Impetuous

by Candace Camp

  “Oh! How beautiful!” Cassandra turned, looking all around her. “I have never seen a lovelier room!”

  Sir Philip chuckled. “I thought you would like it.” He paused, gazing down at her face, now softened with pleasure. “I am glad that it pleases you.”

  Cassandra could not keep from smiling back at him. His smile had a way of warming her through and through. She felt an urge to move closer to him. Instead, she drew herself up and stepped back. He was, she reminded herself, quite practiced in his charms. She could not let herself trust him.

  “Well,” she said coolly, “with such a task, we had better get to work.”

  “Of course.” Disappointment flashed across Philip’s face, but he quickly masked it. “Where shall we start?”

  Cassandra glanced around the room. “I’m not sure. It is so massive.”

  “I suggest the second level. The books that are more recent and more read are usually on this floor. The older things tend to be up the stairs.”

  “All right.” Cassandra started purposefully up the twisting staircase, saying, “Why don’t I start at one end and you at the other? We can work our way toward the middle.”

  Philip stopped at the top of the steps, watching her walk to the other end of the loft. This was not the way he had envisioned their working together. “Cassandra? Is something the matter?”

  She turned back, her expression carefully bland. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You are acting a little strange today.”

  “In what way?”

  “You know what way,” he retorted, frustrated by her cool responses. “As if you were angry with me, and I haven’t a clue what I might have done.”

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware of it. I merely want to get on with our search. Don’t you?”

  His eyes narrowed, but he did not dispute her words. “Yes,” he said shortly. “Of course I do. Let’s get started.”

  He walked to the opposite side of the loft. Cassandra turned to her task, telling herself to forget about Philip’s presence on the other side of the room. She squatted down and began at the bottom shelf, moving along the row of books. Whenever she came upon a title that seemed even remotely something that could be a book about queens, she pulled it out and looked through it.

  The work was dusty, physically tiring and soon boring. Cassandra, too, had imagined working side by side with Philip, talking about the books they found and whatever else struck them, laughing and enjoying the search as they had in the attics of Chesilworth. But there could be no laughter or sharing with him on the other side of the room; it was what she had intended when she suggested it. However, getting what she wanted left her feeling dissatisfied and lonely.

  She reminded herself that what was important was finding the dowry, not spending time with Sir Philip, and she forged ahead. They worked steadily through the afternoon, keeping the door closed and not answering anyone’s knock. Sir Philip had a tray brought for lunch, which they ate at the large desk, their conversation stilted and uncomfortable. Cassandra could feel Philip’s confusion and frustration, and she wished that she could return to the ease that had marked their relationship earlier. But she could no longer feel comfortable with him. The thought of his illegitimate children kept intruding.

  As soon as they finished eating, Cassandra suggested that they get back to work. It was physically tiring work, involving stooping, bending and squatting. Her feet and legs began to ache, but it was her shoulders and neck that really felt the strain. As tea time approached, her neck grew stiff, her shoulders cramping from holding her awkward position so long, head bent to the side. She straightened, letting out a tired sigh, and rolled her head, pressing against the hard knot at the base of her neck.

  “Tired?” Philip asked from behind her as he reached out and began to knead her shoulders.

  Cassandra jumped, startled to find him so near to her. She had not heard him approach. His touch was much too intimate, too; it aroused a fluttering sensation in her stomach. She knew she should tell him to stop, but at that moment his thumbs found the hardest spot of her stiffened muscles, and instead she let out a low groan of relief.

  “Got it, huh?” He bore down a little harder, and the result was somewhere between ecstasy and pain.

  Cassandra sagged, letting her head fall forward. He worked his way up the taut muscles of her neck, his thumbs massaging away the tension. Cassandra thought she might melt into a puddle on the floor. The release of the tension was delight enough, but there was another, insistent sensation, a tingling that sizzled straight down to her womb and had nothing to do with the muscles of her neck. Limply she let the feelings wash through her, aware of the heat filling her loins, her nipples prickling, the sudden moisture between her legs.

  Philip bent and placed a gentle kiss on the side of her neck. It was the merest breath, a brush of sensation that sent passion gushing through Cassandra. She drew in her breath sharply, her legs suddenly trembling. She wanted him. She wanted to turn and move into his arms. She wanted to taste his mouth on hers, feel his hands on her body.

  “Cassandra,” he murmured. “So sweet…”

  His hands slid down from her shoulders, moving slowly along her arms, and her skin turned to fire beneath his touch. His hands glided back up, and he took her by the shoulders, turning her to his kiss.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “NO!” CASSANDRA WRENCHED herself away from Philip. She faced him, trembling, frightened by the torrent of emotions that he could so easily awaken in her. “I will not be another of your conquests!”

  “My conquests!” He stared back at her in disbelief, his face still slack with desire. “What are you—”

  “No!” Cassandra stepped back quickly from his outstretched hands. Whirling, she ran across the loft and down the staircase, her shoes ringing on the metal steps.

