Лиза Клейпас - Chasing Cassandra

“Yes, sir.”

Sometime later, he heard Cassandra’s tense, quiet voice. “Tom. Tom, can you hear me?”

But his vision had gone gray, and he could only mumble a few words that he knew weren’t making sense. Feeling her arms around him, he sighed and turned his face against the perfumed softness of her bosom, and let himself drift into the inviting darkness.

“I have no middle name,” Tom said testily, as Garrett Gibson leaned over his bedside and moved her finger across his field of vision.

“Keep following my finger. Who’s the queen?”

“Victoria.”

Cassandra sat at the foot of the bed and watched the examination. After the previous day’s events, her husband’s face was a bit worse for wear, but the bruises would heal, and thankfully, he had suffered only a slight concussion.

“What year is it?” Garrett asked.

“Eighteen seventy-seven. You asked me the same questions yesterday.”

“And you’re just as cantankerous as you were then,” Garrett marveled. Sitting up, she spoke to Cassandra. “Since the concussion is minor, and all indications are promising, I’ll allow him some limited activity for the next day or two. However, I wouldn’t let him overdo. He should rest his mind and body as much as possible to ensure a complete recovery.” She wrinkled her nose playfully at Bazzle, who was curled up on the other side of the bed with a ball of red fluff cuddled against his chest. “That means we mustn’t let the puppy disturb Mr. Severin’s sleep.”

The puppy had been a gift from Winterborne and Helen, delivered just that morning. They had received word of a new litter from a friend who bred toy poodle dogs, and at their request had sent the pick of the litter when he was ready to be weaned. Bazzle was enchanted with the little creature, whose presence had already helped him to stop fretting over the fright he’d received.

“There’s a dust wad on the bed,” had been Tom’s comment upon first seeing the puppy. “It has legs.”

Now the toy poodle stretched and yawned, and toddled up along Tom’s side, staring at him with bright amber eyes.

“Was this thing on our approved list?” Tom asked, reluctantly reaching out to stroke the curly head with two fingers.

“You know quite well it was,” Cassandra said, smiling, “and, being a poodle, Bingley will hardly shed at all.”

“Bingley?” Tom repeated.

“From Pride and Prejudice. Haven’t you read that one yet?”

“I don’t need to,” Tom said. “If it’s Austen, I already know the plot: two people who fall in love after they have a terrible misunderstanding and have many long conversations about it. Then they marry. The end.”

“Sounds orwful,” Bazzle said. “Unless it’s the one with the squid.”

“No, that’s an excellent novel,” Tom said, “which I will read to you, if you can find it.”

“I know where it is,” Bazzle said eagerly, and jumped off the bed.

“I’ll read it to both of you,” Cassandra said, “after I see Dr. Gibson out.”

“I’ll see myself out,” Garrett said firmly. “You stay with the patient, dear, and don’t let him overexert himself today.” She stood and collected her bag. “Mr. Severin, my husband asked me to convey to you that Uncle Batty will be incarcerated for a good long while. By the time he’s released, he’ll pose no more problems for you or anyone. In the meantime, I’m treating the boys who were living with him, and endeavoring to find them new situations.”

“Thank you,” Tom said, seeming disconcerted as Bingley snuggled into the crook of his arm. “You’re not supposed to be on the bed,” he told the puppy. “It’s contractually prohibited.”

Bingley didn’t seem to care.

Cassandra leaned over Tom. “Does your head hurt?” she asked in concern. “Do you need more medicine?”

“I need more you,” he said, and pulled her down beside him. She snuggled against him carefully. “Cassandra,” he said huskily.

She turned her face until their noses were nearly touching, and all she could see were the mingled depths of blue and green in his eyes.

“When I woke up this morning,” Tom continued, “. . . I realized something.”

“What was that, dear love?” she whispered.

“What Phileas Fogg learned after traveling around the world.”

“Oh?” She blinked and raised herself up on one elbow to look down at him.

“The money meant nothing to him at the end,” Tom said. “Whether he won or lost the bet . . . that also meant nothing. All that mattered was Aouda, the woman he fell in love with along the way and brought back with him. Love is what’s important.” His gaze locked with hers, a smile deepening at the outer corners of his eyes. “That’s the lesson, isn’t it?”

Cassandra nodded, wiping at the sudden watery blur of her vision. She tried to smile back, but a wave of pure emotion made her mouth quiver.

One of his hands touched her face reverently. “I love you, Cassandra,” came his shaken voice.

“I love you, too,” she said, and her breath caught on a little sob. “I know the words aren’t easy for you.”

“No,” Tom murmured, “but I intend to practice. Frequently.” His hand slid around her head to pull her down to him, and he kissed her ardently. “I love you.” Another longer, slower kiss, seeming to pull her soul from her body. “I love you . . .”

The sound of shattering glass caused Kathleen to start as she walked through the entrance hall at Eversby Priory. Or waddled, rather, she thought ruefully, one of her hands pressed against the curve of a distinctly rounded tummy. With only two months left to go, she had become heavier and slower, her joints loosening until the gait of impending childbirth was unmistakable. She was grateful to be away from the social whirl of London, back in the comforting surroundings of Eversby Priory. Devon had seemed equally as happy, if not more so, to return to the Hampshire estate, where the winter air was bitten with the savor of wood smoke and ice and evergreen. Even though she was too far along to ride, she could visit her horses in the stables, and take long walks with Devon, and return to snuggle beside a snapping fire in the hearth.

They had just finished afternoon tea, while Kathleen had read aloud from a letter that had arrived that morning. It had been from Cassandra, amusing and chatting and brimming with happiness. There was no doubt she and Tom Severin were good for each other, and their feelings were developing into a deep and enduring bond. They seemed to have found the remarkable affinity that sometimes occurred between people whose differences added spice and excitement to their relationship.

As Kathleen passed the door to the study, she saw her husband’s tall, athletic form crouching over a pile of sparkling glass on the floor. “Did something fall?” she asked.

Devon glanced at her and smiled slightly, his eyes glinting in the way that never failed to spur her heartbeat to a faster pace. “Not exactly.”

She drew closer and saw the object had been deliberately smashed onto a canvas tarp, which would allow the glass to be picked up and carried away easily. “What is that?” she asked with a bemused laugh.

After pulling something from the tarp, Devon shook away the last few shards of glass and held it before her eyes.

“Oh, that.” A smile curved her lips as she saw the trio of little taxidermied birds poised on a branch. “So you finally decided it was time.”

“I did,” Devon said with satisfaction. He set the display, now divested of its glass dome, back on the shelf. Carefully he drew her away from the heap of glass. One of his arms drew around her, while his free hand slid protectively over her stomach. His powerful chest lifted and fell with a deep, contented sigh.