In the Garden of Seduction

by Cynthia Wicklund

  Cassandra stared at the child as a warm feeling settled around her heart. “You’re very loyal to his lordship, aren’t you?”

  Timothy straightened. “I’d die for him, miss.”

  Why did a child’s unswerving love clarify her own emotions? Simon must be a wonderful man to have earned such trust. Well, what was good enough for Timothy was good enough for her.

  “I’d die for him, also,” she said, her voice thickening. “But I can’t tell Lord Sutherfield I wish to marry him if he and I do not talk. You see that, don’t you? Won’t you remain here so that I can speak in private with him?”

  For several moments the boy studied her. Finally, he handed the fishing pole to Cassandra.

  “Yes, miss. I’ll stay and make some stew. It’s his lordship’s favorite.” Timothy paused. “You might have a hard time gettin’ his attention, though.”

  “Why?”

  “I never knew a bloke what likes to fish the way he does.”

  *****

  Simon leaned back on his elbow, stretching his lean body out on the bank of the stream. Cradling his fishing pole in the crook of his arm, he steadied it with his other hand. The day was warm and indolent, and he had to shake his head to keep awake. Unfortunately, the movement reminded him of the throbbing pain in his temples which only now was beginning to dissipate.

  He knew better than to get drunk. Overindulgence had never solved a problem for him, and last night’s drinking binge was no different. Poor Timothy had listened to him ramble on about his troubles until the wee hours of the morning. He assumed the lad had helped him to bed because Simon didn’t remember getting there under his own power. At first light he had stumbled to the large kitchen where the tiny servant had done his best to produce a reasonable breakfast.

  What, Simon wondered, had he said on the previous evening in his blackest moments just before the whiskey overtook him? Foolish things, he felt positive. Consumed with misery, his obsession mystified him. There were other women in the world, so why must he set his sights on a fiery redhead who had slipped from his grasp? Problem was, the thought of marriage to anyone save Cassandra James held no attraction.

  A movement from behind caused him to sit up straight. “It’s about time, young man,” he said good-naturedly, turning.

  The air stalled in his lungs.

  Good God, his wildest imaginings had conjured her image! From overhead, the sun formed a radiance, highlighting her glorious hair but disguising her features. Simon blinked several times, trying to clear his vision, however, she continued to stand there watching him.

  “Cassandra?” he croaked at last, still unbelieving.

  She moved forward, falling to her knees. Her beautiful face came into focus as she neared him, and her concern was apparent. “Please, don’t send me away, my lord.”

  He swallowed and blurted the first thing that came to him. “Don’t call me my lord,” he commanded.

  The words were spoken harshly but a dazzling smile lit her lovely mouth. She threw her arms around his neck.

  “Simon, I’ve missed you so.”

  Simon was undone. A tide of emotion rose in his chest, and he grabbed hold of her waist and buried his brow in the warmth of her soft breast. He breathed deeply, allowing her sweet scent to cascade over his hungry senses.

  “Why are you here?” he asked when he felt capable of speaking without his voice cracking.

  Cassandra pulled back and looked at him. “I like to fish, especially with a handsome gentleman.”

  “Is that your only reason?”

  “And because I love you,” she said simply, her blue-green eyes shining into his.

  “Do you?” Despite a fierce effort, his voice did shake then.

  “Yes. I apologize for taking so long to admit it.” Cassandra, her gaze warm with sincerity, combed slim fingers through his hair, and Simon’s scalp began to tingle deliciously. “How did you get here?” he asked, changing the subject to mask emotions spinning out of control.

  “Lydia.”

  “I received her note this morning. She is here, also?”

  Cassandra shook her head. “Your sister went back to the inn,” she said.

  “Lord, what was she thinking? Lydia knows how I feel about you. The temptation is…hard to resist.”

  “Is it?”

  “What are you implying?” He snapped out the words.

  She licked her lips as she stared back at him. “I’ll not say it. The last time I did you refused me.”