  He did not follow her, for which she was grateful. If he had caught up with her and tried to persuade her with kisses and caresses, she did not know what she would have done. She was afraid it would have been something foolish. The fact of the matter was that she seemed to have no self-control around Philip. Her vaunted will vanished when he began to kiss her.

  Cassandra closed herself in her bedroom until teatime, pulling the curtains closed and lying on her bed in the dark, trying to bring her rampant emotions back to some sort of rational order. It was absurd that he should have so much power over her. It frightened her. She had always been so completely in charge—of herself, her family, whatever situation she had to deal with. She prided herself on it; everyone looked to her. But Philip Neville had blown that pretty picture sky-high. She felt like the silliest rustic maiden, a vacant-headed ninny ruled by her desires.

  But even as she reprimanded herself, something inside her cried that it was unfair. Her body thrummed with passion—and what was so wrong with that? Would it be so terrible to give in to her feelings for Philip? Men gave way to their passions all the time, and no one despised them. No harm came from it—except for those poor children like the ones at Silverwood.

  She pointed out to herself that she didn’t know that Philip was interested in seducing, then dropping, her. She had only her aunt’s word for that, and Aunt Ardis had a vested interest in keeping Cassandra and Philip apart. But what about his children at Silverwood? Aunt Ardis had been right about that; the rumor mill had been right. Only a hardened libertine could have so many illegitimate children that they filled a home.

  Cassandra groaned. It was so hard to believe that he was a roué, a rake. The truth was that she did not want to believe it. Her feelings for Philip were clouding her usually clear mind. But that notion was in itself absurd! She did not have feelings for Sir Philip. She could not.

  It was a relief when she went down for tea and found that Philip was not there. He was at the table at supper, however, and she had to endure
sitting beside him. His face was stony, and he spoke as little as possible to her. She was sure that he hated her, and even though she told herself that he had no reason to, she felt even more unhappy.

  After supper, in the drawing room, Joanna flirted wildly with Philip, hanging on his arm, bending over strategically so he could get a full view of her swelling breasts above the low neckline of her dress, plying her fan coquettishly. She asked his opinion and hung breathless on his reply. She called him Philip, as if she had the right to address him familiarly and favored him with arch smiles.

  The worst of it was, Cassandra thought, that Philip did not seem terribly annoyed at having to endure Joanna’s flirting. Cassandra wished that she had pleaded sickness and had a tray brought to her room instead of coming down for dinner. Or she could have eaten in the nursery with the twins, Olivia and Georgette. That would have been infinitely more enjoyable.

  As soon as Philip’s grandmother decided to retire for the night, Cassandra jumped up and left for her bedroom, also. She simply could not bear any longer to sit and watch Joanna fawn over Philip.

  Having little else to do, she changed clothes and went to bed early, but she quickly discovered that that was a mistake. She was wide-awake, and, lying there in the dark, all she could do was think about Philip and the many problems surrounding him. It was almost enough, she thought, to make her wish that she had never come to Haverly House.

  * * *

  THE PICNIC THE next day interfered with any work they might have done in the library. Cassandra chafed at the delay in their search, although she was also relieved that she was not going to have to spend the day in close quarters with Sir Philip.

  The picnic was a huge production. Even the elder Lady Neville went. Miss Yorke walked over from Silverwood, and they set out: the older ladies and Miss Yorke in an open carriage, parasols up to ward off the sun, and Sir Philip, Georgette and the children on horseback. Joanna, upon learning that her quarry planned to ride, decided that she would ride, also, even though it meant being in the company of the twins and Olivia. Cassandra, thinking of having to watch Joanna flirt with Sir Philip the whole time, opted to ride with the older women in the carriage, even though it made it a rather tight squeeze. Several servants followed them in a wagon with the food and other necessities.

  They made their way to a large, shallow pond, known locally as a “broad.” The broads, Lady Neville explained, were areas where the locals had once “mined” peat, leaving wide holes in the ground that soon filled with water. The ride along tree-dappled lanes, often bordered by masses of rhododendron, would have been pleasant had it not been for the fact that Aunt Ardis talked most of the time, usually about her daughter’s attributes and virtues. By the time Cassandra had heard four times how much Joanna valued her new fast friend, Georgette, and how admired Joanna was by her many suitors, not to mention how sweet she found Duchess, the elder Lady Neville’s foul-tempered Persian, and how utterly lovely she thought the furnishings of Haverly House were, Cassandra was almost ready to walk the rest of the way. Having to watch Joanna and Philip now seemed like a petty price to pay for being able to ride in the open air, far away from Aunt Ardis’s babble.

  She glanced across the carriage and saw mirrored in Sarah Yorke’s eyes the same fervent wish. She smiled and looked hastily away for fear that she might burst out laughing. Miss Yorke, she thought, might be someone with whom she could be friends.

  When they finally arrived at the wide-spreading oak tree where they would have their picnic, Cassandra climbed nimbly down, followed immediately by Miss Yorke. Both of them were several feet away before the other women began to move. Cassandra cut her eyes toward Miss Yorke and smiled conspiratorially. Miss Yorke returned her smile shyly.

