In the Garden of Seduction Page 8

  “Should he?”

  “I told you, I do not have a habit of seducing injured young ladies,” he stated darkly. “Don’t you believe me?”

  “Lord Sutherfield,” she said with some asperity, “ever since I first met you, I’ve played the fox to your hound. Why should I believe you? You’ve given me no reason to do so.”

  “Perhaps I haven’t,” the marquess conceded. He sauntered across the room, coming near enough to make her pulse leap. He took a lock of her silky hair, fingering it gently, before allowing the curl to spring back to her shoulder. “Truth is, you’ve caused me some trouble, Miss James. I’ve decided I like you.”

  Up close, Lord Sutherfield’s casual attire looked even more disturbing. Veins stood out from his neck, and she could see the deep hollow in his throat above his collarbone. His thin shirt, almost transparent, pulled tightly across his broad shoulders, emphasizing his taut physique. Unshaven, his eyes glittering in the half-light, he appeared almost sinister.

  His nearness caused a flood of confusion to rush through her. She swallowed nervously. “That’s very flattering, I’m sure. But what does it mean?”

  A long, uncomfortable silence followed, and Cassandra sensed his sudden unease.

  “Do you need some help to your room?” he asked, his manner turning impersonal.

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  He nodded. Abruptly, he looked away from her, retreating across the room to his chair. He sat down and picked up his book.

  “I’m glad you are feeling better, Miss James.”

  He continued to avoid her gaze, and she stared, mouth hanging open. Muttering to herself, she turned and hopped down the hall. By the time she reached her room, bewilderment had turned to anger.

  She closed the door and leaned against it. Caution forgotten, Cassandra placed her injured foot on the floor. She yelped.

  “Miss?” Annie said sleepily, coming up on her elbow.

  “I’m sorry I disturbed you, Annie. Go back to sleep.”

  “But, miss, your foot—”

  “I’m fine. I’m going back to bed, also. Maybe by the time we wake up, Grandfather will have come to take us away from this horrible place.”

  *****

  CHAPTER 5

  “Come now, cousin, tell me if you are comfortable.”

  “Please, Roger. I’ve told you I’m fine,” Cassandra said. She waved him away as if he were a bothersome fly.

  At the moment, she lay on the sofa in her grandfather’s parlor, having spent the last two days in her room while her foot healed. She had begged Lord Whittingham to let her come downstairs, for she had been nearly desperate to escape her thoughts. However, if Roger did not stop his relentless fussing, Cassandra decided, she would return there to hide.

  “I want to be sure you don’t need anything,” her cousin insisted. He began to plump a cushion at her back.

  “Really, Roger, she said she felt fine,” Penelope Ingram interrupted. Penelope had been watching the proceedings, and her growing irritation had become obvious. She sniffed audibly to emphasize her point.

  Cassandra looked across the parlor at the tiny blonde and sent her a grateful smile. “Thank you, Penelope. I’m glad someone understands. All this pampering makes me nervous.”

  “And that’s only as it should be,” Penelope stated primly, a sour expression on her pretty face. “Perhaps we can now discuss something besides Cassandra’s purple foot. To speak endlessly of a person’s ailment is boring.”

  “Why, Pen,” Roger said, “that’s not like you to be so mean-spirited. I know you’ve been as worried about dear Cassie as we all have.”

  Cassandra dropped her gaze to her hands to hide her amusement. Penelope had apparently taken the accident rather hard. It meant the poor girl was not the center of attention, and to someone as vain as Miss Ingram it was a disappointing pill to swallow.

  “You know it’s not that, Roger,” Penelope said, a suspicious catch to her voice, “but all this talk about injuries is making me queasy. You do understand, don’t you?” She lowered her lashes coquettishly at Mr. Morley and, sure enough, he visibly softened.

  “Of course, Pen, I knew you could not be so unpleasant. It has been difficult for you as well,” Roger soothed her.

  Good lord, I’m beginning to feel queasy myself, Cassandra thought in disgust. She had no respect for Roger. Perhaps the solitude of her room would be preferable after all. Anything would be better than listening to these two ninnyhammers coo at one another.