  “By God,” he growled, coming to his feet. “Are you foolish enough to believe that’s what I wanted?” He took her hand, yanking her from the ground and into his arms. He held her tight and glared into her face, now inches from his. “Did you think I should possess you when I wasn’t absolutely, and I mean absolutely positive that is what you wanted? You were very drunk, you know.”

  “You’re right, but I felt terrible afterward. I was certain you were disgusted with me for being forward.”

  “Disgusted? I’ve felt many things for you, love, however, disgust was never one of them. Aside from the moment I found out you had accepted Morley’s offer, I cannot think when I suffered more pain than that night at Vauxhall. I knew I had hurt you, although Lydia assured me I could have done nothing else.”

  “That’s right, you told your sister. How could you?”

  He shrugged. “I would have preferred to talk to my dearest friend, but at the time it was impossible.”

  Cassandra began to struggle from his grasp. “You intended to tell Mr. Stiles?” she squeaked.

  Simon held her fast. “Harry? Couldn’t have spoken of it to him. That wouldn’t have been gentlemanly.”

  “Then who?” she demanded, continuing to struggle.

  “Don’t you know, Cassandra?”

  She went still. “Me?”

  “I did try to explain, I swear. You were in no mood to listen, but there must have been something I could have done differently. Can you forgive me for being so clumsy?”

  He watched her expression transform in the face of his apology, the last of her reserve flowing away and leaving behind the joy of acceptance. Cassandra melted back into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck as she pressed her cheek against his chest. Simon knew his thudding heart next to her ear exposed his chaotic emotions.

  For several moments they stood there, each absorbing the warmth and the nearness of the other. Finally, she looked up at him. Simon met her gaze before slowly lowering his mouth to hers.

  “Simon?” she murmured, coming up for air.

  “Yes, love?”

  “I’m not drunk now.”

  Simon stared at her, his heart executing an eager flip-flop.

  Cassandra was sending him a look of sultry appeal, her eyes glowing with a come-hither fire, her mouth pouting seductively as she pressed against him.

  Suddenly lightheaded, what remained of the blood in his head converged with a burning intensity on his lower body.

  “Cassie…?” he rasped.

  “Yes!” was all she said.

  The soft utterance like an erotic caress skimmed along his senses, giving him permission. He slipped his hands into her glorious red hair and clasped her mouth to his. He kissed her fiercely, a deep, intimate kiss.

  She whimpered into his mouth, and Simon’s control snapped.

  He pulled her to the ground, vaguely aware of the musky smell of earth and vegetation on the riverbank, the crackle of dried leaves.

  Cassandra accommodated him as he lay on top of her, purring her satisfaction as his lips found a sensitive spot on her throat. He trailed ardent kisses downward, gently nipping the rounded flesh at the top of her gown.

  Impatient with the cloth in his way, Simon opened her bodice to the sound of ripping stitches. He growled, his hot gaze taking in her lush breasts. He placed his mouth over one pink tip, flicking his tongue repeatedly until the nipple hardened. He felt her shudder, and a surge of aching need slipped unchecked through his loins.


  Their frenzied movements caused Cassandra’s dress to shift upward, exposing her limbs, and he eased slightly away from her, tugging her skirt to her hips. As her lovely legs came into view, what was about to happen fell full force on Simon.

  “Cassandra, are you certain?” He grated out the words, not sure he could comply if she told him to stop.

  “Oh, Simon, please,” she whispered. “Love me.”

  The sound of her feminine voice, thick with desire, begging him to do what he wanted most to do, delivered him from all doubt. A few frantic adjustments of clothing wrought with hands that shook almost uncontrollably found Simon poised above her.

  With one swift thrust he took her innocence.

  He gasped, suspended in ecstasy as the silky warmth of her passage surrounded him. Simon groaned savagely.

  Even as he immersed himself in the pleasure, he was aware of her indrawn breath, the sudden sob that escaped her. Though dazed, he raised up on his elbows to look at her.

