Impetuous

by Candace Camp

  “Cassandra…” He moved closer, swinging one leg behind her, the knee up so that his leg formed a support for her back, and moving the other across her lap, its weight pinning down her legs.

  He pushed down the front of her chemise, exposing her pale breasts. He stared at her in the pale starlight, his eyes avidly taking in the smooth, plump orbs and the large dark circles of her nipples, the hardening buttons of flesh thrusting out from the centers. He swallowed, unable to speak, aware of little except the desire raging in him.

  “You are so beautiful,” he murmured, delicately tracing each nipple with a finger. Cassandra closed her eyes and leaned back against his leg as though drained of energy, the very picture of a woman surrendering to passion. Desire slammed through him like a giant fist, making him tremble.

  Philip knew that despite all his good intentions, he was going to make love to her now. He was going to lay her back on the ground and feast on her lush breasts. He was going to kiss her until her lips were dark and swollen. And he was going to move her legs apart and thrust himself deep inside her, claiming her, ravishing her, making her his.

  His arms went around her, and he pulled her up tightly against him, pressing the side of her hip into his pulsing desire, and he bent to sink his lips into hers.

  “Who’s there!” a man’s voice bellowed, slicing through their passion like an icy knife. “Stand up, I say, and identify yourself before I let loose with this.”

  Philip froze, letting out a groan of frustration.

  “Chumley!” Cassandra whispered in accents of horror.

  “What?”

  “You hear me?” the voice rang out again. “Stand up, I say!”

  “It’s Chumley!” Cassandra repeated. “The man who was here this afternoon—yesterday, I mean.”

  Philip began to curse in a low voice as he pulled away from her, raising his arms in the air and unfolding into a standing position. “Don’t shoot. I assure you, we are quite peaceable.”

  “Chumley, it is I, Cassandra Verrere.” Cassandra called, struggling to rise and at the same time pull her bodice together. Sir Philip reached down a helpful hand to pull her up.

  “Miss Cassandra!” the groundskeeper repeated in shocked tones and hurried toward them. “Whatever are you doing out here? I nearly shot you, I did!”

  Philip, seeing Cassandra’s dilemma, quickly shrugged out of his jacket and draped it around Cassandra’s shoulders to cover her. She pulled it closed gratefully and summoned up a smile to greet her former employee.

  “I am sorry to have alarmed you, Chumley. I never dreamed that you might be out here.”

  “Why, of course. Somebody had to protect the house, now, didn’t they?”

  “Apparently the same thought occurred to all of us,” Philip interjected dryly.

  Chumley eyed him with suspicion. “You again! What are you doing here?”

  “Sir Philip and I were here on the same errand as you,” Cassandra explained quickly. “We all hoped to catch the intruder. It is unfortunate that none of us communicated that intent with the others.” She turned and gave Neville a dark look. “I am afraid our culprit was here and got away—unless that was you I saw with the lantern a few minutes ago.”

  “No, miss, weren’t me. I wouldn’t come here hunting a thief with a light announcing me, now would I?”

  “No.” Cassandra sighed. “Well, there’s no harm now in lighting one, I suppose.” She turned back to where she had set down her own lantern, taking the opportunity to shrug her arms into Philip’s coat and button it tightly up the front so that her ruined bodice did not show beneath. As for the heavy heat in her loins and the sizzling sensations still running along her nerves—hopefully no one would be able to detect those things, even in the light of the lanterns. She smoothed her hair down and tied it in a self knot behind her neck, hoping that at least she would not look quite so wild. Then, relighting her lantern, she rejoined the two men.

  They had gotten their own lanterns lit and were standing eyeing each other disapprovingly.

  “I am sure your father would not approve of your being out here at this time of night, Miss Cassandra-and with a strange man.”

  “Sir Philip is not a stranger, Chumley. He is a dear friend of the family. And, besides, I was not with him. I came alone. I happened to, ah, run into him after I arrived here. He thought I was the burglar, you see.”

