In the Garden of Seduction

by Cynthia Wicklund

  That tears it! For the second time tonight a man had issued her an ultimatum, and her nervousness was replaced by outrage. The only difference was her response to the marquess’ forward behavior, rather than anger, was a guilty excitement. But she had felt extremely uncomfortable on both occasions, and she’d had enough.

  “Grandfather, I can see this is becoming an area of contention for us both. I regret that, but I’m not going to let you plan the rest of my life. I already have a parent who serves that purpose well, thank you very much.”

  A deadly quiet followed, and Cassandra flinched inwardly at the queer look, utterly devoid of emotion, that entered Lord Whittingham’s eyes. Roger, a witness to the exchange, shifted at the edge of her sight, and she sensed her cousin’s unease as well.

  “It would seem, my dear, your red hair is indeed an indication of your temperament.” The earl’s vision cleared as he spoke, and to her amazement he smiled.

  She knew what he was doing. He was placating her. Why, that was as bad as nearly scaring her to death, but he had made a concession, and good manners meant she could do no less. Cassandra was surprised by the effort it took to respond in kind.

  “My father has mentioned that on more than one occasion,” she put forth in a bland voice. “It’s been a long day and I suspect I’m tired. Please forgive my rudeness.”

  There, she had done what she must, although by referring to Quintin James again she had subtly held her ground. She was afraid sometimes, but she was determined not to give in to her fear. So, having risked renewing the fight, the relief she felt when she realized the earl had decided to let the matter drop was humbling. Perhaps she wasn’t quite as brave as she had imagined.

  Lord Whittingham merely smiled again, but his eyes remained cool and distant. He took her arm. “Come, my dear, we’ve neglected our guests long enough.”

  *****

  “You know, Harry, I think I’m of a mind to extend my stay. Would you find it an inconvenience if I decide to prolong my visit?”

  Harry rolled his eyes, a suspicious grin lurking on his thick lips. “Of course not, old man, but I’m surprised. I believed the peace and quiet of the countryside to be wearing on your nerves.”

  “Now why do you say that?” the marquess asked. “I’m having a fine time.”

  The hour was late with dawn approaching, and Simon tossed off the last in a series of strong beverages he had imbibed throughout the evening. Though pleasantly mellow, he wasn’t drunk. Harry, who did not hold his wine as well as his friend, had stopped drinking some time ago.

  They had left Lord Whittingham’s party several hours before, for once Simon realized he could not approach Miss James, he was no longer interested in the festivities. Harry, congenial as always, had offered no resistance, meekly following his friend home. Once there, they went to Harry’s library and spent the remainder of the night in friendly conversation.

  “I think a certain beautiful redhead is the reason for your sudden interest in extending your visit,” Harry suggested.

  Simon considered denying the claim, but why bother? He looked at his companion and sighed.

  “She is a beauty, I’ll admit, and I am interested. I see no harm in a little flirtation after all.”

  There was a long silence as Harry studied the marquess. He opened his mouth to speak then clamped his lips together. His hesitation clearly came from a lack of willingness to offend his guest. Nevertheless, he began again.

  “Maybe your approach to this young lady should be less cavalier, Simon. The rumor circulating at the party is that Lord Whittingham is determined to have her marry his heir. If that’s true, he won’t tolerate any interference no matter how harmless. I believe it is something you might wish to consider.”

  Simon sat straight in his chair, focusing on the only piece of information in Harry’s speech that was worth his attention.

  “Who is this heir?”

  “Roger Morley.”

  “Good lord, man, you must be jesting,” Simon said in disgust. “I’ve met him. He’s a loose-screw. What woman would want to be married to him?”

  “Any woman who is attracted by the prospect of a future earldom—not to mention the money that comes with the title. And he doesn’t have the features of a simian. Seems to me that makes him quite a catch.”

  “I have a title and money, and I look well enough. Why would I be less of a catch?”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, my friend, but you were not speaking of marriage. Flirtation was the word you used.” Harry managed not to sound critical even as he gently tried to make his point.

  Simon decided to be offended anyway. “Are you questioning my motives?”

  “No, of course, not. But, Simon, be fair.” Harry’s face turned pink with embarrassment. He must have felt compelled to finish, though, because he pressed on despite his discomfort. “This poor girl, if the talk is accurate, has had a terrible upset recently. She is vulnerable and it would be wrong to exploit that. You could be putting her in a position of having to defy her grandfather and all for the sake of a flirtation.”

  “What makes you think she would choose me? Perhaps she would prefer Mr. Morley.”

  Simon was truly gratified by the look of surprise that altered Harry’s features. Apparently, his friend had not considered that a possibility.

  Harry shook his head. “If you want to enter the contest fully prepared to offer the young lady something honorable, I say bully for you, Simon, and may the best man win—but if all you want is to prove you can fix her interest, then I think you should reconsider. When it is over you won’t feel good about yourself. And, frankly, you shouldn’t.”

  “Since when did you become Miss James’ champion?” Simon asked, disgruntled, his anger now forgotten. “I swear I don’t need a conscience with you watching over my shoulder.”

  Harry grinned. “I spoke out of turn, I’m sure of it. I beg your forgiveness.”

