The Damsel: A Villain Duology Sequel

by Victoria Vale

  Every so often, she glanced down the table to Robert, and found he seemed to be just as uninterested in the company. It was no wonder he’d wished for her to come. The downside, of course, being that they were not seated side by side. Had they been, she might have had a bit of fun with him, resting a hand upon his thigh and drawing it upward until she held him by the cock. The thought brought a smirk to her lips, but she masked it by taking a bite of venison. Whatever was being discussed down the table, everyone around the dull Miss Fletcher seemed on the verge of shoving their knives through their ears to drown out the sound of her voice.

  Did the chit really think it made her more attractive to whisper in that girlish way? She wanted to throttle the girl and tell her to speak up.

  By the time the first course had been taken away, Cassandra had begun to think she’d worried over nothing. Now that dinner was in full swing and the initial tension caused by her arrival had dissipated, this entire affair promised to be uneventful.

  At least, until the second course arrived and Lady Loring found it necessary to draw her into conversation.

  “His Lordship and I have recently returned from London,” she remarked, meeting Cassandra’s gaze from across the table. “While there, we happened upon your mother and that dear, sweet Ophelia in Hyde Park. What a lovely young woman she’s grown into.”

  Cassandra paused, her fork poised over a portion of fricassee chicken with mushrooms. It smelled heavenly and she wanted to be left alone to eat it in peace, but Lady Loring was having none of it. “Indeed. I was just in Town to join in celebrating her eighteenth birthday. She’s to make her debut this spring.”

  “What a marvelous time in a young girl’s life,” the viscountess said with a knowing smile.

  The expression was without warmth, putting Cassandra on edge. Her words were not as innocent as they seemed; she was leading up to something.

  “Yes, I am glad for her,” she replied, pointedly going back to her chicken and dismissing the other woman.

  But Lady Loring pressed on, leaning forward a bit as her smile widened.

  “And I am certain she will be a smashing success. What, with the exceptional example of her mother and sisters to follow. Then, there is your own glaring example of what a lady is not to do after her coming out, so she is sure to have learned from that as well.”

  Cassandra went still, her fork hovering before her face with a bit of chicken and a mushroom hanging off its end. She narrowed her eyes at the old bitch, her temper flaring in an instant. The knife resting on her plate would make the perfect tool for cutting out the viscountess’ tongue. When she was finished, she would throw it down onto the table for all to see, before turning to stride out of the room.

  Rise above it.

  Robert’s words from that afternoon in the garden came back to her now, and as she glanced down the table she found everyone had gone silent to watch, her bedmate included. He watched her with a furrowed brow, his mouth turned down.

  He’d been right. She had to put these people in their place and remind them that she was the blasted daughter of a duke. She would not serve as their whipping girl any longer.

  Besides, she’d had plenty of experience dealing with sharp-tonged women. After all, she’d grown up with the dowager Duchess of Penrose for a mother.

  With a slow, catlike smile, she held the other woman’s gaze while biting the chicken off the end of her fork. She took her time chewing and swallowing, then using her napkin to dab the corners of her mouth before laying it back in her lap. All this she did while the rest of the party looked on in rapt silence, whispers of Lady Loring’s comment having made their way to the end where Lady Stanley sat.

  Arching an eyebrow, she let her smile settle into a sardonic smirk. “You know quite well the sorts of behaviors a debutante ought to avoid after her come out. Speaking of which, how is your daughter? I’ve heard the wondrous news of the birth of her son. How proud you must be of the little love … born a short four months after the wedding.”

  Lady Loring dropped her fork and the utensil clanked onto her plate, while she stared daggers at Cassandra. Farther down the table, she heard the vicar mutter something about ‘shocking behavior’, while Lucy giggled into her hand as her mother scolded her. Robert’s frown had eased, his chin raising a tick as their gazes met from down the table. Giving her a little smile, he raised his wine glass to her, then took a sip and turned his attentions back to his meal.