  Chumley released a snort that clearly indicated his opinion of a man who could think that Miss Verrere was a thief. “Not much better, your running about in the middle of the night alone.”

  “I should think that that is a great deal worse,” Philip stated heatedly, stung by the groundskeeper’s contempt. “A young woman alone and defenseless in the middle of the night!”

  “Depends on the young woman, now, don’t it?” Chumley replied equably, stroking his chin. “If Miss Cassandra’s carrying a gun, as I reckon she’s smart enough to, then I would say the burglar’s more likely the one needing the protection. Arly himself taught her to shoot.”

  “Why, thank you, Chumley.” Cassandra could not resist casting a smug look at Philip. “I tried to explain that to Sir Philip, but he didn’t understand. Now, are we going to stand around here all night arguing, or shall we go look for that intruder?”

  Without waiting for an answer, she strode off toward the back of Chesilworth, where she had last seen the light, leaving Sir Philip and Chumley to follow her. Chumley did so without question. Sir Philip, after an exasperated sigh, hurried to catch up with them.

  “Really, Cassandra, must you go charging in headfirst every time?” Sir Philip moved protectively in front of her. “You are going to get hurt one day.”

  “Don’t be absurd. I am sure our quarry is long gone. Besides, I think we have already established that I am well able to take care of myself. Ah, there—” She pointed past him to a set of windows across the back of the house. “That is where I first saw him.”

  The three of them moved closer, holding up their lanterns to illuminate the ground in front of them. It was Chumley who first spotted the footprints.

  “There!” He pointed to the earth beneath one of the windows. “See? Where the ground’s a little damp.”

  “Yes, you’re right. A definite footprint.” Sir Philip moved carefully closer, with Cassandra at his side. All three of them bent down and peered more closely at the imprint in the ground.

  “Definitely a man’s,” Cassandra said, looking at the large outline.

  “I would guess a big man, too,” Sir Philip offered.

  “Aye, tall, maybe,” Chumley spoke up, “but I’m thinking not too heavy. The ground here is pretty soft. A heavy sort would have sunk in deeper, you see. But no lightweight, either.”

  Tall, but not heavy, Cassandra thought. A man the size, say, of Sir Philip. She could not keep from sneaking a glance toward his feet.

  He caught her look, and his mouth twisted ironically. “Large enough, Miss Verrere,” he said, “but not quite my style, don’t you think?”

  He made a show of sticking out his foot and twisting it this way and that so that she could see that his shoes did not fit the outline. Cassandra sent him a disdainful look and said, “Really, Sir Philip, if you could refrain from joking, perhaps we could find something useful.”

  She turned away, following Chumley, who was circling around the corner of the house, his lantern held low to the ground.

  “Here’s another, Miss,” Chumley called out, stopping, and Cassandra and Philip hurried to his side. There, in the circle of his lantern’s light, was another imprint, this time of the man’s other shoe. It was obviously the same type of round-toed shoe, but this impression held something interesting, a small V in the imprint of one heel.

  “What is that?” Cassandra asked, pointing.

  “A mark on his shoe, I imagine,�
�� Sir Philip offered, and Chumley nodded.

  “Yes, miss, looks to me like he’s got a hole or at least a mark gouged out on the left heel there.”

  “So all we have to do is inspect everyone’s shoes for an indentation like that on one heel,” Sir Philip said sardonically.

  “It’s more of a clue than we have had so far,” Cassandra stated.

  “Yes, but it’s only feasible if we have a suspect.”

  “I thought you had one,” Cassandra retorted. “My American relative.”

  Chumley’s eyebrows sailed upward at her words, and Cassandra regretted having said anything. The last thing she wanted was for the locals to be gossiping about treasures and hidden maps at Chesilworth.

  “Believe me, he is still high on my list. But since we have no idea where your Mr. Miller is, it would be difficult to check his shoes.”