  The marquess emitted a loud bark of laughter filled with self-mockery, and the pleasant atmosphere returned. That’s not to say the previous subject had been forgotten, only put aside. A thoughtful Lord Sutherfield went to bed a short while later.

  *****

  CHAPTER 4

  “Cassandra, I’d like a few moments with you, my dear.”

  Oh no, the very thing she had been trying to avoid, she thought. “I was just on my way to the stables, Grandfather.”

  Cassandra stood in the entry hall, pulling on her leather riding gloves. She picked up her crop from a small table against the wall and stepped hopefully toward the front door.

  “Then I’ll join you.”

  Her spirits sank even as she smiled at him graciously. She hoped her disappointment was not visible, but she hadn’t had a moment to herself in days. The ball on the previous night had ended a week that had left her feeling nervous and exhausted. All she wanted at the moment was to slip away for some much needed peace. She sighed as she followed her grandfather from the house.

  The air outside felt warm, and the sweet scent of roses floated seductively from the garden surrounding the easterly wing of the house. Cassandra squinted into the sunlight, the brightness so overpowering, she held her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun. She stared at the horizon, hazy from the mounting heat of mid-morning. The desire to climb on her horse and ride toward that distant horizon without ever having to return made her heart ache.

  She missed her father.

  They made their way to the stables and some fifteen minutes later were mounted and headed, at the earl’s insistence, in the direction opposite from where Cassandra had intended to ride. Nothing but fields that way, Grandfather said. It was better to keep to the lanes. Such an inspired choice, she thought rebelliously. No, perhaps the word she sought was overbearing.

  “Did you enjoy your party last night?” He looked so hopeful, she did not have the heart to tell him the truth.

  “It was lovely,” she lied.

  The old man expressed his satisfaction by g
runting. He did not speak again for several minutes. Cassandra had the impression he wanted to say something, but was having trouble deciding how to approach her. She rather liked the notion that he was as unsure of her as she was of him.

  He cleared his throat, keeping his gaze on the path in front of him. “I realize how difficult these last weeks have been for you,” he began. “The truth about your birth came as a shock, I know, but I hope you are finally realizing that coming home was the right thing to do.”

  Since she couldn’t bring herself to admit that she remained silent. She was aware of him looking at her, but this time she was the one who could not meet his gaze.

  “Cassandra, we have to discuss this sometime. I’ve tried to give you time to adjust, but there are things that cannot be ignored indefinitely. You’re an adult. You should be able to listen to me without pouting.”

  Cassandra did look at him then, annoyed. “Is that what you think I’ve been doing? Pouting? You toss my life into chaos, make demands, and you do not understand my reluctance?”

  “Perhaps I could have stated it better.” If the words were meant to mollify, he fell short of his goal because he did not sound apologetic. “However, that doesn’t change the fact that at some point we have to talk.”

  “I was unaware you were holding back, that there was something you needed to say,” she said stiffly. How unfair to insinuate that their lack of communication was solely because of her. “Please, feel free to express yourself, sir. I am ready to listen.”

  “It is concerning your future.” Lord Whittingham pulled his horse to a halt, turning his massive body to stare at her. His great white brows were pulled into a tight line across his forehead, and his pale eyes pierced her ruthlessly.

  Cassandra hesitated, afraid to say something she would later regret. At last she replied, “We did, in fact, discuss this last night, Grandfather. I think we agreed there was nothing to discuss.”

  “I’ve had enough of this,” he barked at her. She knew he was aggravated, for his ruddy cheeks glowed with angry red spots. He drew in a deep breath. “Roger has asked me if he may pay you his addresses. Since the request seemed suitable, I gave him my permission.”

  “You had no right!”

  “I have every right,” her grandfather responded in a hard-edged voice. “I am your guardian. You would be wise not to forget that fact.”

  “I’m an adult. My life is my own.” She was dazed by the direction the conversation had taken.

  “No one’s life is his own, especially if born to the aristocracy. That is a common attitude, Cassandra, and I’m offended by it. You are my granddaughter—you will behave in a way that will make us both proud of the connection.”

  “But I don’t even know Roger. How could I be thinking of marriage to him?”

  “Time will take care of that.” He waved his arm as though her argument were insignificant.

  Cassandra narrowed her eyes at him. “What makes a union with Roger so suitable?”

  “He is my heir and you are my last direct descendent. If my son had lived,” he paused, drawing in a shallow breath through pinched nostrils, “the title would have passed from him to his son, and then to my great-grandson. Instead, Roger will inherit the title and then, of course, his son. When you marry Roger, his son will be your son. Don’t you see?” he continued ardently. “The title will be back where it belongs—with my great-grandson.”

  He hurried on before she had time to interrupt. “I do not enjoy manipulating events to bring about what should have occurred naturally. The title passing through my granddaughter is not how it should happen. I’ll not complain, though, because it is better than nothing. I cannot tell you how I’ve worried over the shift of the family fortune. That’s why I’ve been consumed with finding you.”

  Cassandra knew she shouldn’t feel hurt, but she did. He didn’t even pretend affection had been the reason for his search. If he had been merely curious about her, what she looked like, that would have been more acceptable.

