He continued to pace back and forth in silence, yet his body language sent its harsh message to her. “I thought you were different than the other debutantes ready to sell themselves to the highest bidder. What price have you placed on your virtue? You claim you still have virtue, do you not?”
“I have made that abundantly clear to you, Althorn.”
“Ah, yes, a marriage band is the coin of the realm.”
“I didn’t select you indiscriminately, sir.”
“Oh, I see. It is a stud you seek? I shall revise my calling card to read, Stud services available upon request.”
“You twist my words.”
About to leave, he said, “I have the unwholesome notion there’s something you’re keeping from me. This is the moment to tell me. I shall not forgive you if I find out later you withheld important information. My wrath can be unmerciful. Just ask my enemies.” His wrathful gaze pierced her.
“I don’t have to ask your enemies. I see how you’ve deported yourself today. You aren’t a gentleman.”
“How dare you accuse me of poor deportment?” he fumed, his face redder than a hot coal.
The silence was unbearable, and it seemed there was no more room for talk. The truth was ugly. “Duke,” she asked softly, “I made a list of possible candidates to approach. Why are you so angry?”
“Hell, I don’t know, but I am.”
His scathing eyes followed her as she walked to the desk, and withdrew a list from the drawer. He couldn’t help but admire her strength, standing tall, her head high. She didn’t move, but held it in front of her. He stamped his foot. “I would like to see it if you please, madam.”
Moments passed, she still didn’t move toward him, but simply held the paper in her outstretched hand. “I don’t warrant your contemptuous look, your Grace.” His quick reach grabbed it from her hand with ducal impatience.
“Damnation,” he said. “I don’t believe it.”
Chapter Ten
A smug grin on his face, Althorn spoke, “I’m the only man on the list. I see you also assigned character traits. Then he sensed the irony in the situation and prepared to launch into another tirade against her. “What were my attributes? Let’s see…too good to be true. A decent man. A man to have and to hold and…divinely decadent.” He came toward her and handed the list to her.
She moved back from him.
“I will consider your terms when I’m in a more coherent state. Should I choose to consider this proposition, and I much doubt I would, there will never be any lovers for you. I will never abuse you. You have my word on that. Perhaps the word of a scandalous rake isn’t good enough for you and your noble high-priced virtue?” He stunned himself with his vitriolic voice. Althorn continued his irate harangue, each word crushed like a wave against a dark shore. “Our true feelings will show—your business iciness and my disgust for an arranged marriage.”
Not prepared, he felt the sting of her hand as she struck him on the cheek.
“Don’t ever use the word disgust again when you speak of me. You may be a peer of the realm, but your behavior is despicable.”
His hand went to his cheek and he stared in disbelief. It was a vengeful angel that stood before him. The expression on her face told him she was in shock at her own action.
“Are you aware you have struck a duke of the realm, and that if I chose, I could have you hung?”
“I would consider it a blessing. Then my heart wouldn’t hurt so much, and I wouldn’t have to see you again. You are dreadful.”
Althorn wanted to hurt her and knock the smugness from her face, but he forgot to recognize she wasn’t smug…just frightened of him. He prepared to leave, heard her voice call. He turned quickly to face her.
She stepped back further.
“Why do you withdraw from me? Am I an ogre? I will not hurt you, but I knew it. Well,” he demanded, “spit it out. I have matters to attend.” He stood in front of her as rigid as a tall oak ready to strangle her with its limbs.
“There is one more thing, your Grace.” She recoiled, a horrific expression on her face. He noted well her absolute strength as she retreated against the mantel to put space between them. Did she think he would strike her back?
“Come no closer, Althorn. You have displayed your temper. I apologize. I never wanted to offend. This is critical to me. My life and Alicia’s depend on a security I could not provide alone. I thought that since we both had a need, it made perfect sense, before you came into the room. I was terribly wrong. Your acidic statements confirm my misguided proposal.”
