In the Garden of Seduction

by Cynthia Wicklund

  *****

  CHAPTER 14

  Cassandra awoke gradually, surfacing through several layers of confused reason. One overriding sensation dominated her thoughts. Her head hurt—dreadfully. That was bad enough, but with consciousness came memory.

  Not lucid memory and certainly not accurate memory. She was besieged by a distorted image, cast by a drunken mind, of the most appallingly disgraceful moment of her life. She grasped the covers in shaky fingers and pulled them over her face.

  Unfortunately, Cassandra’s mortifying recollections dived under the covers with her. Her life lay in shambles. Simple as that.

  She did remember the dinner, a lovely affair, and glass after glass of champagne. The more she drank the more reckless she felt until, firmly in her cups, she propositioned the marquess. If her memory must be muddled, why was that incident vividly clear?

  All these weeks he had said he wanted her, and she had felt confident that he would succumb to her overture, too eager to be rational or cautious. He had rebuffed her, instead, and the wound from his rejection hurt more than she thought possible.

  Cassandra told herself she had been testing him. He had been less aggressive of late, and his gentlemanly behavior had disconcerted her. Much easier to feign concern over his fading interest than to admit she offered herself because it was what she wanted most. Then she must also admit, as she had feared for weeks, that she loved him. What did it matter? She was thoroughly ruined, and Simon wouldn’t want her now.

  Cassandra pushed back the blankets and sat up.

  Someone tapped on the chamber door, and she swallowed several times to clear her thick throat.

  “Yes?” she croaked.

  Her maid entered with a tray. “Ready for breakfast, miss?”

  “Take it away,” Cassandra said, shuddering when she caught sight of the food. Her stomach lurched when the smell reached her nose. “I want to bathe, that is all. I’ll have tea and toast later.”

  She remained in the bed, suffering from self-pity until her tub brimmed with hot, fragrant water. Sending everyone from the room, she eased off the mattress, standing on wobbly legs. Cassandra pulled her gown over her head and winced, because the movement caused her head to throb. She teetered toward the bath, climbed into the steamy liquid and yelled as the water came in contact with her knees. She’d forgotten about her knees. She had fallen last night—the final indignity. She plunged defiantly into the bath water, reveling in the stinging pain, accepting that she deserved the punishment.

  Thirty minutes passed before Cassandra could rouse herself. She dried off and chose a suitable costume, but getting dressed without help took too much effort. She rang for her maid.

  She spent the day resting on the lounge in the morning room. Her father gave her a wide berth but made his displeasure known. How could she tell him what was wrong?

  The middle of the afternoon arrived before Cassandra concluded that she would survive her ordeal. Not that she wanted to survive. A quick death would have been more merciful. As it was she must deal with living, and the ache in her heart made her wonder if she was up to the challenge.

  She loved Simon. There was no more denying the obvious, although she had been doing that for some time. She might as well face the pain and be done with it. Then perhaps she could begin to heal. She closed weary eyes against the sunshine filtering into the room.

  *****

  The door chime interrupted Cassandra’s restless dreams. The footsteps of the butler sounded in the marbled entry as he answered the summons, and she heard a male voice at the entrance. Had Simon come? Her pulse leapt with hope. She struggled off the lounge and, though a little dizzy from the last traces of overindulging, she ventured down the hall.

  “I’d like to speak to Mr. James and his daughter.”

  Cassandra wanted to sit on the floor and weep. From the shadows she saw her grandfather standing in the middle of the entry, filling the space with his imposing presence. She spun on her heel, intent on fleeing before she stopped herself, ashamed of her cowardly response.

  Quintin James entered the hall, and Cassandra watched the frostiest introduction she had ever witnessed.

  “Join me in the library, Lord Whittingham. We can talk there,” her father said. He turned to the butler. “Bring your mistress, please.”

  Again, Cassandra was consumed with the desire to run as the butler came in her direction. She stepped out of the darkness, nodding at the servant.

  “I heard. As soon as I can gather my courage I will join them.”

  More than five minutes passed before she left her hiding place. She moved toward the library but stopped outside the door, listening to the conversation.

  “I want my granddaughter to come home. She can stay with me while I’m in the city.”

  “That’s Cassandra’s decision, my lord,” came the implacable reply. “I no longer make those choices for her.”

  “She is a woman. She needs someone to guide her.”

  “If that is the logic you have been using on her,” Quintin James said, “then no wonder my daughter has resisted your efforts. Cassandra will not be lead blindly.”

  Hearing the smugness in her father’s voice, she couldn’t help smiling. Cassandra eased the door open and peeked through the crack. The two men were squared off like fighting cocks, and the anger in the room was palpable.

  “Grandfather,” she said, entering the library, “it is good to see you.” She held out her hand to him.

  The earl ignored the gesture, turning on her wrathfully. “Cassandra, what is this I hear about you being presented to society under the protection of the Marquess of Sutherfield?”

  “The rumors are exaggerated, sir,” she said, forcing down her own irritation. “Lord Sutherfield and his sister Lady Eastwick escorted me to several parties. There is nothing more to the arrangement than that.”

  “I told Lord Sutherfield to stay away from you.”