  “It would seem to me, Grandfather, it’s not so much Roger’s wish he and I marry as it is yours.” Bruised feelings made her sound more caustic than she intended.

  “Roger is a dutiful young man,” he admitted. “He will do as he’s told.”

  “Well, I won’t!” She snatched angrily at the reins of her horse, causing the animal to dance nervously from side to side. “My father was right—all you want is to use me. Just so you know, I expect more from life than to be a means to an end.”

  “Cassandra, calm yourself. There is no reason to lose your temper,” her grandfather said soothingly, apparently aware he was losing control of the conversation. “You may find you actually like Roger. Then all this angry talk will have been for naught.”

  “Never. I will never want to marry him. Did it ever occur to you that Roger might deserve a wife who cares for him?”

  The old man did not answer immediately. Instead, he stared at her as if she had gone daft. He was shocked—she knew it by the look on his face.

  “What?” Cassandra shot back. “Is it too much to expect affection from a marriage? The children of a loveless match suffer, too—if there are any children. And a grandson seems to be your only goal in all of this.”

  The disgust that altered Lord Whittingham’s features was a painful reminder of the overwhelming gap they must close if they ever hoped to reach an understanding.

  “I prefer that you not make crude references, Cassandra,” he said. “How I regret not having had a hand in your upbringing. Your mother must have been very spiteful to want to rob you of your heritage.”

  “Do you think so?” she asked, animosity and frustration now ruling her words. “Perhaps she thought your influence would be a detriment.”

  She could see by the fury sparking from his pale eyes that she had offended him, but his criticism had cut deeply. All she wanted was to put as much distance as possible between herself and this opinionated, tyrannical man. With that in mind, she jerked her mount around, kicking the poor animal with all her might. Unfortunately, that sent the horse leaping forward, taking her on a wild ride through an open field.

  Cassandra heard her grandfather call after her. Instead of answering him she gave the horse full rein, delighting in her show of defiance. She did not slow down until she knew the earl had not followed her. She glanced over her shoulder to make certain, but he had already disappeared from sight.

  She felt deflated then, for all she had done was prove she was capable of acting childish. And yet, given a hundred opportunities Cassandra believed she would have responded the same each time. How could he expect her to marry Roger? The idea caused her stomach to cramp.

  She pulled on the reins, bringing the horse to a halt, and scrambled down from the saddle. With no direction in mind, she led the mare through the ankle-high grasses. The walk did her some good, though, because it helped ease the flurry of nerves that had overcome her during her argument with her grandfather.

  The sound of an approaching horse caused Cassandra to look quickly over her shoulder again, fearing her grandfather had changed his mind and followed her after all. To her dismay, bearing down on her was the Marquess of Sutherfield.

  “Miss James,” he called as he galloped toward her. When he reached her side, he continued, “What a pleasure. I was just thinking about you, and what do you know?—here you are. It must be fate.” He smiled down at her, those avid black eyes roaming over her from head to foot.

  Cassandra licked her lips, the nerves returning. “How do you fare today, my lord?”

  “Better now,” he said, grinning as he dismounted to stand beside her. He scanned the area over her head as if looking for something. “What are you doing out here alone? Where’s your groom?”

  “I was restless. I needed some fresh air.” She was not going to admit that she hadn’t begun her ride alone.

  “I’ve been somewhat restless myself,” he said in an insinuating voice as he moved closer. “Seems to have come on m
e since last evening. Can’t imagine what it could be. Can you?”

  “I have no idea what you mean,” she said, stepping back.

  His nearness caused an odd fluttering in her throat, and she swallowed uneasily. Cassandra glanced up at him from the edge of her lashes, reluctant to look at him directly. He had an uncanny way of snaring her with those black eyes that made her feel completely lost.

  “Now, now, Miss James, are you saying you did not find last night moving?”

  He towered over her, standing close enough for the clean smell of shaving soap mixed with crisp linen to tease her wary senses. It was a distinctly masculine scent.

  “Lord Sutherfield, a gentleman would pretend last night never happened. I’ve put it out of my mind, and I really wish you would do the same.” She kept her tone cool and impersonal, for she would be humiliated if he guessed at the effect he had on her.

  He chuckled, and the rich sound sent a shudder of excitement coursing through her. “I could forget, I suppose, but I’d rather not.”

  His bantering made it difficult to know if he were serious. Cassandra found the earl a stimulating companion, and she would have enjoyed flirting with him, but she knew he was verging on the murky area of impropriety. She had no idea why he thought he could be fast with her, but since he would not cease, she thought it only fair to make him swallow a little of his own medicine.

  “You are so easily affected, my lord?”

  Cassandra saw an appreciative gleam light his eye.

  “Not a bit of it, Miss James. You have a mirror. Surely, you can see what others see.”

  “What I see, Lord Sutherfield, hardly has that kind of power. Instead, I suspect you have a weakness for the ladies and are intrigued when that weakness is not returned.” She gave him an insipid look. “I hope you’ll pardon me for disappointing you.”

  Simon laughed aloud. “My dear Miss James, the one thing you are not is a disappointment.”