Still skeptical, he listened with rapt attention. “You just proposed marriage to me. I realize your emotional condition, and I will try to curb my sharp tongue. I remind you I am an honorable man despite gossip.”
“I would not bear witness to such a statement,” she said.
“Unclench your fists, Cassandra. Do not strike me again,” he said. “I would give you cause to regret it.”
“Insufferable man, there is a supreme need for safety. I need a good man to do that. Something about you called to me. You are strong, yet you have a soft side to you at times. You like children. That’s why I thought perhaps you would entertain my proposal, as ridiculous as it sounded.”
He saw she closed her eyes, and worried her lips.
“Please. Let’s be over with this. Forget everything. I am too mortified. I withdraw my foolish offer. Please go. I am sorry I approached you, Gordon Althorn, your Grace, your pompous Grace. I have spoiled everything between us. I cannot face a future if my ward, Alicia, is not legitimized. Felicity will find a way to disassociate us.”
Althorn couldn’t help but laugh at the last part of her salutation. She just called him a pompous Grace. He exhaled. “Cassandra, I must remove myself from your presence.” He rose and walked away.
He went through the portal and never looked back.
****
Althorn’s emotions were like twins, anger in one and tenderness in the other, but the angry twin triumphed.
He wanted to pummel someone, anyone who came in his way. He needed time to calm down and rethink all that happened. He became angry at the careless liberties he’d taken with the innocent Cassandra. He believed her to be such. An incurable romantic, she could have misread the possibility of a deeper relationship. He’d faulted himself for this. One should never act like this with a maiden.
The duke entered his landau and sped down the road to his residence. Could the entire story have been concocted as a ruse to compromise him into marriage? Preposterous as it sounded, he had to know.
He entered his home and asked his majordomo to bring his best cognac. The servant entered the study with the liquor and a large brandy snifter. “Would you like me to pour, your Grace?”
“No, just leave it on the desk.” He sat with his hands splayed on his leather-topped desk as he relived the past hour. Somehow he was expected to accept the acquisition of a wife, a guardianship for a young girl, and a meager dower. Not to mention a large headache he hoped to make worse by many swigs of his best imported cognac.
Just then Clayo romped in the study anxious to greet her master. He petted her head then retreated to the large padded chair with his snifter glass. He recognized his behavior was abominable and he should apologize. But, she had the audacity to slap him.
Granted, it was difficult to place himself in her predicament. In comparison to Cassandra, his reputation was deliberately and deliciously earned with each misdeed while she’d forged every inch of her future with stoic determination. How he admired her. She stood toe to toe with him—fearless, yet afraid. Were such emotions possible concurrently?
He enjoyed her presence and their banter when they shared personal conversations on a highly intelligent level. It more than amused him. He trusted and respected her.
“Do I use past tense because I no longer respect her now when I realize the desperation that propels her?” he muttered. Inner demons demanded more explanations than he was gi
ven.
He would go to the Brighton Club tonight and perhaps seek other accommodations for the turmoil in his body. Why did he not admire her for her tremendous courage and will to fight for what she wanted, needed, and desired? Had she branded him with her hope?
It occurred to him the tattoo on his arm could be considered a brand. It happened in Barbados when he was so fevered. Tomas, his companion, feared for Gordon’s life. A witch doctor had inked him at Gordon’s native woman’s request in the hope his ancestors would restore him. His hand rubbed the right jacket shoulder where the secret tattoo resided. Yet, he was proud of the inked brand and truly believed his ancestors saved him from the ravages of the malaria. He and Tatenda had a relationship; he could be accused of ill use of her, couldn’t he? He did care for her, though. He’d thought to bring her back to England with him. After all, as a second son, he had a lot more leeway than his older brother. Again, fate intervened.
