What had she gotten herself into? Mr. Foxwood—Mark—was still as startlingly handsome as he’d been at Katherine’s ball. He was also domineering, insufferable, and far too pleased with himself. She needed to be the one controlling this arrangement. She had contracted his services after all. Instead, he’d made her feel like she was begging him for attention and willing to pay with her body.
Damn him for kissing her when she wasn’t prepared. She couldn’t afford to lose command of the situation. At least now she was aware of her vulnerability. Next time she would be more aware.
How much worse would it be when things went further? She remembered his thick shaft pressing against her. Was it truly as enormous as she imagined? Would it fit inside her? She must have been crazy to agree to let him bed her whenever he chose. But she was desperate. That was the problem. Desperate to gain the means to prevent herself from being at a man’s mercy again. If she had to endure three months of Foxwood’s arrogance, so be it. There wasn’t much she wouldn’t do to gain her freedom.
CHAPTER THREE
Cassandra was nearly ready to leave. Her belongings had been packed and sent ahead to Northamberly Castle. Loring implored her to travel the short distance in the closed carriage, as would be proper for a lady, but she assured him there was no need to pretend her arrangement was other than it was. She was hardly a respectable lady paying a call.
She intended to travel alone, on horseback. The ride would be an excellent reminder of why she had bargained away three months of her life and placed herself in the hands of a man like Mark Foxwood. Nothing symbolized her desire for freedom like galloping across the field on Artemis’s back.
Cassandra, darling, you have no idea how much danger you are in.
His words echoed in her mind throughout the afternoon. She supposed he would be dangerous if she were younger or less hardened by her choices in life. Unlike her husband, Mark would never hurt her physically. Some instinct born of studying Reddington and his friends told her that. Now that she knew how easily he affected her with his touch, she could brace herself. She would take pleasure from him, but her heart would remain her own.
He would be a danger to her reputation to be sure, but that was in tatters already simply by her marriage to Reddington. Besides, who would learn of her affair? She intended to remain in Devon, and Mark had agreed to discretion.
He might be dangerous to other women, but for her, he was simply a means for gaining her independence. And a chance to explore her desire for adventure, which had always been overshadowed by duty. As the firstborn, she had protected and defended her sisters at all costs.
She took one last look in the mirror. As usual, an array of tight curls had worked loose from the combs in her hair. Several of them bounced against her forehead and along the side of her face. She wished her hair could be tamed, but if no one—not even the most expert stylist hired by her mother—had managed it in her twenty-one years, she wasn’t likely to fix it now.
She wore her blood-red riding habit. Thick, silver braids sparkled at her shoulders and along the lapels of the jacket. The ensemble was too flashy for a young wife, and it had gained her many a disapproving look in Hyde Park. But when she’d seen it in her seamstress’s design book, she had to have it. It was as unconventional as she.
On her way to the stable, she stopped to say good-bye to Loring.
“My lady, I wish you would reconsider.”
“I appreciate your concern, Loring, but I will not let Reddington best me from beyond the grave.” She handed him an envelope. “Please ask Mr. Jenkins to deliver this to my sister. She is staying with my aunt in Grosvenor Square.” She had no intention of telling anyone else what was going on and the language of her letter was veiled, but she and Amanda kept nothing from each other. She hoped her younger sister was up to the shock.
“I will see to it, my lady.” Cassandra placed her foot in the stirrup, but Loring took the liberty of laying his hand on her arm to stop her. “I stand ready to rescue you at any hour.”
She started to tell him there would be no need for such heroics. Instead, she simply thanked him and mounted her mare.
The sinking sun had turned the landscape pink. Still she decided to take the longer, more scenic route to Northamberly. She wanted time to take in the crisp air. She didn’t know how often she would get to feel the wind on her face in the coming weeks. Would Mark permit her much time for riding? A shiver of anticipation ran over her when she thought perhaps he would not.