  The riders were dismounting and handing their horses over to the grooms who had accompanied the party. Cassandra saw Philip walking purposefully in their direction, so she turned quickly to Miss Yorke and suggested that they take a stroll beside the pleasant broad.

  As they walked, Miss Yorke pointed out some of the local vegetation and birds, seemingly most comfortable in her governess role. “You see the swallowtails?” she asked, pointing toward several beautiful butterflies floating over a patch of green plants. “This is one of the few places where they visit. They feed on the milk parsley, you see.”

  “Ah. Lovely. Have you lived in this area all your life?” Cassandra asked.

  “No. But I find it very beautiful.” She flushed a little. “I am always intrigued by the flora and fauna of an area. My father, you see, was a naturalist, and I often accompanied him on his explorations of nature. It is one of the things I most enjoy about teaching the children. They still have a joy in learning about nature.”

  “I am sure that you are an excellent teacher.”

  “It was very kind of Sir Philip to hire me,” Miss Yorke continued, her voice warm. “He knew my father, and he realized in what position I must have been left when Father died. Father was a wonderful man, but his love of nature barely produced a living. I tried to write the same sort of articles he had for some of the books and magazines—I had helped him write many of the ones he sold—but they were reluctant to accept an article written by a woman.”

  Cassandra made a noise of disgust. “I know exactly how you feel.”

  “I didn’t know what I was going to do. My skills were deficient in a number of areas that people think are essential for being a governess to young ladies. I cannot paint or sing or even play the piano. My handwriting is no more than adequate. Father never thought such things were important. He trained me very well in mathematics and the sciences, which, I found, is not highly valued for a teacher of girls. The only thing left to me was to become a companion, but I had trouble finding a position even as that. I was at my wits’ end—then Sir Philip rescued me.” A smile lit her face. “I shall be forever grateful to him. He says that he thought of me because he knew that I would be perfect for the task, but I know that it was his kindness and compassion that made him write to me. There are many others he could have found who are equally qualified and just as good with children.”

  “Yes, he can be kind.” Cassandra had to admit that he had been very good to her brothers and sister. He had talked to them, invited them here, even put them up on his carriage and let them ride his horses. Nothing could have pleased them more. Many men would not have been so considerate. It made her heart warm to him, as so many things about him did—yet she could not get around the fact that he also callously seduced women, leaving them pregnant and unmarried.

  Hastily she changed the subject, pointing across to a clump of reeds at the edge of the broad. “What a lovely bird! What kind is that?”

  Miss Yorke returned to the subject of flora and fauna, and they began to retrace their steps, returning to the group under the spreading oak.

  By the time they got back, the servants had spread out blankets on the grass beneath the tree and set up stools for Philip’s mother and grandmother and Aunt Ardis. Georgette and Olivia were huddled together as far from the older women as they could get, talking and giggling. The boys were playing catch with Sir Philip, and Joanna stood watching them. She had taken off her riding jacket in the heat, and she made a pretty picture standing there in the velvet skirt and white shirtwaist, a parasol on her shoulder to protect her fair skin from the sun.

  Cassandra and Miss Yorke sat down with the other women, but Miss Yorke soon left to get a glass of lemonade for Philip’s grandmother. Violet shook her head in exasperation. “That girl simply cannot sit still and enjoy herself. I told her that a servant would bring Mother’s drink soon.”

  The elder Lady Neville, fanning herself desultorily, said, “It’s all right, Violet. It won’t do her any harm.”

  “No, but she will find something else she thinks she must do in order to justify her being here. I intended for her to enjoy the party.”

  “I
am sure she will, Violet. Some people like to be busy.” Lady Neville cast a pointed look in her daughter-in-law’s direction.

  Violet did not even notice Lady Neville’s barb, either too unaware or too used to her mother-in-law’s remarks to let it ruffle her composure. Cassandra had yet to see anything that did.

  “Such a sad story,” Violet went on, shaking her head. “Her father died penniless.”

  Beside her, Aunt Ardis sighed lugubriously. “She will never marry, then.” She did not have to look at her niece to see if her shaft had gone home. “A girl without face or fortune…”

  “Miss Yorke is not unattractive,” Lady Neville said flatly. Cassandra had the feeling that the older woman had taken a thorough dislike to Aunt Ardis.

  “But not a beauty, either. It takes a beauty to snare a man if one has no fortune.”

  “Surely men fall in love for more than a pretty face,” Violet protested mildly. “Some do, anyway.”

  “I am not speaking of falling in love, dear Lady Neville. I am speaking of marriage. Men’s fancy often wanders far afield from what they would consider for marriage.”

  “She is right,” Lady Neville agreed grudgingly. “The younger generation makes too much of love. As if we could all choose as indiscriminately as peasants. Family, position and wealth, those are what family alliances are based upon.”

  “A good family alliance is not necessarily a good marriage, though,” Cassandra felt compelled to say.