Back in the present, he viewed Cassandra as spirited, yet kind, effusive, and compassionate. He should have been flattered to be the only man on her list. Forced to admit it, he was. Perhaps it was time to settle down. At five and thirty years, in between mistresses, he worked hard at managing the estates and his inheritance and—yet he was unsatisfied. He wanted more out of his life. That included a desire to be part of the hierarchy now shaping England’s future. Instead, he had a notoriety he no longer wanted. It might have suited him before, but now he found it tawdry for a member of the nobility. His father wouldn’t be proud of him.
His head pounded and he summoned every ounce of control not to make any swift decisions, but to give him time. Good God, how did I get into this!
Althorn knew he was supposed to be at the ball given by one of the matriarchs, and even while he allowed his valet to dress him in his splendor, his heart sank. It was then he realized he could get out of it. He would tell Cassandra he couldn’t consider marriage to her. That it was an impossible request. They weren’t suited to each other. Liar. Truth was that he was frightened of marriage to her, because he knew it would be wondrous. He did not know if he could afford to give his heart and soul to her. She deserved no less.
His stubborn mind decided to reject her offer of a marriage of convenience. Yes, that’s what he would do.
With that settled, he hummed as the final preparations of his dressage were made. Fortunately, he did not drink a great deal of the cognac so his wits were about him. It wouldn’t help if he were foxed.
He descended the stairs and Chester handed him his accessories. “Any further instructions, your Grace?”
“None, my man. Don’t wait up.”
He departed and instructed his coachman to take him to his club where upon arrival he gave greetings in jovial companionship. Standish Viscount Glaston wanted him to look at a horse he wished to sell, and another wanted to talk about certain elementary procedures. Yet another wanted advice on the finances needed in order to secure a mistress. He became annoyed with it all. Did no one want to ask him about the course England had taken for its future? Nothing seemed to hold any purpose. He went to the desk the club provided and penned a quick note to Cassandra.
Lady Cassandra Montgomery:
I much regret my inability to accept your business proposal. I wish you well in your search.
His Grace, Duke of Althorn
With that done, he placed the missive in an envelope and sealed it with his signet ring and would have it sent to her in due course. Relieved, his male ego and dignity were intact. Or so he thought.
When he placed the envelope in his pocket, he also saw the invitation to the ball and thought he might go. What he needed now was distraction, so he left the club and called for his coach.
Althorn arrived late at the ball, and was glad. He sought his hosts, extended his apologies, and joined the crowd. The usual debutantes and their parents gathered across the huge ballroom. The champagne and wine flowed, and the gentlemen were in the smoking room as he entered. There were some he knew well and some he didn’t know at all. He felt older than his years and his thoughts weighed heavily. No, he didn’t want to game tonight.
He secured a place against a rather large pillar, waited, and watched. Why did he delude himself? He scanned the room. Embarrassed, he admitted he sought Cassandra and then he saw her with her relatives. His heart flipped somersaults. Panged. Raced.
She wore a deep purple gown, not in the empire style, but one that showed her small indented waist. The fabric shimmered across her tight bodice accentuating her magnificent breasts. Long gloves of white satin, embraced her arms. In the shadows, he noted her face was somewhat pale even though she wore light colored rouge. Cassandra’s flecked eyes didn’t glisten as last time he saw her, and her lips seemed taut. He noted no smile on her face, her dimples had disappeared. Silky tresses were pulled back into a huge plume at the nape of her neck.
She reminded him of a wounded animal. She bled, but valiantly succored her wounds. He had injured her with his sharp, mean tongue. Dammit. It wasn’t like him to inflict cruelty to a woman. Certainly not to a woman he liked and admired. There was that past tense again. Damn her, what had she done to him?
True, he liked women, and he enjoyed the sexual side of the relationship, but even when the interest had waned, he remained on civil terms. Anger no longer persisted to rage him. It was exchanged for regret.
What was wrong with her willingness to marry him? Many women still considered him a most eligible bachelor in spite of, and because of, his reputation. A prime catch in all senses, and they would accept all his vices just for the acquisition of the title of Duchess. Why was he so angry at her then? Wasn’t the life of the nobility a huge marriage mart? Such hypocrisy.