She couldn’t help remembering the overwhelming heat that poured off Mark when he kissed her. What would it be like to feel his hands on her body? Only one word came to mind. Delightful. She smiled at the thought but dismissed it quickly, admonishing herself to enjoy the scenery and her last moments to herself.
Artemis flew over the stone wall that marked the border of her family estate. As the mare landed and kept her vigorous pace, cold air slapped Cassandra’s face. She shut her eyes against the icy sting.
A shot echoed across the field, magnified by the silence of the afternoon. It was close, too close. Artemis reared. Cassandra clung to the reins, but the horse panicked. She slipped from the saddle and came crashing to the ground.
Unhurt, she righted herself and raised her fingers to whistle for Artemis when a second shot cracked. She stumbled backwards. Her body refused to be easily felled as if she couldn’t accept that she’d been hit. Then, ever so slowly, she slumped to the ground.
When she once again became aware of her surroundings, disorientation held her in its grasp. Was she dead? Was all the white she saw the cloudy floor of heaven? She reached out a tentative hand. Wetness and cold penetrated her thin glove. No, it was only snow.
A red stain marred the snow by her head, but she didn’t feel much pain. As she struggled to sit up, a wave of nausea rolled over her. She ignored it and brought her hand to her temple to examine her injury. Her fingers came away red and sticky. Fortunately, the bullet had only grazed her. A straight on hit would have rendered her as dead as her husband.
Her hands shook and blood dripped from her wound, but she gathered her wits and focused on standing without being sick.
What had happened? Had some hunters’ bullets gone astray? One shot in her direction would be easy to dismiss as such, but two? Still, who would want to harm her? The only person who ever intended her physical harm was her husband, and he was dead. Loring had seen his body.
It was an accident, she told herself. It had to be, one she was quite fortunate to have survived.
The shots must have come from the woods on the far side of the meadow. That was the only place a hunter could have concealed himself. She tried to discern any sign of human presence, but night was fast approaching. She saw nothing but a black mass of trees. All she could do was pray the shooter was gone.
A few deep breaths of cold air worked to calm her stomach and ease the spinning in her head. She wiggled her feet to bring feeling back to her nearly frozen toes and whistled to Artemis. The horse quickly joined her from where she had cowered at the edge of the woods.
Cassandra’s head swam when she tried to mount, but she succeeded on her third try. Each step the horse took sent a bolt of pain through her head, but she was too far from Northamberly to walk, even if she could stay on her feet. She would have to endure the ride.
By the time she approached the entrance to Mark’s home, her fingers ached from her tight grip on the reins. When she dismounted, the footman who met her caught her arm. Her body swayed wildly, but he helped to steady her. Once she no longer feared collapsing, she turned to face him. His loud gasp let her know he saw her wound despite the darkness.
“It’s only a scratch. I’ll be fine.” She tried to smile.
“Let me help you to the door.” She started to protest, but as her knees began to give, she grabbed his arm for support.
A loud thud drew her attention. She looked up to see the front door swing open. Mark stepped onto the porch wearing nothing but a shirt a
nd a pair of form-fitting buckskin breeches. Even through the haze of pain, she appreciated the thick muscles of his legs.
“Ah, you didn’t change your mind after all. I had begun to suspect I would never see you again.”
“I—”
He cut her off before she could explain. “I’d hoped to have more time to… get acquainted before we dined.”
The footman started to explain. “Mr. Foxwood, I think—”
“That will be all, Nicholas.” Mark tried to wave him away.
“But, Mr. Foxwood—”
Cassandra released Nicholas’s arm. “Thank you for your assistance. I assure you I will be quite fine.”
The young footman frowned, but he took Artemis’ reins and began to lead the mare toward the stable.
As they stepped into the foyer, Mark turned and saw Cassandra in the light for the first time. His eyes grew wide.
“My God, what happened?” He cupped her chin, turning her head to examine her wound.