  Therefore, the arrival of guests in the outer hall some minutes later came as a relief. But the relief was short-lived, for what should have been a blessing instead proved to be just the opposite. Mr. Harry Stiles was ushered into the parlor by the butler and following him was the Marquess of Sutherfield.

  Cassandra’s heart would have dropped to her knees if she had been standing. As it was, it began to thump so rapidly she grew short of breath. She was not ready to face him again! She summoned what she hoped was a smile of welcome and turned to the guests.

  Pleasantries were exchanged all around, but an intuitive person could not have missed the sudden tension in the room. Thus, she was not surprised when the awkwardness of the moment floated straight over Penelope’s head as the blonde rushed toward the visitors in a frenzy of joyful welcome. If Cassandra had not been upset by the marquess’ appearance, she would have thoroughly enjoyed the show.

  “What a wonderful surprise!” Penelope gushed. “You have saved us from our boredom.”

  “We came to inquire after Miss James’ health,” Mr. Stiles said, gently disengaging himself from Miss Ingram as he made his way to the invalid’s side to offer his respects. “Miss James, I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you looking better.” He took her hand and placed a respectful kiss on her knuckles.

  “You’re very kind, Mr. Stiles. I apologize for sending your household into an uproar. Thank you for your kind hospitality.”

  “Not at all,” Mr. Stiles said, warmth emanating from his friendly eyes. “My home benefited from your lovely presence. I should thank you for that.”

  “It has been exciting, hasn’t it?” Penelope interrupted at this point.

  Cassandra could see that her cousin again had grown impatient with sharing the limelight. All three men looked at Penelope in bewilderment.

  “Oh, y-you know what I mean,” Penelope faltered, proving she was not totally lacking in sensitivity. Sadly, that sensitivity only occurred rarely and usually too late. “You know, don’t you, cousin?”

  “Yes, of course, I do,” Cassandra returned, controlling the urge to laugh. At that moment, she looked up and met Lord Sutherfield’s amused gaze.

  She watched as the smile drifted from his face. The last thing she wanted was to have conversation with him. Naturally, good manners dictated that she acknowledge his presence, but that required only a perfunctory nod of the head. Easier said than done, she realized too late, for all at once she forgot the others in the room as she and the marquess shared a very personal, unspoken communication.

  By the time she dropped her gaze, she knew neither one of them was thinking about Penelope. In fact, those few seconds were so emotionally charged, her mind went blank. Cassandra blinked, surprised to hear the conversation still flowing smoothly around her.

  “It’s a good idea. Don’t you think it’s a good idea, Cassandra?” She heard Penelope appealing to her.

  “What…? Oh, I’m afraid I wasn’t listening. What’s a good idea?” She felt Lord Sutherfield’s gaze still on her, but could not bring herself to look at him again.

  “A picnic, silly. Regina Barkley and I were discussing it just the other day. There is nothing as fun as an outdoor luncheon, don’t you think so, Roger?”

  Roger turned on Penelope a half-witted grin. “I think it’s a grand idea. What say, gentlemen, how about a picnic?”

  With everyone’s agreement, Penelope began to jump up and down and clap her hands. “Wonderful! I’m sorry you’ll m
iss the entertainment, Cassandra. But with your foot…” She shrugged her shoulders.

  The uproar that followed was gratifying.

  “I think we should wait until Miss James has sufficiently recovered so that she might also partake of the fun,” said Mr. Stiles, whose voice was finally heard above the others.

  Cassandra decided she liked Harry Stiles. She sent the homely gentleman a dazzling smile. “Please don’t worry about me,” she said. “I would hate to ruin everyone’s fun.”

  “See? She doesn’t mind,” Penelope piped in.

  “I see no reason why the picnic should not go on as planned and with Miss James in attendance. An outing and fresh air are just what the doctor ordered,” stated Lord Sutherfield.

  “But what of her foot?” Penelope countered.

  “Miss James can be carried to and from the carriage.” The marquess’ gaze slid to Cassandra’s face, and he gave her a wink.