  Giving Lady Loring another scathing glare, she went back to her food. It was the best chicken she’d ever had, and she enjoyed every single bite, along with the other offerings of the second course.

  Dinner progressed smoothly from there, with her verbal set down of the viscountess serving as a warning to the others. They went out of their way to be gracious toward her for fear of earning the same treatment as Lady Loring—who sat pouting while pushing her food about on her plate and avoiding eye contact with her.

  The third course saw jokes and humorous stories volleyed back and forth across the table, the wine having loosened everyone’s tongues. The baron seemed in high spirits, enjoying himself in a way she’d wager he had not in quite some time. While appearing a bit worn thin as the night went on, his color remained good and he never stopped smiling—laughing at every joke and engaging his guests with stories of his youth as well as Robert’s childhood.

  During the dessert course, Cassandra looked up to find Robert watching the baron, a soft, satisfied grin upon his face. He looked happier than he had at the start of the night, now that he’d tuned Lucy out completely. The girl had turned her attention to those who cared to listen to her blather on about watercolors, and Robert seemed to content himself with watching his father thoroughly enjoy his final birthday celebration.

  ROBERT WATCHED Cassandra from across the drawing room, where the men had joined the ladies after retiring to a separate chamber with their chamber pots, port, and cigars. He’d dreaded this part of the evening before, hating that he would be absent while she was alone with his mother, Lady Fletcher, and that hateful busybody Lady Loring. But, if Cassandra had proved anything at dinner, it was that she could defend and take care of herself.

  He’d never doubted it, but she had driven the point home with her marvelous performance tonight. First, she’d appeared in the drawing room looking like a fashion in the crimson confection she wore, head held high. He was grateful that every eye in the room had rested on her in that moment, because he felt certain his heart had been in his eyes. How could it not be, when she so effortlessly stoked some deep, hidden part of him he’d never known existed? He’d abhorred every moment of having to tolerate Lucy’s dribble, when he wanted to sit near Cassandra and his father.

  Whatever they’d been talking about had kept him smiling all through dinner—which was what Robert had wanted.

  Just before the men had parted ways with the women, his father had taken Cassandra by the arm and whispered something in her ear. The two had exchanged a long, meaningful glance, and for a moment she seemed taken aback. Before Robert could catch them up and find out what had been said, she was gone, slipping into the drawing room.

  He’d cornered his father to ask what he’d whispered, but the baron had given him a smug smile and refused to answer.

  “It was between Lady Cassandra and I, and is no concern of yours.”

  Instead of being frustrated, Robert could only chuckle. “I suppose you like her, then.”

  “Very much. She’s a good woman, and perfect for you.”

  He’d cringed at that, despite agreeing with his father that Cassandra was absolutely perfect. The more time he spent in her company, the harder it became to part ways with her.

  It was dangerous, his mounting obsession with her. She hadn’t said so with words, but he read her actions loud and clear. She held him at arm’s length for a reason, and would not allow him to get too close. The moment he overstepped her boundaries, he would cease to be a part of her life in any capacity.

&nbs
p; As he watched her from where he sat near the pianoforte, he decided that a piece of her had to be better than nothing at all. If remaining in her good favor meant picking up whatever scraps she let fall at her feet, then he’d gladly do so.

  A card game between his parents three other guests began in one corner of the room, while Lucy made a beeline to the pianoforte. Cassandra sat in an armchair, seeming to listen in to the conversation taking place without wishing to engage. She sipped sherry from a cut crystal glass and stared off across the room, a pensive expression overcoming her face.

  Unable to stay away any longer, he made his way toward her, leaving Martin and his father to their horse talk over port. With all the furniture in the room taken up by other occupants, he was forced to stand beside her chair. Though, he found he didn’t mind. He had a stunning view of her from here—the swells of her breasts at the neckline of her gown, the curve of her neck, the tendrils of hair curling along her temple and jaw.