“I was shot. Your footman tried to tell you but you were too stubborn to listen.”
Mark frowned. “I suppose I was.”
That was not the reaction she’d expected. Before she could respond, he scooped her up and carried her into his study, shouting for Andrews and directing him to bring the necessary supplies.
The heat of Mark’s body penetrated all the layers of Cassandra’s clothing, and the wave of dizziness that hit her had nothing to do with her injuries. She needed to get away from Mark long enough to catch her breath. “I’m fine. I only need to clean up.”
He proceeded as if he’d not heard her. After sitting her down on the supple leather sofa, he knelt in front of her and bent to look more closely at her wound. “The bullet only grazed you. You should recover quickly once this has been cleaned.”
“That was precisely my assessment.”
Once again he ignored her. “You could have died.”
The genuine look of concern on his face made her forget his high-handedness. “I know.”
When Andrews came in with water and a towel, the man offered to send for a maid, but Mark insisted on taking care of Cassandra himself.
***
Mark wet the cloth and lifted it to her face, marveling at the whiteness of her skin and boiling with anger as he lightly touched the red gash that marred its perfection. “I’ll try not to hurt you.”
He ran the cloth over her wound, trying to soften the dried blood before attempting to rub it away. He hated the thought of how tender her ragged flesh would be. She flinched but made no sound of protest.
“You’re allowed to complain, you know. It must hurt like hell.”
She smiled slightly, her eyes still closed. “I’m tougher than I look.”
His body reacted fiercely to the husky tone of her voice, but he forced himself to continue his work until all the blood was washed from her face. The cut was ugly, but not too deep. He didn’t think it would scar.
“This won’t be pleasant, but we need to prevent infection.”
She opened her eyes and met his. He forced himself to step back. He wanted to kiss her as much as he wanted to breathe. But if he gave in, he would not be able to stop until he’d removed her wonderfully unique riding habit and pulled her beneath him. He intended to have his way with her, but first he needed to discover exactly what had happened.
“I promise not to scream, just do it quickly.”
“Of course.” He reached for the decanter of brandy on the side table and poured some of the amber liquid on the cloth. He took her hand in his. “Hold my hand and squeeze when it hurts.”
Her strength shocked him. If she hadn’t released him when she did, she might have succeeded in breaking a few fingers.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked.
He laughed, not about to admit the truth but ready to tease. “I may never recover. I should call for my smelling salts.”
She frowned as he applied a bandage. “I was being serious.”
“My dear, over the next few days, you will learn that my body can withstand a great deal of hard use.”
He smiled as he watched her eyes widen and her cheeks flush. He picked up his snifter, needing something to occupy his hands lest he forget his resolve to allow her to rest.
She watched him lift the glass to his mouth. “I think I need a brandy, too.”
He fought back a laugh. “I should have guessed you wouldn’t go in for ratafia or sherry.”
“I can’t say I have ever developed a taste for the sickeningly sweet drinks ladies are supposed to enjoy.”
He handed her a snifter and sat facing her. “Now that you have your drink, my lady, tell me exactly what happened.”
She described hearing the first shot, falling from her mare, being hit, and waking up in the snow. He would find the man who dared to harm a woman on his land and see that the bastard paid for his error. The thought of Cassandra lying dead but a short distance from his house enraged him. He slammed his fist against the arm of his chair.
She jumped.
“I’m didn’t mean to frighten you. I was imagining what I’ll do when I catch the man who shot you.” He took a deep breath to ease the tension from his body. “I can think of many reasons why someone would want to murder your husband, but what would tempt them to come after you?”
He noted a look of unease in her eyes that had not been their earlier. “You truly think someone shot me on purpose?”
“Don’t you?”
“I can think of no motive for killing me.”
“What do you believe motivated your husband’s murder?”
“It could be any number of things.” The wariness in her eyes grew.
“Surely you have a suspicion.”