  “You had no right!” she said. “I am old enough to choose my friends.”

  “Friendship is not what he has in mind, young lady. Use your brain, for God’s sake. The man’s a notorious rake.”

  Cassandra swallowed. She wasn’t certain she believed that anymore, not after last night, but it didn’t matter. She loved Simon. What mattered, what hurt most was Simon not loving her.

  The earl broke into her thoughts. “I want to settle your future. I want to do it now, here, with Mr. James in attendance. It’s time. I’ve been patient long enough.”

  Cassandra glanced at her father, and he sent her an “I told you so” look that was hard to misinterpret.

  “It’s Roger, isn’t it?” she asked dully.

  “I think it’s the best solution for everyone,” her grandfather admitted.

  “And if I don’t agree?”

  “Then I will do what I promised. Your father’s fate depends on you.”

  “Now, see here.” Quintin, who had been silent up until then, entered the discussion. “What the hell is going on?”

  The earl glanced at him. “I’ll let my granddaughter explain later,” he said, returning his attention to Cassandra. “Well?”

  Did she really care about her future if it didn’t include Simon? At least Papa would be safe and could marry Moretta, she thought.

  “All right,” Cassandra said, a melancholy fatalism washing over her. She glanced in her father’s direction but he was staring at her in astonishment, and she found she could not meet his gaze.

  The door chime rang out at that moment. An uneasy quiet followed while they waited for the guest in the hall to be ushered into the library.

  “Sir, the Marquess of Sutherfield,” the servant announced.

  Quintin moved to the door to welcome the marquess. “Come in, my lord,” he said and offered his hand.

  Frantic, Cassandra found herself glancing over her shoulder, looking for an escape. If she had a choice of worst case scenarios, this would rank at the very top of her list. Why had Simon chosen this moment to
call?

  The marquess bowed politely to everyone in general, but his sharp gaze rested on Lord Whittingham.

  “Sir,” he greeted the earl, a question in his speech.

  “Sutherfield,” her grandfather acknowledged him, grinning broadly, “you’re just in time for our little announcement.”

  “Announcement?” The expression on Simon’s features, at first bland, deepened with consternation. His regard shifted to Cassandra.

  Not now, not now, she thought in desperation. She wanted to dash across the room and put her and over the earl’s mouth to keep him from saying the horrible words. Instead, she remained unmoving, frozen in place by a situation she could not control.

  “Cassandra has consented to marry my nephew, Roger.”

  The black fury that entered Simon’s eyes was all the more frightening because his expression did not alter.

  “This is true?” He directed the terse inquiry at her.

  Cassandra licked dry lips, thinking how to respond. Regrettably, she was bereft of inspiration. “It seems for the best,” she mumbled inadequately. The nausea she had been fighting all day threatened to rise up and overcome her.

  Simon went silent, his eyes narrowing as he watched her. Cassandra sensed more than anger now. She felt his disappointment and—hurt? All at once she wondered if she had made the worst mistake of her life. She opened her mouth to recant, but Simon had already turned away from her.

  “Mr. James,” the marquess addressed his host, “I had something I wanted to discuss with you, however, recent events make our conversation unnecessary.” He looked at Cassandra again. “I wish you well, Miss James. Whittingham,” he said, nodding at the earl.

  And then he was gone.

  “I think you should move to my town house, Cassandra,” Lord Whittingham said when the front door closed. “If you are there I can better help with your introduction to society.”

  Cassandra felt too ill to do more than stare at him.

  Her grandfather left shortly after that with the promise of returning in a day or two to expedite her change of address.

  Now alone with her father, Cassandra finally allowed her emotions to show. She sank down onto the sofa and covered her face with her hands, too heartsick to weep.

  “Would you care to explain what is going on here?” Quintin barked. “Between that unpleasant display last night and the happenings here just now, I’m at a complete loss.”

  He never spoke to her like that, and Cassandra shot him a look of surprise. “It would seem, Papa, that I am to be married.”

  “Are you in love with this Roger?”

  “Absolutely not.” When it came to Roger she could not lie even a little.

  “Then why the hell are you marrying him?” he demanded.

  “Haven’t you heard, Papa? Marriage isn’t for love.”

  “Balderdash, and you know it. That’s the mouthings of the high and mighty, not you. Now explain yourself before I become very angry.”

  “Grandfather wants me to wed his nephew. Our union would keep his title in the immediate family. This is very important to him.”

  “How do his demands relate to me?” he asked in a steely voice.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Tell me,” he bellowed. “Has he threatened you?”

  Cassandra’s shoulders slumped as she looked at her father’s dear face. “He said he would have you charged with kidnapping if I didn’t go along with him.”

  “Is that it? That’s been his threat all along, or have you forgotten? I allowed him to use it before because I thought you should become acquainted with your blood relatives. But this is different. We’re not talking about a brief visit. This is the rest of your life.”

  “I can’t risk it, Papa. If anything happened to you, especially if I could have prevented it…” Her throat clogged with tears.

  “You think I want you to do this for me? If you’re not happy, I can’t be happy.”

  “What of Lady Camden?”