  When she raised her eyes to look at him, he tried to smile but found himself unable. There was something about the way she was looking at him, an intent gleam in her eyes. It knocked the wind from him, while his heart took up a galloping cadence, threatening to burst free of his body at any moment. He lost himself in that gaze, in the prisms of blue and gray sucking him in like some hapless fool wandering damp, foggy moors. He was sinking into the mire, helpless to save himself, battered by the storm of her rage and passion. God help him, he didn’t want to be free of it. He wanted more and more until she’d consumed him completely and he became a part of her.

  Taking a slow, deep breath, he blinked and fought to find his voice. They’d been staring at one another too long in silence, and someone was bound to notice.

  Bracing a hand upon the back of her chair, he cleared his throat. “Have you enjoyed yourself this evening?”

  He kept his voice low so the others could not hear. With Lucy’s playing no one seemed to overhear.

  “I have, actually,” she replied, sounding as if that surprised even her. “Dinner was wonderful, your father is a gem, and Lady Loring was … an interesting table companion.”

  Casting a glance at the old woman who had suffered Cassandra’s ruthless set down, he snorted and coughed to cover a chuckle. She lowered her head, shoulders shaking as she seemed to stifle a giggle.

  By the time she looked at him again, he’d composed himself. The tilt of her head was so perfect that the urge to kiss her slammed into him hard and fast. All he had to do was bend over and cup her jaw, angling her a bit more to the left. His fingertips would skim her throat, his mouth touching hers and his tongue stroking her lower lip.

  She seemed to have the same thought, because her gaze fell to his mouth and held, her own lips parting and her breath hitching. He allowed his hand to shifted on the back of the chair, just enough that his fingers brushed against her hair. He took one of the spirals and smoothed it between his fingers—an action that lasted all of three seconds, but sent a wave of longing rippling through him. He wanted to pluck the pins loose and send it cascading down her back, run his fingers through it and bury his face in the strands, wrap it around his hand and tug, exposing her neck for his lips and tongue.

  Bloody hell. If he wasn’t careful he’d give them away to everyone in the room.

  He released her hair and took a step back, breaking her gaze. He must learn to control his reactions to her in public if he wanted to preserve their secret.

  He’d just worked himself up to engaging her in banal conversation fit for a public occasion, when Martin Fletcher approached.

  “I say, have you heard the news out of London?” he drawled, his eyes heavy-lidded from drink. “Terribly sad business.”

  Robert frowned and glanced down at Cassandra, who shrugged as if to say she had no idea what Martin was talking about.

  “What news?” he prodded. “This Masked Menace business is all anyone is talking about.”

  Martin took another sip of his port and sighed. “Lady Downing died in a tragic accident a few day past.”

  Robert felt the twinge of pity for the lady and her husband, now a widower. He wasn’t well acquainted with the Downings, but remembered meeting the lady at Almack’s a few Seasons ago. She’d been a quiet woman, sweet and a bit shy.

  “How awful,” he replied. “And with she and Sir Downing married only a few short years. Did they have any children?” “They did not,” Martin murmured.

  His gaze fell on Cassandra, who had gone silent, hands clenching the arms of her chair in a white-knuckle grip.

  “Lady Cassandra, are you all right?” Martin asked.

  Robert rounded the chair to meet her gaze, but found her staring up at Martin. Her face pale and her chin trembling, she looked as if she’d seen a ghost.

  She sucked in a sharp, swift breath, her voice hoarse when she finally spoke. “How did it happen? Do you know what sort of accident it was?”

  Martin sobered in an instant, regret clear upon his face. “I’m so sorry, Lady Cassandra. I did not think. Was she a friend of yours?”

  Cassandra stood. “No, but I … I need to know. If you heard how she died, you must tell me!”

  Her voice had risen a bit, earning the attention of the other guests. The room fell silent and the card game came to a pause as everyone seemed to wonder what was happening. Only Lucy remained unaware, playing the pianoforte with that blissful expression of obliviousness upon her face.