  She was staring at him wide-eyed, the blue-green of her irises nearly obliterated by her dilated pupils. Moisture clung to her lashes, forming a spiky fringe on her lids. One tiny teardrop slid down her face, leaving a wet trail.

  “Forgive me,” he rumbled, experiencing her distress as if were his own.

  All at once Cassandra smiled at him, a soft dreamy smile that held no accusation. “I love you, Simon,” she whispered. She lifted her arms, wrapping them around his neck, and pulled him close to her again. She kissed him, a kiss soft and yielding, her lips trembling beneath his.

  Simon had thought he understood the more tender emotions, knew what love was, but in that instant he realized he had understood nothing. And so with the hunger igniting his senses came something else, a feeling less physical, but equally profound. Humbled, his heart felt as though it might burst apart.

  He nestled into her embrace as he nestled into her body, moving slowly, willing her to respond, determined to wait for her. He began to ache, every muscle stretched and shaking with suppressed tension, when a sudden convulsive movement on her part told him she had entered the pleasure.

  Cassandra moaned in soft pants against his ear, calling his name in a passion-soaked voice that snatched the remainder of his control. Triumphant, Simon took one final plunge, and with it he released himself, seeking his own gratification as he joined her in the rapture.

  *****

  “Cassandra?” he murmured long moments later, his breath unsteady.

  “Umm…?” She sounded faraway, lost to all things worldly.

  “I love you,” he said simply.

  “I know,” she said, a soft smile playing on her lips.

  He chuckled. “Oh, do you? What makes you so certain?”

  “Lydia told me.”

  This time he laughed outright. “Of course. I should have known.”

  Simon kissed her again, a slower kiss meant to convey the overwhelming emotion rippling from the center of his chest. When he released her mouth, her lids fluttered open and she gazed at him dreamily.

  “Can we stay here forever?” she asked.

  “What a tempting idea. I wish we could.”

  They shared another gentle kiss, and reluctantly Simon eased off her and came to his feet. He fastened his trousers, tucking in his shirt. Cassandra stood, working at her clothing as well.

  Simon leaned over and picked up his fishing pole and sat back down on the embankment. “What about Roger?” he asked, not looking at her.

  “I suppose he’s proposed to Penelope by now. Honestly, I don’t care.”

  “Why this sudden change? I thought you had decided to please Lord Whittingham.”

  “I confronted my grandfather. I should have done it a long time ago.” Cassandra removed the pins from her hair as she talked, then replaced them, restoring some order to her damaged tresses. “Papa told me the old man’s threats were empty.”

  The marquess scowled. “I knew it. He held something over you, didn’t he?”

  She eased her backside down on the ground, joining him. “He said he would have my father charged with kidnapping. I don’t know if anything would have come from it because the episode is very old, but I didn’t want to take the chance.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I have influence. I could have helped.”

  Cassandra glanced at him before dropping her gaze as if suddenly uncertain. “That’s rather complicated, I’m afraid. Lydia pointed it out to me.”

  “Ah, yes, my dear sister,” he said wryly. “What did Lydia point out to you?”

  “She said I don’t trust you, that I’m afraid.”

  “Is she right?” he asked, keeping his voice gentle.

  “I’m afraid to be with you, but I’m more afraid to be without you.”

  “I’ve been afraid as well,” he said roughly. “Afraid that I’d never see you again and, if I did, it would be on Roger Morley’s arm. That thought was unbearable.” Simon leaned over and touched his mouth to hers. “I’ll never hurt you, sweetheart, not willingly, I swear. I love you too much.”

  “Do you know what are the loveliest times I’ve spent with you?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “When we’ve talked and only that. It’s the comfort of being with a person one admires, without restraint and no need to prove anything. On those few occasions, that’s when I knew I loved you.”

  Now, there was a heart-warming disclosure, but one that nudged his guilt. “Lydia’s right,” he said, feeling disgruntled. “I’ve been too aggressive.”