“My husband was a predator. His abysmal luck at the tables is well known as is the way he paid his debts with gains from illegal activities.”
“I see.” But he didn’t, not entirely. Cassandra knew more than she was letting on, and he was determined to find out what she was hiding.
“What explanation would you offer for your wound?”
“A hunter’s bullet gone astray.” Her voice lacked conviction. Why would she want him to think she was not in danger?
“No hunter should be on my land without my permission.”
“You have only been here a matter of days. Before that, the castle was unoccupied for years. I believe the local residents have become rather careless with regards to the boundaries.”
“I shall remedy that immediately.”
She started to speak again but Mark held out his hand. “We cannot be sure what happened, and we will not take chances. Fresh snow is falling and little more can be done in the dark. I will investigate in the morning. I must insist you do not leave the house until I have done so.”
“I will not be a prisoner,” she said, her characteristic defiance clear on her face.
“When you made your proposal, you put yourself in my hands. I intend to see that you are well taken care of both in bed and out. You can hardly satisfy me if you are dead.”
His comment brought color to her cheeks. In combination with the riotous nature of her hair, the added color made her look like a ripe wood nymph. His cock hardened.
“How are you feeling?” A poor attempt to distract himself.
She brought her hand to the bandage he’d placed on her temple and winced. “A little sore, but much better.”
He raised his brow and studied her face. “I would bet a fortune you’ve a hell of a headache, and I’m certain that cut still stings. But I suppose you are recovered enough to join me for dinner. Andrews will show you to your room so you can change.”
When the butler arrived to show her out, Mark enjoyed the swish of her exiting backside, but even that tempting sight couldn’t banish his concerns. Everything he had learned of Cassandra indicated she was far too intelligent to believe her wound an accident. There was more going on here than he was being told, and worse Cassandra was creating feelings in hi
m—affection, protectiveness—he thought he would never be foolish enough to feel again.
He would never repeat the mistake he’d made with Katherine. What heart he had left belonged to him and him alone.
***
“I will send a maid to help you dress,” Andrews said as he began to shut the door to Cassandra’s chamber.
“No, thank you.” At his raised brow, she added, “I prefer privacy in which to recuperate.”
“As you wish.” He retained his look of disapproval as he exited.
As soon as she was alone, Cassandra allowed herself to sink into the chaise situated at the end of her bed. She laid back, closed her eyes, and attempted to release the tension she’d been holding since she’d heard the first shot.
Her mind refused to settle, and soon she found herself studying her accommodations to distract herself. Gray stone walls surrounded her, but the fire roaring behind the grate kept the room adequately warm. The linens on the canopied bed were cream-colored with a pink and yellow floral print small enough not to be garish but feminine enough to soften what would otherwise be a rather stark room. The furniture was lighter and more intricately carved than what she’d seen elsewhere. Cassandra wondered if she had been given the chambers intended for the lady of the house.
She entered her dressing room and noticed a door at the far end. A door with no apparent lock. She took a moment to listen with her ear pressed against it before giving it a try. Nothing but silence. She turned the knob and slowly cracked the door. As she had suspected, the room on the other side was a man’s dressing room. Mark would have access to her at any time of night.
Quickly, she pulled the door shut, and returned to her bed chamber. Her trunks had been unpacked while Mark had tended her wound. She opened the wardrobe and selected the gown she’d chosen for the evening. She’d grown used to doing without the attention of a maid since Reddington had refused to waste good gambling funds on her. She quickly and efficiently stripped off her habit and donned her evening attire.
When she inspected her reflection in the cheval glass, she noted that the bandage at her temple barely marred her appearance. Her dress was fashioned from lavender silk and a deep purple satin ribbon wrapped around the high waist and tied in back. Its tails streamed down, directing the eye to her behind. She had tightened her stays until her breasts were so elevated they threatened to spill over the square neckline.
A Carnal Agreement (Regency Intrigue Book 1) Page 3