  “I believe it was a nasty fall,” Martin replied, concern creasing his brow. “She tumbled down the stairs and broke her neck. My lady, forgive me. If I’d known it would upset you so—”

  “Oh, God,” Cassandra whispered, seeming to no longer hear him.

  Pressing a hand to her belly, she seemed on the verge of collapse. Robert was on her in an instant, taking hold of her arm and wrapping one hand about her waist. He did not care about the eyes watching them or what anyone might think of him touching her with such familiarity. Something was very wrong.

  “Cass, are you all right?”

  “Robert, what’s the matter?” his mother called out from across the room. “Is Lady Cassandra unwell?”

  Smoothing one hand up and down her back, he searched her gaze, trying to understand the sudden turmoil he found there. Tears filled them as she met his stare and shook her head, her lip quivering as if she fought against the urge to weep.

  “I need to leave … I cannot …”

  Then, she was gone, breaking away from him and exiting the drawing room at a near run. He was on her heels before he could think.

  “Robert!” his mother called out. “What is going on?”

  He paused in the doorway, fighting to maintain at least an outward appearance of calm. “Lady Cassandra seems to have fallen ill. I will ensure she is all right.”

  “Oh, dear,” the baroness replied, one hand held over her bosom. “I do hope it wasn’t something she ate.”

  “I am certain she'll be fine, but I ought to make sure. I will return shortly.”

  As he ducked out into the corridor, conversation seemed to resume, Lucy continuing to pound away at the pianoforte. A flash of red caught his eye and he turned to find Cassandra making a mad dash for the vestibule and the front doors of the manor.

  “My lady, your cloak!” called the butler as she rushed past him without stopping.

  “I will see to her,” he told the man as he gave chase.

  She pushed the doors open and lurched out into the night, then stumbled down the front steps. Robert’s heart thundered as he followed, reaching out in an attempt to grab her lest she fall and hurt herself. She managed to stay on her feet as she rushed across the grounds, skirts held in one hand.

  “Cassandra!”

  She paused near a tree and fell against it, clinging to the trunk as if for dear life. By the time he had caught up to her, she’d become distraught, her breath harsh and uneven, tears wetting her cheeks, tremors wracking her from head to toe.

  “Cass, please … tell me
what’s wrong. Did you know Lady Downing?”

  There could be no other explanation for her reaction to the news of the other woman’s death. Damn Martin for his big mouth and lack of tact.

  Turning away from the tree, she doubled over and wretched. The contents of her stomach spewed out over the ground as she trembled, coughing and gagging. Robert could do nothing but stand back and watch, uncertain what he ought to do for her. She’d never taken kindly to displays of pity or softer emotion, but just now he felt gutted at the sight of her like this. He wanted to make it right somehow, but first he needed to know what was wrong.

  He stood back until she was finished, then reached into his breast pocket to retrieve a handkerchief. She accepted it with a shaking hand and used it to wipe her damp cheeks, then the corners of her mouth. He remained silent, waiting for her to shed some light on her thoughts.

  After a few deep breaths, she met his gaze and shook her head, her watery eyes wide and dazed as if she were in shock.

  “I have to leave … I have to go … I cannot be here …”

  He reached out for her, but she cringed away from his touch, so he maintained his distance. She was clearly in a state of panic, but would not allow him to comfort her, leaving Robert at a complete loss.

  “Cass, I cannot let you leave like this. You are overwrought, and I’m worried about you. Please, tell me what the matter is.”

  She wrapped her warms around herself and shook her head several times. “It does not matter. There is nothing you can do to mend it. Lady Downing, she … she did not deserve this.”

  He nodded slowly, still uncertain what it was about Lady Downing’s death that upset her so. She wasn’t known to have many friends, and he couldn’t remember hearing about any connection between them. Whatever it was, she was frightening him, falling apart right before his eyes. A brittle, hardened Cassandra was familiar to him; this sobbing mess of a woman seemed like a different person entirely.