The duke recognized he might have had it in his mind to court her. Damn her, she spoiled everything by the businesslike proposal she offered him. Most of all, Cassandra made it clear she didn’t want to share his bed. Or did she? She never answered the question about a husband in name only. He did want her in his bed. Perhaps she wanted him in hers? Yes, he thought she did, even though she didn’t admit it, her body’s reactions spoke volumes.
Two gentlemen were in conversation with her. One of them got her to smile and then she was whirled away to dance. He walked toward the group, exchanged pleasantries, and waited for her return. After the dance was over, she was escorted back, and when Cassandra saw him, her panicked gaze darted back and forth, perhaps to find a place to flee from him. No, he wouldn’t let that happen even though he recognized the look of stark fear on her face.
Instead, he addressed her with politeness and merciless charm. “My Lady Cassandra, I’ve come to ask for a waltz. I presume it’s not too late.” His smile was intended to warm her, and it was apparent she recovered her composure.
With an obvious sigh of relief, she said, “Your Grace, it is not too late. The last waltz is open.” She handed him her dance card. “Please write your name on it.”
He whispered, “I shall hope you saved it for me. Thank you. Ah, the band has recessed, would you care for some refreshment?”
He guided her by the elbow to the refreshment salon, handed her the punch glass, and looked deep and hard into her sad face. “I behaved deplorably, and I ask your forgiveness. My anger at the end wasn’t directed at you, but at the novelty of it all.” He bestowed upon her the softest smile while she sipped her punch. Her gaze avoided his. “Nonetheless, Cassandra, we have things to discuss tomorrow. There should never be rancor between us. You are correct, we’re friends. Will you receive me at two p.m.?”
Chapter Eleven
Cassandra agreed to see him, even if he was about to formally refuse her offer. It was such a preposterous idea, but then she pondered, in their polite society many marriages were arranged. Why was this so different? She recognized her ineptness at this cat and mouse game played between a man and a woman. Past events could be summed up in a few words. Never propose a businesslike offer to a man, especially if sex is or isn’t involved. Always let the
gentleman think it was his idea. Her head was a-muddle. Her heart ached. And never slap a duke. Damn those penny novels.
“You’re forgiven, your Grace. I pray you have forgiven me all my transgressions.”
He extended his arm to her and led her to the balcony. “I was rather outraged, Cassandra, and I accept I may have provoked the slap. Because I have a true fondness for you, it will not be mentioned again. However, you did plant a seed with regard to care for my mother.”
His smile curdled her brain. It was indecent for anyone to exude such seductive charm. She saw his dark side, and it was definitely the softer side that appealed to her.
Cassandra regretted how easy it was to relax with him, even though he would refuse her offer. “Your Grace, I must remind you the two of us on balconies usually get into mischief. I am not in the mood for such diversion this evening, if you please. Too much has happened. I need time, also, to think about my predicament. You aren’t a man to be pressured into any venture that isn’t to your wishes. I’m merely the woman I hope to become one day. My values haven’t changed and my honor remains with me. I do still have my dreams. But there is a greater need at this precise moment in my life.”
She stood with him in full view, a respectable distance away.
“Please know that after you left, all you said caused me to look deep within myself. I’m embarrassed. It was foolish of me to presume I could ask for the help of a strong and noble man such as you. Ultimately, we are born alone and we die alone. And indeed I am alone. I have been since the death of my parents, but I am not to be pitied, Sir. “
“You are much too philosophical. Never did I intend to depress you.”
“That’s hard to believe, Althorn. A dose of reality can challenge even the strongest of women. Sometimes I think strength is just a word to test an individual. It comes at a great cost.” She turned from him and looked up at the midnight blue sky, and then her gaze came down to earth.
True to his rakish standards, he changed the subject. “Cassandra, I like the way the moonlight dances off your hair. It offers a tinge of gold and highlights the color of your eyes.”
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