Лиза Клейпас - Chasing Cassandra

Cassandra nodded thoughtfully, shuttering her expression. For some reason, the issue of Bazzle was sensitive territory. She realized she would have to proceed with care when it came to making decisions about the child. But she was determined to have her way, even if it meant using the iron-hand-in-a-velvet-glove approach.

“Tom,” she said, “it was wonderfully kind of you, and so very generous, to take Bazzle in as you have.”

One corner of his mouth curled upward. “You’re laying it on with a trowel,” he said dryly. “But continue.”

“I feel strongly that Bazzle must be taught to read. It will benefit him for the rest of his life, and it will help you for as long as he continues to work for you, in the running of errands, and so forth. The cost of his education would be minimal, and it would allow him to be in the company of other children.”

Tom considered the points, and nodded. “Very well.”

“Thank you.” Cassandra smiled brilliantly. “I’ll make the arrangements, once I’m able to take stock of his situation.” She hesitated before adding carefully, “There may be other adjustments I’ll want to make, for the sake of his wellbeing. However you wish to write it in the contract . . . I’ll require some leeway where he’s concerned.”

He picked up the pencil and looked down at the paper. “Leeway,” he said darkly, “but not free rein. Because I’m fairly certain your concept of Bazzle’s future doesn’t match mine.”

5:00 P.M.

“What about Belgium?” Tom asked. “We could go from London to Brussels in approximately seven hours.”

“I couldn’t enjoy a honeymoon while feeling uncertain about where I’ll live afterward.”

“We’ve already agreed to live at Hyde Park Square.”

“I want to spend some time there for a while, and become acquainted with the house and servants. I want to nest a little. Let’s go on a proper honeymoon later in the spring or summer.”

Tom shrugged out of his coat and loosened his necktie. The hearth fire had made the room too hot. He tossed the coat over the back of a chair and went to open a window. A welcome rush of ice-cold air cut through the stuffy atmosphere. “Cassandra, I can’t marry you and go about business as usual the next day. Newlyweds need privacy.”

He had a point. But he looked so disgruntled, Cassandra couldn’t resist teasing. With a glance of wide-eyed innocence, she asked, “What for?”

Tom appeared increasingly flustered as he tried to come up with an explanation.

Cassandra waited, gnawing on the inside of her lips.

Tom’s face changed as he saw the dance of laughter in her eyes. “I’ll show you what for,” he said, and lunged for her.

Cassandra fled with a shriek, skirting nimbly around the table, but he was as fast as a leopard. After snatching her up with ease, he deposited her on the settee, and pounced. She giggled and twisted as the amorous male weight of him lowered over her.

The scent of him was clean but salted with sweat, a touch of bay rum cologne sharpened with body warmth. His face was right above hers, a few locks of dark hair tumbling on his forehead. Grinning at her efforts to dislodge him, he braced his forearms on either side of her head.

She’d never played with a man like this, and it was incredibly entertaining and fun, and the tiniest bit scary in a way that excited her. Her giggles collapsed slowly, like champagne froth, and she wriggled as if to twist away from him even though she had no intention of doing so. He countered by settling more heavily into the cradle of her hips, pressing her into the cushions. Even through the mass of her skirts, she felt the unfamiliar pressure of his arousal. The thick ridge fit perfectly against the juncture of her thighs, aligning intimately with her in a way that was both embarrassing and stirring.

A stab of desire went through her as she realized this was how it would be . . . the anchoring weight of him, all hard muscle and heat . . . his eyes heavy-lidded and hot as he stared down at her.

Dazedly she reached up and pulled his head to hers. A whimper of pleasure escaped her as he kissed her thoroughly, wringing sensation from her softness, licking deep. Her body welcomed him instinctively, legs spreading wider beneath her skirts. The pit of her stomach clenched as she felt his hips adjust reflexively, the hard ridge finding the mound of her sex again, nudging and settling.

A series of rapid knocks at the doorjamb broke through the sensuous haze. Jarred by the interruption, Cassandra gasped and blinked as she looked toward the threshold.

It was Kathleen, wearing a profoundly apologetic expression, her gaze carefully averted. “Pardon. I’m so sorry. Cassandra, dear . . . the maids are coming to roll in the tea carts. You’ll want to put yourself to rights, and . . . I’ll give you a few minutes.” She fled.

Cassandra could barely think. Her entire body throbbed with a frustration she’d never known. She clawed a little at the satiny back of Tom’s sleeveless waistcoat, then let her arms flop weakly down to her sides.

“ This ,” Tom said with a vehement glance at the doorway, “is why we need a honeymoon.”

6:00 P.M.

“I didn’t say never. I said it’s unlikely.” Tom stood with one hand braced on the hearth mantel, staring down into the lively blaze. “It’s not really important, is it? You’re going to share a life with me, not my family.”

“Yes, but never to meet them?” Cassandra asked in bewilderment, pacing around the library.

“My mother has refused to see me for years—she’ll have no interest in meeting my wife.” He paused. “I could arrange to introduce you to my sisters at some point in the future.”

“I don’t even know their names.”

“Dorothy, Emily, and Mary. I communicate with them rarely, and when I do, they don’t tell my mother for fear of upsetting her. My youngest sister’s husband is an accountant at my engineering firm—I speak with him now and then. He seems to be a decent fellow.” After pushing away from the fireplace, Tom went to half sit, half lean against the table. “You’re never to contact anyone in my family without my knowledge—I want that in the contract. I know your intentions would be good. But the terrain is sown with land mines.”

“I understand. But won’t you tell me what caused such a rift?” At his long hesitation, she said, “Whatever it is, I’ll take your side.”

“What if you don’t? What if you decide I was in the wrong?”

“Then I’ll forgive you.”

“What if I did something unforgivable?”

“Tell me, and we’ll find out.”

Silence. Tom had gone to the window, bracing his hands on either side of the frame.

Just as Cassandra thought he really wasn’t going to tell her, he spoke in a near monotone, without pause, as if the information needed to be delivered as efficiently as possible. “My father came to my offices five years ago. I hadn’t seen or heard from him since the day he left me at the train station. He said he wanted to find my mother. I’d moved her to a new house, far from the rented rooms we’d once lived in. He said all the things one would expect—he was sorry for having abandoned the family, wanted another chance, and so on.

“There were crocodile tears, of course, and much wringing of hands. He begged me to give him another chance. I felt nothing except a crawling sensation at the back of my neck. I offered him a choice: He could have my mother’s address, or I’d pay him a generous sum to disappear, and never approach her or my sisters.”

“He chose the money,” Cassandra guessed quietly.

“Yes. He didn’t even stop to think about it. Later, I told my mother about it. I thought she’d agree we were well rid of him. Instead, she fell apart. She was like a madwoman. The doctor had to come and sedate her. Since then, she’s regarded me as the source of all evil. My sisters were angry with me about what they saw as a betrayal, but they softened over time. Where my mother is concerned, however, there’s no forgiveness. There never will be.”