  “I was only joking,” Cassandra said quickly, giving Philip a hard stare, which she hoped he would be able to interpret. “Just because you have taken an unreasonable dislike to David Miller does not mean that he is a thief. I saw nothing to indicate it. Besides, as Chumley will be happy to tell you, there is nothing in Chesilworth worth stealing.”

  “Oh, no, miss, the silver and such is all locked up…what’s left of it.”

  “Exactly. Mr. Miller was here. He would have seen the state of the house on the inside.” Cassandra hoped she had said enough to discourage any gossip about her American relative. She decided to turn Chumley’s thoughts in a more helpful direction. “No. I think it was some outsider—”

  “Yes, miss,” Chumley agreed, nodding his head energetically. “Wouldn’t nobody from around here steal from you or your family.”

  “A person who saw the big house and decided that it was empty and thought, given its size, that it must have something valuable in it,” Cassandra added, wanting to set a reason firmly in Chumley’s mind.

  “I am sure you are right,” Philip agreed with a face so studiously bland that it was all Cassandra could do not to laugh.

  “That would mean that he must have been staying around here,” Cassandra continued. “He was, after all, here two nights in a row. Where was he in between?”

  “Ah, you was always a canny one, Miss Cassandra,” Chumley told her admiringly. “You’re right. Surely someone’s seen him—even if he’s been camping out in the woods like a gypsy, people’d notice. I’ll ask around Dunsleigh tomorrow, miss, see if anyone’s seen a stranger around here.”

  “And I shall check the inn where I am staying,” Philip promised. “Of course, he could have been staying at another small town nearby and riding over at night, to escape detection.”

  There were three or four footprints going away from the house, but after that the ground became harder and drier, and there were no more signs of the would-be intruder.

  “The noise scared him off, no doubt.” Sir Philip stood for a moment gazing into the darkness, as if considering plunging off in search of the man, but then he turned back to the others.

  “I shall escort you home, Miss Verrere.”

  Cassandra realized that earlier he had been calling her Cassandra. Now they were back to Miss Verrere. But, then, earlier, they had been… Well, better not to think of that.

  “I assure you that I am well able to find my way home by myself,” she replied in as formal a tone as he had used.

  “I am sure of that, but if you think that I am about to allow a young lady to set off in the dark, alone, with an intruder lurking about, you had best think again.”

  “The gentleman’s right, Miss Cassandra,” the former groundskeeper chimed in reluctantly. “If he don’t, then I’m going to. It ain’t fitting, not to mention safe.”

  Cassandra gazed at her old servant, who stared back at her truculently. She knew Chumley well enough to know that he would do as he said, and that even if she set off alone, he would trail along after her. Since her aunt’s house lay in the opposite direction of Chumley’s own cottage, she would be making the man walk a good distance out of his way.

  “All right, Sir Philip,” she accepted his offer rather ungraciously and strode off up the hill without waiting to see whether he came with her.

  With a sigh, Philip caught up with Cassandra. They walked for the most part in silence. Cassandra was quite aware of Sir Philip’s opinion regarding the intruder they had not caught, as well as of her sneaking over to the house tonight to try to catch him. Since he was equally well aware of her views on both matters, they each decided not to broach the subject. Cassandra’s thoughts kept straying to the moment when Sir Philip had captured her—and what had followed. The incident crowded out even the thoughts of the intruder. But it was hardly a subject she wanted to bring up with him. She was in enough turmoil just walking along beside him, intensely aware of his heat, his scent, his masculine power. She could not deny that she had enjoyed his touch and his kisses, that everything within her had leaped up in response to him. But what did he think of her for doing so? What did he want from her? How did he feel about her? And—this was a first for her—how did she feel about him? Cassandra could not remember ever feeling so unsettled, so unlike herself, so…so…thoroughly confused.

