Her words hit him like a lead weight, and he shuddered inwardly. “You speak of women’s hearts as if they are always victims, but women can also be cruel. Perhaps I have no heart because mine was broken. Shattered to pieces. Crushed without compassion, like gravel under one’s shoe.”
Cassandra seemed taken aback, and then, to his surprise, reached up and laid a hand on his cheek. “I am sorry to hear that, and I hope that someday, for your sake, you can forgive that woman, whoever she is, and learn for yourself that love is the only thing in the world that makes life worth living.”
With that, she turned and walked out, and Vincent was left standing there, his breath coming short, his heart beating so fast, it felt as if it were trembling.
Chapter 7
When I walked out of the palace, I had no idea what challenges lay in my future. I was terrified, yet strangely, it was Vincent whom I pitied.
—from the journal of
Cassandra Montrose,
Lady Colchester,
May 13,1874
For thirty minutes Vincent sat in the nursery alone, struggling to come to grips with his discontent. He should have been relieved, as Devon suggested. Cassandra was gone and he was off the hook, with no obligations to a child he had never wanted in the first place.
But then he thought of her. June. He remembered holding her in his arms and watching her tiny legs kick inside the blanket. She had weighed almost nothing, and she was his own daughter.
And Cassandra...
God, Cassandra... She was so ridiculously idealistic about the power of love and the joy it could bring to one’s life. If anyone was naive, it was she. She didn’t have a clue about what went on in the real world. She was living in a dream.
Not that it mattered, he tried to tell himself. She was gone now. He had practically pushed her out the door.
But what else could he have done? She did not want him in her life, which incidentally still made no sense to him. He might be a disreputable rake, but this was Pembroke Palace—a house of dukes. His mother, the duchess, was one of the most beloved and respected women in England, and they were all astonishingly wealthy.
Surely her bitterness toward him could not be so very absolute. He was having a difficult time believing it, for at the last moment there had been something else in her eyes. A softness. A caring. She had laid her hand on his cheek.
He put his own hand where hers had been and closed his eyes, remembering how it felt. He could still feel the warmth. He could feel her tenderness—
A knock sounded at the door. Vincent stood quickly and crossed the room to answer it, embarrassed to have been sitting in an empty nursery, touching his own cheek.
It was his mother. He moved into the corridor and closed the door behind him.
“I thought you might still be here,” she said. “Letitia is wondering what has become of you.”
Ah, yes. Letitia. He had forgotten there was a gathering in his honor, occurring at this very moment downstairs to celebrate his engagement. “Forgive me. I lost track of time. I shall go down there straightaway and set her mind at ease.”
They started down the corridor together.
“Has Lady Colchester left us?” he asked his mother, working hard to sound indifferent, while inside he was overcome by a piercing need to know.
“Yes,” she replied. “The coach drove off twenty minutes ago. But do not worry, she has money.”
His pride reared up. Or perhaps it was the inevitable bucking of his conscience. “You gave her something? I was intending to—”
“Do not worry, Vincent. I took care of it.”
He walked beside her in silence to the end of the corridor. “How much did you give her?”
“Enough to live on for about six months. But I will find a way to see her again before that time is up and give her more.”
He was feeling more and more irritable with every passing second. “You won’t have to do that, Mother. I will take care of it.”
She merely nodded. “I know.”
“I won’t let them go hungry.”
She smiled up at him. “You don’t have to convince me, Vincent. There will be no need to speak of it in the future.”
There would be no need, he thought, because his mother would simply take responsibility for the child herself. She did not believe he would do it.
His breathing quickened as he stopped in the corridor under a portrait of the first Duchess of Pembroke. He stared up at her perfect oval face, took note of her midnight black hair and creamy white skin. There was indeed an eerie resemblance to his fiancée.
“Do something for me, if you will,” he said to his mother, who stopped abruptly ahead of him. “Inform Letitia that I had an important matter to attend to and had to leave the palace, but that I shall see her at dinner. And deliver my apologies, of course.” He started off in the opposite direction, toward the servants’ staircase.
“Where are you going?”
“To the train station.”
“What are you going to do, Vincent?”
“I don’t know yet, but I suspect I’ll have it figured out by the time I get there.”
His heart raced with an almost frightening impulsiveness as he started down the narrow stairs at a run to chase after the Pembroke coach.
Cassandra dug into her reticule for the money to pay for her train ticket back to London. She simply could not ignore the fact that she was still weak and had not yet regained her strength, and with all that had occurred that day, she was exhausted and completely overwhelmed.
“Are you all right, miss?” the station guard asked, his brow creasing with concern as he counted the shillings.
“I am fine, thank you,” she answered, shifting June in her arms.