  “Of course, I care for Moretta,” he said, “but not to the extent that I would sacrifice you. Cassandra, love, you’re my child. You are more important than anything—or anyone.” He sat on the sofa next to her and took her hand. “We must find a way to release you from your promise and quickly. Lord Whittingham will waste no time publishing the banns.”

  “And if you go to the gaol as a result?”

  “He’s bluffing. Remember, Cassandra, I’ve built an empire ferreting out the aces hidden in other men’s sleeves. I don’t think your grandfather wants to be estranged from you. This action would destroy any hope you two have of maintaining a relationship. If he’s more foolish than I think he is,” he shrugged, “an extended sojourn on the continent is not out of the question. I believe Moretta would enjoy the trip.”

  Suddenly she felt too tired to fight. “Perhaps it’s best to leave things as they are, Papa.”

  “What of Sutherfield?” he asked.

  “What of him?”

  “Are you going to tell me you’re not in love with the marquess and he with you?”

  Cassandra looked at him directly then. “No, Papa, I’m not. I do love Simon, much to my regret. But I’m afraid his involvement is not quite that heartfelt.”

  “I don’t understand. He said he wanted to court you. I took that as the start of a commitment from him.”

  She shrugged. “What can I say? I must go on instinct, and I don’t believe he loves me.”

  Quintin placed his hands on his knees and raised his large body from the sofa. He ambled across the room, turning in the doorway.

  “I saw Lord Sutherfield’s face last night after he and you argued, and I saw the pain in his eyes just now when he learned of your decision to marry this Roger fellow. Intuitively speaking, Cassandra, I consider you way ahead of me. Always have. But my instincts tell me you are wrong this time—dead wrong.”

  *****

  “You have a caller, miss.” The footman approached his mistress where she sat on a bench taking sun in the garden.

  Cassandra glanced at the servant listlessly. “Who is it?”

  He placed the small silver tray which held the calling card under her nose.

  Grabbing impatiently at the piece of paper, she groaned as her eyes focused on the print.

  “I’ll be right there,” she promised. Standing, Cassandra adjusted her skirts and then adjusted them again, wasting as much time as she could before starting down the walk.

  She entered the parlor through the French doors that led from the garden, pasting on a smile of welcome, hoping she looked more sincere than she felt.

  “Roger, so good to see you,” she greeted, holding out her hand to him.

  Mr. Morley turned on her a face so desolate, she stepped away from him in shock. He looked as though he’d been weeping.

  “Cassandra,” he moaned, “how could you do it?”

  “How could I do what?” she asked, mystified.

  “Uncle came from here last night and took great pleasure in imparting the news that you had finally agreed to a betrothal between us.”

  “You told me you wanted to please Grandfather in this matter. You’re the last person I expected to be upset.”

  “I counted on you to hold him off,” he whimpered. “Now that you’ve said you will marry me, all is lost.”

  “What is lost, Roger?” she inquired, her hackles rising.

  “I’m in love with Penelope. You know that. This means she and I can’t be together. My sweet darling is devastated.”

  Cassandra had some difficulty imagining Penelope in the throes of devastation, but it hardly seemed worth the effort to challenge the statement.

  “Roger, the last time we spoke on this subject you informed me we would marry. If that was what your uncle wanted, that was what you wanted. Then you forced on me an obnoxious kiss to seal the bargain. Forgive me if I’m confused by this sudden turnabout. If you find Grandfather’s plan offensive, why haven’t you said so all along?
”

  He settled on the one part of her speech that seemed to wound his pride. “A kiss I didn’t enjoy anymore than you.”

  “Then why did you do it?” she asked more loudly than she intended.

  “I thought if I could desire you I could pull it off, but it was too late. Penelope was already in my blood.”

  Oh dear, now Roger in the clutches of passion. Cassandra felt a sudden, almost hysterical urge to laugh. If she did not get herself under control, she would disgrace herself and insult Roger. She sat down on the nearest chair, using the action to cover her mirth.

  When at last she could speak, she said, “I know you’re not here just to berate me, so tell me what you expect me to do.”

  “Cry off, of course.”

  “Why me?”

  Roger puffed up wrathfully. “I can’t do it. I’m a man. It wouldn’t be honorable.”

  “Come now, there’s been no announcement. There’s no honor to test until society is aware of the engagement. Tell my grandfather how you feel before it’s too late. I’ll give you the support you need. This marriage isn’t what I want, either.”

  “You don’t understand. There is still the matter of his fortune. Penelope may like the idea of marrying a future earl, but a poor earl—well, you catch my drift.”

  Cassandra could almost pity him his predicament if it weren’t for his thickheaded methods. Instead, she found herself feeling contemptuous.

  “Roger, I’ve begged, threatened and bargained with my grandfather to no avail. If you want something done you will have to do it yourself. I’ve done all I can.”

  “You won’t help me? I should have known better than to appeal to you. Perhaps you don’t find this marriage as detestable as you pretend.”

  “Why, you egotistical, pompous—” She stopped herself before she said something she would regret. “I hope you are able to convince Grandfather that this ludicrous scheme won’t work, because the thought of spending the rest of my life with you makes me pray for an early death.”