  Cassandra was discomfited, but before she had a chance to respond, Roger spoke. It apparently had just occurred to him that the marquess posed a threat.

  “A capital idea. I shall carry my cousin.” He looked at Lord Sutherfield suspiciously. “After all, she and I are almost…well, anyway,” he sputtered, “I shall carry her.”

  Where before the noise had been deafening, an awkward hush now descended. Every eye in the parlor turned to Lord Sutherfield, waiting for him to respond.

  “Then, I think we are agreed,” the marquess said. His expression was bland, but his gaze never left Cassandra’s face. “We will have a picnic and Miss James will attend.”

  Again an uncomfortable silence ensued.

  Mr. Stiles mercifully spoke up. “Perhaps on that note we should take our leave.” Clearly nervous, he ran his index finger inside his collar.

  Cassandra could hardly blame him. The situation felt uncomfortable to her as well. Why had Roger chosen this inappropriate moment to announce his intentions? Good thing she was injured, she thought, or she would leap off the sofa and choke him senseless.

  Mr. Stiles and Lord Sutherfield made good their escape at that point, and Cassandra sent a troubled look across the room at their retreating backs. She sensed the marquess’ displeasure, but really, none of this was her fault.

  And dinner a few hours later was almost as unpleasant. Special arrangements had been made to accommodate Cassandra’s injury so she would be able to dine with the family. Though she had now decided that her desire to leave her room was definitely misguided.

  Her grandfather had not been home when the visitors had called, but he arrived shortly before the evening meal. While he was still enjoying his nightly sherry, Penelope regaled him with the afternoon’s events. He listened silently, although clearly he was annoyed. He swallowed the remainder of his drink in one impatient gulp and then stalked into dinner.

  “Never did like picnics,” he grumbled at one point. “Frittering the day away, consuming dainty finger foods and making inconsequential chatter.”

  They ate their meal in near silence after that. Even Penelope seemed to understand that something was wrong. Her few attempts at conversation fell flat and she too grew silent. Dessert was a delectable cheese custard pie, and the diners stared at it without enthusiasm.

  Lord Whittingham placed his fork on the table and sat back in his chair. “Whose idea was it to have this picnic, anyway?” It sounded like an accusation.

  Cassandra’s gaze flew to Penelope’s face, but the poor girl looked so frightened, she took pity on her and intervened.

  “It was somewhat a collective idea, Grandfather. It just evolved. You know how that can happen,” she finished lamely.

  “Tell me, Uncle,” Roger ventured in a cautious voice, “do you object to a picnic?”

  The old man’s attention shifted between his three dinner partners, before it finally settled on his nephew. “It’s not the picnic that concerns me. What I mind is the inclusion of Lord Sutherfield.”

  “Why do you object to Lord Sutherfield’s presence?” Cassandra spoke before she could stop herself.

  The old man looked at her. “His interest in you is too pronounced.”

  Cassandra felt a blush warm her face. “That’s absurd.”

  “Come now, my dear, the man is interested in you—I can see it. And that places me in a very difficult position. He is Sutherfield’s heir. Offending him is something I would rather not have happen. It would be best if you discouraged him, Cassandra.”

  “Are you suggesting I have been encouraging him?” She was suddenly very angry. “And what’s wrong with him, anyway? He’s a marquess and very wealthy.”

  “Here now,” Roger blurted. “I thought—”

  Lord Whittingham held his hand up for silence and then turned to Cassandra. “I’ve made a decision not to press you about the future for the time being, but I would be remiss if I didn’t warn you about the unscrupulous gentlemen who will cross your path. I should also tell you, with your new status and wealth the fortune hunters will soon be gathering.”

  “With my old status and wealth fortune hunters pursued me,” she said in a cold voice. “I do not believe Lord Sutherfield is a fortune hunter.”

  “No, and I agree with you. His interest is much more straightforward. But he will trifle with your affections if you are not careful. He has a reputation for doing just that.”

  “You know this?” She was sorry she asked the question, for all at once she dreaded the answer.

  “I’ve done some investigating,” he admitted.