He did not appear to believe her, however, which was not surprising. As soon as the driver had pulled away from Pembroke Palace, Cassandra had looked up at the nursery window and burst into tears. But why? Was it because she doubted her decision? Did she believe June would be better off at the palace? Or was it something else? Was it because of the intense emotions she had wrestled with upon seeing Vincent again? He had made her so angry at times, frustrated and upset, yet she had felt the strangest sense of loss when she walked out the palace door—perhaps because of those last few minutes with him, when he attempted in his own misguided way to explain his empty life.
The guard handed her the ticket. Keeping her eyes lowered, she thanked him and picked up her valise—which contained everything she owned in the world—and made her way to a bench at the back of the station.
Just then the main door opened, and who should step across the threshold on a violent gust of wind, top hat in hand, but Vincent, who attracted the attention of everyone waiting for the train. He looked like some dark, dangerous phantom with the fierce rainstorm behind him. His black hair was flying in the wind, his long, ebony overcoat flapping almost gracefully.
Her heart dropped into her stomach at the sight of him. He stood just inside the door, sweeping his dark gaze over everyone in the station until it came to rest upon her. She grew tense as he began striding purposefully toward her.
Only then did she realize she was squeezing the handle of her valise so tightly beside her that her knuckles were surely pasty white. Searching for calm, she looked down at June and adjusted the blanket around her face.
Vincent stopped in front of them, almost toe-to-toe with Cassandra, which forced her to look up.
“I am pleased you are still here,” he said.
“The train will depart in twenty minutes,” she informed him.
He looked around again at the people who were waiting. Those who were still staring at him with curiosity and fascination quickly turned back to their books and newspapers.
Vincent sat down beside Cassandra and spoke in a hushed tone. “I must speak with you.”
/>
Had he changed his mind about letting her leave with June? Heaven help her, what would she do?
“What is there to talk about?” she whispered. “I thought we had reached an understanding.”
“We did, but I have been rethinking that understanding.”
Cassandra swallowed uneasily. “But you said I could leave. You said you do not care.”
“Perhaps I was...” He shifted with what appeared to be discomfort and looked around the station once more. “Perhaps I was too hasty.”
God, oh God. He was going to try and take June away from her. Why else would he have come?
“Vincent, I am asking you. Please. She is all I have in the world. I love her. If you take her from me, I will not be able to bear it. I will have no choice but to fight you with any means possible to make sure that—”
“Calm yourself. I am not here for that.”
Cassandra struggled to control the painful drumming of her heart. “Then why have you come?”
“Because I have a proposition for you,” he said.
“A proposition? From you? I am not sure I want to know the particulars.”
He stood. “Let us go outside to my coach where we can discuss it in private.”
“I would rather not,” she replied. “I don’t want to miss my train.” And she was somewhat fearful of being alone with him, especially in that coach, where she had once lost her head.
“Five minutes is all I require.”
When she continued to resist, he let out a breath of frustration. “Good God, woman. I am not going to ravish you, if that’s what you are thinking.” He leaned close and whispered in her ear—so close, the moist heat of his breath sent gooseflesh down the length of her body. “Besides, you know better than anyone that if I were planning something as exciting as all that, I would require a great deal more than five minutes.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I suppose I do know it.” He picked up her valise. She rose also, with June in her arms. “Five minutes, then.”
She followed him outside, along the platform under the overhang, and was ushered into the familiar interior of his dry, luxurious coach, with its soft upholstered red seats and black velvet curtains.
She remembered every detail of the vehicle from a year ago, and all the passionate kissing and groping that had occurred inside. They had both tumbled onto the seat on the left, and before the driver had a chance to say, “Walk on,” her legs were wrapped around Vincent, and he was sliding his hand up under her skirts.
Now, with a deflated sigh, Cassandra chose the seat on the opposite side. Trying not to wake June, she awkwardly maneuvered the baby on her lap.
Vincent climbed in behind her and pulled the door shut. He settled in directly across from her, his legs spread wide apart, fingers laced together in front of him.
“Well?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow. “What is it you wish to discuss?”
She glanced down at his long, lean body sprawled out before her in the dim shadows of the coach, and wished again that he were not so handsome, so perfectly formed of firm muscle and sinew and pure, unadulterated masculinity. He sat across from her like a dark and seductive king, and she hated him for it.
“I want to discuss a possible arrangement between us. I know that you have had some trouble providing for our daughter in the past and will no doubt have trouble in the future if you are forced to work. My mother has given you something that will ease your burden for the short term, but what if I offer you more? What if I offer you something that will last much longer?”
She regarded him skeptically. “I don’t understand.”
“What if I provided you with a home and an income? You could live quietly with June in the country, and when she is older, when the time comes for her debut in society, my family would present her as a distant relative. A Sinclair. I would of course provide her with a substantial dowry, and as for you...” He paused a moment, as if he hadn’t yet worked out all the details in his mind and was only now deciding upon certain things. “You could keep the house. I would put it in your name.”