  “No, no,” Cassandra spoke quickly, “I wasn’t suggesting that I didn’t like your lovemaking. In fact I was worried that you had lost interest in me when your behavior became less forward.” She lowered her lashes as if embarrassed. “What I meant to say was just being with you is wonderful as well.”

  Simon placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her firmly against him, his body filling with relief and exaltation.

  “How about we do some fishing?” he asked hoarsely, clearing his throat. “Have you ever baited a hook?” He handed her a worm.

  “Never.” Cassandra wrinkled her nose. “But there’s always a first time for everything.” She took the squirming creature delicately between thumb and forefinger, and her features pinched in disgust as she slid the worm on the hook with a soft squish. She shuddered. “Well, now, I don’t suppose that was entirely unpleasant.”

  The marquess laughed. “Of course, not.”

  He took her line and tossed it in the water then threw in his own. As he leaned back she curled up next to him, and Simon experienced the first real peace he had felt in a long time. “Where’s Tim?” he asked, realizing in his excitement over Cassandra’s arrival that he’d completely forgotten the boy.

  “He agreed to stay at the lodge so you and I could talk. He promised to make us something to eat. Is he the only servant you have here?”

  “I wanted to be alone,” he said, looking at her meaningfully. “I sent the caretaker on holiday. The only reason Timothy is with me is because I wanted him brought to Sutherfield, and it seemed easiest to do it myself since I was coming anyway. I’m glad I did. His cooking’s not half bad for a young one.”

  “We’d better get this fishing out of the way then, for he’s making us a stew.” Merriment laced her words. “He swore it is your favorite.”

  “Ah, yes…Tim’s stew. That is an experience you won’t want to miss.”

  Cassandra smiled as though nothing would please her more than to dine on one of Timothy’s culinary creations. She snuggled closer to him and as Simon watched her protectively, she slipped into a light slumber, fishing pole clearly forgotten.

  *****

  Cassandra stared down into the large cast iron kettle that hung from a hook in the stone fireplace. Great chunks of beef and potatoes seasoned liberally with onion swam in a runny gravy.

  “My, this does look good, Timothy,” she said, hoping she sounded more sincere than she felt. “Where did you learn to cook?
”

  “Me ma,” the child said. “If you want to eat you learn to cook. Ain’t no mystery. You and ‘is lordship sit down—I’ll dish it up.”

  “I do believe our Tim missed his calling,” Simon stated. “He has the temperament of a king. I think we should take our places, what say, Miss James?”

  He pulled a heavy oaken chair back from the kitchen table, seating her and then himself across from her.

  Moments later Timothy brought a large earthenware bowl brimming with his stew and placed it under Cassandra’s nose. Returning to the pot, he repeated the process, this time for Simon’s benefit.

  “Thank you, Tim,” the marquess said. “Looks very, er…hearty. Is it the same stew you made yesterday, or is this a new batch?”

  “No, milord. This is fresh as can be,” the boy vowed. “If you’re done wif me, I got chores outside.” He backed away from the table, his clear blue eyes wide with innocence. “Should take me hours to finish—way into dark, no doubt.” Timothy turned and dashed outside, closing the door on the surprised couple.

  Cassandra found herself staring at her bowl of stew with an enthusiasm her stomach denied.

  “Well, well, the lad is intuitive, I’ll say that.” Simon remarked at last, shaking his head. “Can’t give him high marks for subtlety, though.”

  Cassandra slid a glance at him from the corner of her eye but meeting his gaze was a mistake. The humor she saw lurking in his warm regard caused her to smile at him sheepishly.

  Simon popped a large piece of beef into his mouth and began to chew…and chew…and chew. “Whew,” he said over the leather-like lump, “we must teach Timothy the fine art of tenderizing his creations. As it is we’ll be into next week before we finish off that kettle.” He gathered his courage and with visible effort swallowed, forcing the meat down his gullet.

  Cassandra started to laugh, and as her eyes teared, she laughed some more. The marquess joined her. Before many moments, the large kitchen was alive with merriment.