  Sir Philip, beside her, was in as great a state of confusion as Cassandra herself. He knew that he should apologize for what he had done earlier. He had let his passion completely take over, had lost control—and after he had sworn to her that it would never happen again. There seemed to be something about Cassandra Verrere that made him forget all the rules by which he normally lived, that blurred the once-clear lines between behavior with a woman of easy virtue and behavior with a lady of quality. Sir Philip had never felt with any young woman of good family the overwhelming passion he experienced when he was with Cassandra. Damn it, now that he thought of it, he could not remember when he had felt such loss of restraint with a member of the demimonde or a willing, experienced woman of society, either. There was simply something about Cassandra that was like no other woman he had ever met, and his responses to her were equally foreign.

  Perhaps it was the very innocence of her response, the natural passion, that aroused him so. Or perhaps it was the piquancy of the juxtaposition of her sweet kisses with her tart, quick remarks. Sir Philip was not sure. Indeed, he was sure of very little—beyond the fact that he wanted very much to continue to see Miss Verrere. And he wanted even more to kiss her again.

  It was for this reason that he could not bring himself to beg her pardon for his behavior. To do so would mean that he would have to promise not to do it again, and he had the distinct feeling that he would not be able to honor that promise. Indeed, he was quite sure that he did not even want to honor it. All he wanted was to continue along this path until he found out where it led—and damn all the consequences.

  Cassandra came to a halt, reaching out to touch Philip’s arm and stop him. He looked down at her, his pulse suddenly speeding up, at once excited and wary of what she might say next.

  But she only said prosaically, “There is my aunt’s house. Among the trees—you see it?” She pointed.

  “Yes.”

  “I should go the rest of the way myself. It would not do at all for even a servant to see me walking back to the house at this time of night with a man, especially you.”

  He nodded, stifling his disappointment that she had had no more personal comment to make. What did he expect—that she was going to ask him to start up again where he had left off earlier? “Of course. Go on. I shall watch from here to make sure that you are safe.”

  “I assure you that is unnecessary.”

  “Shall we meet at Chesilworth again tomorrow?” he asked, ignoring her comment.

  “Yes. Tomorrow afternoon would be fine—say one o’clock?”

  “I shall be there.”

  She nodded and without another word turned and walked away
from him. Sir Philip watched her form as it grew smaller and smaller, until at last it disappeared into the house. With a sigh, he turned away and began the long walk back into the village.

  * * *

  THE GENTLE TAPPING at the door finally brought Cassandra awake. She groaned and turned over, throwing an arm over her eyes to block out the sunshine streaming in through the crack between the draperies. She fervently wished now that she had not told the maid to wake her early so that they could get started on cleaning up after the party. However, she knew that the best way to deal with her aunt was to get the house in order while she and Joanna still slept. Then she would have the afternoon free to work at Chesilworth.

  With a sigh, she threw off her covers and rolled out of bed, going to the door to admit the maid. Bleary-eyed, she let the girl help her into a dress and gratefully downed the toast and coffee that the maid had brought with her. Then she went downstairs to direct the servants in their cleaning-up operations, joining in now and then to help.

  Cassandra was both surprised and relieved when the house was back in order again well before eleven. She would have an extra couple of hours to work in the attic, and it would be very easy to slip away now, before her party-weary aunt had even ventured out of her room. So she wheedled a picnic lunch out of cook and set off two hours early for the walk to Chesilworth, leaving behind her envious sister and brothers, who had to remain for their weekly religious lesson with the curate.

  The day was beautiful, and Cassandra hummed as she walked along, her lack of sleep forgotten in the enjoyment of the day. With each new day of searching, there was always the possibility that this would be the day on which she found the letters. She pushed aside the thought that the prospect of seeing Sir Philip added to her anticipation of the day ahead.

  She stopped when she drew in sight of her home and stood for a moment looking at it. It loomed dark against the horizon, its windows unlit, and for the first time in her life, Cassandra felt a chill run down her spine at the sight of it. She could not keep from remembering that someone had broken into the house two nights ago and had tried again last night. Who was to say that he had not come back after they left and succeeded in getting inside? What if there were someone up in the attic right now, looking for the letters?