  Cassandra felt deflated. She looked around the table at the people who claimed to be her family. Her grandfather watched her sternly, and Roger wore a sullen expression that did nothing to endear him to her. But Penelope, who had been amazingly quiet, stared wide-eyed at Cassandra with something akin to respect.

  “I didn’t know Lord Sutherfield was interested in you,” she said at last. There was a hint of pique in her voice.

  “He enjoys a flirtation. There’s nothing more to it than that,” Cassandra said dully.

  “I want you to assure me that you will be careful,” the earl insisted.

  “Yes, yes, of course.” More than anything at the moment, Cassandra wanted to escape to her room and away from this unpleasant conversation. She did not know these people, not really, and she was not comforted by their presence.

  As she sat there feeling lonely, Cassandra realized this was not the first time she had found herself missing Quintin James, but it was by far the worst. It’s a good thing I’m not prone to tears, she thought, for now would be an appropriate time to shed a few.

  *****

  Roger carried Cassandra to the landaulet and, with some effort, placed her on the seat. He straightened, smiling sheepishly at her, and she noticed his face was covered with perspiration. It had been a struggle as he lurched uncertainly down the staircase and through the front door.

  That shaky trip was nothing like the one she had taken in Lord Sutherfield’s arms when he had carried her up the stairs in Mr. Morley’s home. In the marquess’ embrace she had felt secure. Roger, on the other hand, had made her feel as if she were in imminent danger of being dropped, causing another injury.

  Roger insisted on placing a rug on her lap even though the day was warm. I knew it, she thought miserably a few moments later as her limbs grew damp beneath her skirts. Penelope climbed in beside her, Roger followed and the trio set off at a spanking clip.

  If they had placed an order, they could not have had a more perfect day to enjoy a picnic. Pleasantly sunny, great puffy clouds dotted the blue sky like mounds of clotted cream. The hint of a breeze kept the air fresh, and Cassandra breathed deeply, enjoying her first excursion into the outside world in more than a sennight.

  It took only a few minutes to arrive at their destination. The picnic was held on her grandfather’s property in a grove of willows, an entrancing place lush with greenery sporting a small stream. It had, everyone agreed, the perfect picnic ambiance.

  A large tent had
already been erected, and tables were being filled with platter after platter of the finger foods the earl had claimed he despised. However, a servant carved a great joint of roast beef, so it seemed those individuals with a heartier appetite would not be disappointed. Tantalizing smells drifted toward them as they drew up in the landaulet, and Cassandra’s stomach mewled hungrily.

  “Stay here,” Roger demanded, as he climbed down from his seat. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Now where could she go with her injured foot? She watched in envy as Penelope scrambled out of the carriage, having spotted Regina Barkley. Regina and Penelope had become fast friends these last weeks, and Cassandra felt a moment’s sadness, not because she wanted a closer relationship with her cousin but because all at once she found herself missing Sophy.

  “How are you today, Miss James?”

  That ended her reverie. Cassandra glanced over her shoulder and into the warm regard of the Marquess of Sutherfield. Her pulse quickened.

  “Lord Sutherfield, have I detected a pattern here?”

  “Excuse me?” He gave her a crooked grin.

  “It seems you always appear before I even know you are near. How refreshing it would be to catch sight of you before you catch sight of me.”

  He nodded. “I would like that,” he said in a solemn voice.

  “Oh?”

  “That would mean you are looking for me just as I look for you.”

  Cassandra blinked. Her mouth dropped open but not a word came to her in response. She narrowed her eyes at him.

  “You are a rogue, my lord.”

  Lord Sutherfield’s brows snapped together. “Excuse me?”

  “Pretty words come easily to you, don’t they?”

  “Are you questioning my motives?”

  “And if I am?”

  “Please forgive me if I have offended you, Miss James. That was not my intention.” Bowing stiffly, he turned and walked away.

  “Cassandra, can’t I leave you alone for a moment?” Roger had arrived at her elbow, wearing a look of disapproval. “You promised Uncle you would not encourage Lord Sutherfield.”