Лиза Клейпас - Chasing Cassandra

“I do not!”

“—and you wear those tight dresses with your breasts pushed up beneath your chin. You advertise your assets, and then complain when I give you what you were asking for.”

Unable to bear any more, Cassandra fumbled for the doorknob. The door swung open gently, and she took a deep, desperate gasp of air as she left the room.

Lord Lambert fell into step beside her. Out of the periphery of her vision, she saw that he’d offered his arm. She didn’t take it. The thought of touching him made her ill.

As they headed back to the public rooms, she spoke without looking at him, her voice trembling only slightly. “You’re mad if you think I’d want anything to do with you after this.”

By the time they reappeared, Kathleen was discreetly searching for them. At first she looked relieved to see Cassandra. As they drew closer, however, she saw the signs of strain in Cassandra’s expression, and her face turned carefully blank. “Dear,” Kathleen said lightly, “there’s a sunrise landscape I’m thinking of bidding on—I must have your opinion.” Kathleen glanced at Lord Lambert as she added, “My lord, I’m afraid I have to reclaim my charge, or people will say my chaperoning skills are woefully lax.”

He smiled. “I yield her to your care.”

Kathleen linked arms with Cassandra as they walked away. “What happened?” she asked softly. “Did you have a quarrel?”

“Yes,” Cassandra replied with difficulty. “I want to leave early. Not early enough to cause gossip, but as soon as possible.”

“I’ll come up with an excuse.”

“And . . . don’t let him come near me.”

Kathleen’s voice was excessively calm, while her hand came to press tightly over Cassandra’s. “He won’t.”

They made their way to Lady Delaval, the evening’s hostess, and Kathleen relayed regretfully they would have to leave early, as the baby had colic and she wanted to go home to him.

Cassandra was only distantly aware of the murmured conversation around her. She felt dazed, a little off balance, the way she did when she’d gotten out of bed before she’d quite awakened. Her mind combed ceaselessly through everything Lord Lambert had said and done.

. . . everyone knows what you want . . . you advertise your assets . . .

Those words had made her feel even worse than the groping, if that were possible. Did other men look at her that way? Was that what they thought? She wanted to shrink and hide somewhere. Her temples throbbed as if there were too much blood in her head. Her breast ached in the places he’d gripped and pinched.

Now Kathleen was talking to Devon, asking him to send for the carriage.

He didn’t bother with a pleasant social mask. His face went taut, his blue eyes narrowing. “Is there something I should know right now?” he asked softly, looking from his wife’s face to Cassandra’s.

Cassandra responded with a quick little shake of her head. Above all, she couldn’t risk making a scene. If Devon knew how Lord Lambert had insulted her . . . and Lambert was in the vicinity . . . the results might be disastrous.

Devon gave her a hard stare, obviously not happy about departing without knowing exactly what had happened. To her relief, however, he relented. “You’ll tell me on the way home?”

“Yes, Cousin Devon.”

Once they were bundled in the carriage and headed back to Ravenel House, Cassandra was able to breathe more easily. Kathleen sat beside her, holding her hand.

Devon, who occupied the seat opposite them, regarded Cassandra with a frown. “Let’s have it,” he said brusquely.

Cassandra told them everything that had happened, including how Lambert had groped her. Although it was humiliating to recount the details, she felt they needed to understand exactly how offensive and insulting he’d been. As they listened carefully, Devon’s expression went from thunderstruck to furious, while Kathleen’s face turned white and set.

“It was my fault for not objecting more strongly at the beginning,” Cassandra said miserably. “And this dress—it’s too tight—not ladylike enough, and—”

“God help me.” Although Devon’s voice was quiet, it had the intensity of a shout. “You caused none of what he did. Nothing you said or did, nothing you wore.”

“Do you think I would let you go out wearing something inappropriate?” Kathleen asked curtly. “You happen to be well-endowed—which is a blessing, not a crime. I’d like to go back and horsewhip that bastard for suggesting this was somehow your fault.”

Unused to hearing such language from Kathleen, Cassandra stared at her in round-eyed amazement.

“Make no mistake,” Kathleen continued heatedly, “this is a taste of how he would treat you after the wedding. Except it would be a thousand times worse, because as his wife, you would be at his mercy. Men like that never take responsibility—they lash out, and then say someone else provoked them into doing it. ‘See what you made me do.’ But the choice is always theirs. They hurt and frighten others to make themselves feel powerful.”

Kathleen might have continued, but Devon leaned forward to settle his hand gently on her knee. Not to check or interrupt her, but because he seemed to feel the need to touch her. His eyes were warm, dark blue as he stared at his wife. An entire conversation transpired in their shared gaze.

Cassandra knew they were both thinking about her brother, Theo . . . Kathleen’s first husband . . . who’d had a violent temper, and had often lashed out verbally and physically at the people around him.

“I was subjected to the Ravenel temper often during childhood,” Cassandra said quietly. “My father and brother even seemed proud of it at times . . . the way it made people nervous. I think they wanted to be thought of as powerful.”

Devon looked sardonic. “Powerful men don’t lose their tempers. They stay calm while others are shouting and blowing up.” He sat back in his seat, inhaled deeply, and let out a long breath. “Thanks to my wife’s influence, I’ve learned not to yield to my temper quite so easily as I did in the past.”

Kathleen regarded him tenderly. “The effort and the credit for self-improvement are all yours, my lord. But even at your worst, you’d never have dreamed of treating a woman the way Lord Lambert did tonight.”

Cassandra lifted her gaze to Devon’s. “Cousin, what’s to be done now?”

“I’d like to start by beating him to a pulp,” Devon said darkly.

“Oh, please don’t—” she began.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. It’s what I’d like to do, not what I’m going to do. I’ll corner him tomorrow and make it clear that from now on, he’s to avoid you at all cost. No visits to the house, no flowers, no interaction of any kind. Lambert won’t dare bother you again.”

Cassandra grimaced and laid her head on Kathleen’s shoulder. “The Season’s not even under way and it’s going to be ghastly. I can tell.”

Kathleen’s small hand came up to smooth her hair. “It’s better to have learned about Lord Lambert’s true character now rather than later,” she murmured. “But I’m so very sorry it turned out this way.”

“Lady Berwick will be devastated,” Cassandra said with a wan chuckle. “She had such high hopes for the match.”

“But not you?” came the soft question.

Cassandra shook her head slightly. “Whenever I tried to imagine a future with Lord Lambert, I felt nothing. Nothing at all. I can’t even work up the will to hate him now. I think he’s horrid, but . . . he’s not important enough to hate.”

Chapter 13

“Sir,” Barnaby said ominously, having come to the threshold of Tom’s office unannounced, “they’re back.”