uninhibited down her cheeks. She opened her eyes quickly, however, when she felt Mason’s surprisingly gentle touch at her throat. He took her hand, which still clasped her throat protectively and placed it against the wall and at her side. Then his own hand covered the area where once hers had been. He caressed her throat tenderly, causing no discomfort in his manner of touching her. As his hand lingered there, he allowed his thumb to stroke the delicate curve of her jaw, finally pushing at it coaxingly so she followed his wordless direction and turned her head to one side.

  She was beginning to understand that the intense emotion emanating from him was indeed anger—but anger bred from frustration borne within his own soul, not at something she had done. When she felt his breath on the bareness of her shoulder, moving slowly across to her neck and upward to her ear, she was further assured that she had misread his intention. His hand cupped her chin tightly, and he turned her face to his own once more.

  At last he spoke, his voice deep and impassioned in its quiet booming. “You are real then?” he asked.

  She knew not how to answer such a question. She was uncertain of his meaning.

  Her silence urged him further. “Real? Not some imagined fairy that my tormented mind has concocted to ease the suffering at my loss? A mere vision that will vanish at my touch?”

  “By no means,” she stammered in a whisper, suddenly delirious at the thought of his touch, his arms about her, his longed-for kiss. It seemed an eternity since he had spoken to her in such an intimate tone—since his hands had conveyed the promise of a passionate exchange.

  His kiss was sudden, hard to nearly uncomfortable, and insistent. There were no soft kisses on her neck, no teasing, tender kisses at the corner of her mouth, no taunting breath on her cheek. Fully ripened passion exploded from him instantly. His hand released her chin at once upon his lips capturing hers, and she sensed his tightly clenched fists against the wall on either side of her again. His arms slackened for a moment, letting his body press firmly against her own. Breaking the kiss and closing his eyes to frown deeply, he shook his head, again battling with his own resolves. Pounding one fist on the wall at the side of her head and still shaking his head in resistance and desire, his arms worked to push his body away from her for a moment, going slack the next and allowing him to caress her cheek with his own over and over again.

  Cassidy’s tears flowed with compassion for the man who fought such a battle of torment with his mind against his desire. What uniquely good man was this before her that battled so, mind and body? Her primping, her profound attention to her appearance, had done more than she had wished. It was obvious she had captured the attention of the great brooding man—captured his attention yet sent his mind into confusion. Guilt settled into the pit of her stomach as his cheek lingered against her own a moment longer than it had before. What cruelty had she inflicted upon him, causing him to find himself raging with desire for a woman he loved not? And still, the small grain of corruption within her delighted that she could capture his attention so.

  Putting her hands at his shoulders, she endeavored to push him away, to release him from the spell she had managed to work about him. But her gesture only served to further agitate him, and at once, her face was held firmly between his two hands.

  “You bewitch me!” he growled through clenched teeth.

  “Forgive me,” Cassidy whispered.

  “Never,” he grumbled a moment before his kiss was fierce and thorough on her mouth once more.

  His hand was at the back of her neck, holdin
g her head in position for his own reasons. His other slid around her waist, pulling her flush with his powerful body. Cassidy felt her own hands leave his broad shoulders and find their way to the back of his neck, her fingers unable to deny themselves the pleasure of being lost in the softness of his hair.

  After long moments, his mouth broke from hers, finding the fragrant flesh of her neck upon which to rain softer, less driven kisses. Cassidy’s arms encircled his neck, pulling her body closer to his, allowing her own face to brush tenderly against his hair. She wanted to whisper her love for him, to confess her impious attentions to her own appearance so she might capture his notice, but she dared not. Then his kiss was hers once more, a less brutal passion emanating from it this time. His embrace of her slackened, his hands resting at her waist, yet still holding her possessively somehow.

  Such kissing Cassidy had never fathomed before having been given to Mason Carlisle. How this man could own her so completely tortured her mind. How his smile, his very face, his delicious kiss could fill her every thought was evidence of her heart’s being slave to him. She thought, as she felt the cool of the gold bracelet brush her neck, that it should be she who wore it…for it was she who was enslaved to him. Again, his kiss traveled to her neck, and she thrilled as she felt him nip her playfully before he broke from her suddenly and completely.

  “It must needs be that I take my leave now, lest I sacrifice all that you and I are in moral character,” he told her plainly. Cassidy’s knees weakened at the lingering sensations of his embrace and kiss, and she leaned back against the wall for support. “Remain here for a time. Were anyone to see you now, my true nature would be revealed to all, for you are yet flushed and ruffled.”

  He strode from her toward the door leading to the veranda yet paused before unlatching it to take his leave. Turning to look at her once more, he said, “Two things.” His hesitation in saying anything further gave her cause to believe he had changed his mind about expressing what was in his mind, but then he continued, “First, I cannot endure seeing you in the arms of another man any longer this evening. You will please keep yourself to me alone for the rest of it.” He somewhat glared at her, obviously waiting for an argumentative response. She could only swallow hard and nod in agreement. “Second, I know what is in your mind…that little self-persecuting thinking of yours. Let me assure you, Miss Shea…’twould not have mattered were you just fished from a pond looking like a drowned kitten in place of wearing that accursed red gown and looking as you do. My reaction to you this night would have been no less explosive.” With that, he turned from her and exited through the veranda door.