“And how, pray tell, would you benefit from such an arrangement?” Cassandra asked. Then, all at once, the shock of understanding hit her full force, and her mouth snapped shut. She could not believe she had failed to predict this. She should have guessed it the very instant the word “proposition” flew out of his mouth.
“Oh, I see,” she said, and sat up straighter. “Absolutely not. The answer is a firm no.”
She stood up, bumped her head on the roof of the coach, but did not allow herself to wince as she reached for the door.
Vincent’s hand came up at lightning speed and seized her arm in a tight grip. “Where are you going?”
“Away from here.”
“Why?”
“I was foolish and naive a year ago,” she said, “but I have since learned my lesson. I do not wish to be that woman again. I must protect myself.”
“What do you mean, protect yourself? I am offering you a chance to live in the manner to which you are accustomed, and to provide your daughter—our daughter—with all that she is entitled to.”
“And to be your mistress,” Cassandra blurted out. “To be available at your whim when you grow tired of your wife in your bed, which will no doubt be less than twenty-four hours after you deliver your mock vows of fidelity.” She ripped her arm free and fought with the door latch.
“That is not what I am proposing,” Vincent argued, sounding quite convincingly offended as he grabbed hold of the door handle and held it shut.
“I don’t believe you.” She tried to pry his hand free of the handle, but he would not budge.
“For heaven’s sake, Cassandra, sit back down. You’re going to wake June.”
She felt weak and dizzy and sank onto the seat.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “You don’t look well.”
“I am fine.” She opened her reticule, withdrew a handkerchief, and dabbed at the perspiration on her forehead.
In a flash, he had moved to sit beside her, and was cupping her whole head in both his hands. “You’re burning up. You shouldn’t have left the palace today—that was foolish—and you certainly should not be traveling.”
Cassandra shut her eyes and rested her head back against the high, upholstered seat. “It is all of this rain. I am chilled to the bone.”
“It is not the rain.” He took June from her and laid her carefully on the seat beside him, then shrugged out of his long overcoat and covered Cassandra with it, tucking it in all around her. She felt the heat from his body still in the lining and smelled the familiar musky scent of him around the wool collar. It made her want to weep.
“My five minutes is up,” he told her as he felt her forehead again. “And you need to rest.”
“I can rest on the train.”
He frowned at her and shook his head. “I believe you are the most stubborn woman I have ever met.”
“I am not stubborn.”
“Yet you are still arguing with me.”
She began to shiver and pulled the coat higher under her chin. “Refusing to become a gentleman’s mistress does not make a woman stubborn. It makes her sensible. I will not be the one to provide you with amusements outside of your marriage bed.”
He frowned. “Did you not hear a word I said? I told you that is not what I am proposing.”
“Then what are you proposing, exactly? What do you expect from me in return?”
“As I said, I am offering you a house and an income, with nothing asked of you except...” He paused, as if having a hard time getting the words out. “Except that you allow me to see June.”
She could have fallen off the seat. “Are you quite serious? The rake without a heart wants to see his illegitimate daughter? You will actually care to know how she is faring?”
“I am rather astounded by it myself,” he replied as he glanced toward the window. “But don’t get too excited. It doesn’t mean I am developing a conscience, nor does it mean I am ever going to marry you, because I cannot.”
“So you’ve said before. I don’t know why you feel the need to repeat it. I am quite aware that you are going to marry Lady Letitia, because evidently all that matters to you is your inheritance.”
“Indeed, my father adores her,” Vincent replied, “and according to the terms of his will, he has the power to approve or reject my bride. So there it is in a nutshell. He would certainly never accept you.”
She felt the insult like a kick in the stomach.
“Besides,” he continued, “what an incompatible pair we would make. You believe blindly in the divine power of love, while my jaded eyes are wide open in that area.”
“I do not believe in it blindly. My eyes are absolutely wide open as far as you are concerned.”
He returned his steely gaze to her face. “Ah, then you have learned a thing or two.”
“Yes, thanks to you.”
He looked away and brought the subject back to where it began. “I am only putting forth this offer because I want to prevent my daughter from turning out like you. No offence intended. Forced to work in a hat shop, I mean.”
She ignored his spiteful attempt to belittle her and considered what he was proposing. “I suppose it would not be such a bad thing to have an income. I would not have to be away from June.” Her voice became resigned. “I have struggled with that more than you can imagine.”
“I do see that, Cassandra.”
Did she detect a hint of sympathy? A trace of remorse? Was it possible?
Leaning closer, he tucked his heavy coat around her again before he crossed over to the other side, pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. “The train will be here in five minutes.” He pulled a curtain aside with one finger and looked out the window.
The Mistress Diaries (Love at Pembroke Palace Book 2) Page 7