The Passions 0f Lord Trevethow (The Cornish Dukes Book 2)

by Bronwyn Scott

  ‘I won’t push you, Pen. Tell me when you’re ready and I’ll speak to your father. It’s not the world’s most romantic proposal, but perhaps it’s the one you need.’ Lack of romance aside, the words took her breath away. This man who would lay the world at her feet, who wanted to marry her, wanted to give her every one of her dreams. And yet, he was still a man with secrets, who hadn’t shared any of his dreams with her.

  The fountain made little splashes in the silence that rose between them. ‘So soon? It’s only been a couple of weeks and yet you are willing to make an extravagant offer.’ An offer as extravagant as the entertainments he’d lavished on her.

  ‘It’s been nearly three months since St Piran’s Day,’ Cassian corrected.

  ‘Do you think you know me well enough to spend for ever with me?’ She hated herself for speaking the words, hated the doubt that surged in her despite the feelings she carried for him. How was it possible to care and to doubt at the same time? Most of all, she hated that she couldn’t simply accept the miracle that had been given to her.

  ‘Yes.’ Lord, how she envied him his confidence. There wasn’t a bone of doubt in that whole, hard-muscled body of his. He took her hand and drew her away from the fountain, into the shadows beyond the lantern lights. ‘Let me show you how sure.’ They were out of the light, at the fence that ran the garden’s perimeter. He was kissing her, the hard wood of the fence at her back, and she was burning hot and fast for him. His kisses obliterated all reason. His hand was in her hair, another at her breast, her own hand slipping low between them to cup him through his trousers, to feel the hard, wanting length of him.

  Whatever she doubted, she could not doubt this, that there was truth in his wanting. He desired her, his own desire as hot and as rampant as her own. But the stakes were different this time: they could not be anonymous lovers any more. He had said he’d not push her for a decision, but to make love with him now would give him every permission to push her. It would be implicit consent to marry.

  Cassian’s hand pushed up her skirts, his voice a hoarse rasp at her ear. ‘I will not take you against a fence, but I would give us some pleasure tonight.’

  ‘Yes,’ she breathed, her teeth sinking into the tender lobe of his ear in her hunger. Then his hand was at her juncture, his fingers seeking her in the tangled thicket of her damp curls. She gasped when he found her, hot, slick at her core, the little nub at her centre throbbing for his touch. He stroked it with his thumb and she cried out as a trill of pleasure took her. She pressed her mouth to his shoulder as another wave took her.

  ‘Let it go, Pen,’ he counselled, his voice rough with his own desire, his hips moving against her thigh even as his hand moved against her. ‘Scream all you want, no one can hear you except the moon.’

  And she did. She arched her neck, turning her face skywards, and cried out her pleasure to the moon as release swept her. She was going to have to decide soon. But perhaps that decision was already made for her. How could she live without this? How dreary her world would become once more without him in it. Did she dare seize the happiness Cassian offered? Did she dare believe in the fairy tale and her very own happy ever after?

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘She’s a lovely girl, Cassian. When do you mean to tell her the truth?’ his father asked over drinks at White’s the next afternoon. They’d made a habit ever since Cassian had come of age to meet once a week during the Season for drinks and talking, catching up on news of the family and their friends.

  ‘The truth?’ Cassian prevaricated. ‘That I’m crazy about her? I would think she already knows.’ White’s was still quiet. The late-afternoon crowd hadn’t strolled in yet and they had the place to themselves.

  His father gave him a hard stare. ‘The truth about the land, that you need her acres.’ His father tapped his finger on the tabletop in a disapproving tattoo. ‘You have to tell her. She will feel betrayed if she discovers it after the fact.’

  ‘She’ll feel betrayed if I tell her now. All she wants is to be loved for herself. If she thinks the land prompted my suit, I will lose her.’ The outcome was unthinkable.

  His father studied him with hazel eyes. ‘I’ve never thought of you as a sly man, Cassian. Marrying her without full disclosure is dishonest.’

  ‘It is necessary,’ Cassian replied, not caring to have his motives questioned in such unforgiving terms. ‘For the greater good. I must have that land.’ But the rationale sounded more hollow these days than it had in the beginning. At what point was his happiness, Pen’s happiness and a successful marriage built on honesty and trust worth more than the greater good? How much longer did it need to be sacrificed?

  The duke took a swallow of brandy. ‘Would you marry her without the land?’

  ‘If I could, but that’s not relevant because I need the land. I must marry for the land.’

  ‘And not for love? Why?’ His father would have made a fine barrister with his soul-piercing questions.

  ‘You know why. For the gardens, to help those who lost their jobs when Collin’s venture went under, because I promised Richard Penlerick to restore the Cornish economy. Because the dream demands it,’ Cassian ground out.

  ‘What if the dream becomes a nightmare, son? This dream of yours was noble and good at the start, and it might be again under the right conditions, but not now. Now, it is consuming you. That’s not what Richard wanted. He would not want you to sacrifice love and personal happiness for this. Nor would he want you to commit to dishonesty. Many men have started down a dark path, thinking to do good, only to discover that they’ve lost their integrity along the way.’

  Cassian stared into his glass. There was nothing quite like being a man of thirty and being called on the carpet by your father. Yet he couldn’t shake the notion his father might be right. When had he become the very monster he’d sought to protect himself from—the unscrupulous fortune hunter? ‘Are you suggesting I give it up?’ He raised his gaze to his father’s, looking for clarity.

  ‘If it comes to that, I would certainly consider it.’

  ‘What about Collin? What about all those people?’ Collin’s death had devastated his parents; Collin the baby, the youngest of four children, dead at his own hand before the age of twenty-five.

  His father shook his head. ‘You cannot carry the blame for that. It was not only up to you to stop Collin. Perhaps we all should have been more vigilant. Any one of us could have stopped him and none of us did. He acted rashly, foolishly when he invested in Brenley’s scheme. Yes, people lost their jobs. But he would not have wanted us to let our lives be defined by his mistakes. He’s paid dearly enough for them.’

  Cassian nodded. How differently his father dealt with regret than Redruth or even himself. He’d seen so much of his own reflection the other day when Pen had talked of her father’s regrets; of wishing he could turn back time, that he’d stopped Collin. But perhaps his father had the right of it. No one could dictate another’s choices. Redruth was trying to dictate Pen’s choices. The man wanted to control everyone as a means of protecting them. All the while never seeing how that was hurting the people he loved.

  ‘I worry for you boys,’ his father said gently. By boys, he meant Inigo and Vennor and himself. ‘You’re all so driven. It is a fine line between ambitions and vendettas. Vennor insists on pursuing his father’s murderers even though the trail is cold. Inigo insists on finding justice against Brenley. And you insist on atoning for your brother’s sins at the expense of your own happiness. Richard would not want that for any of you any more than I do.’ His father looked at his watch and rose apologetically. ‘I promised to meet your mother. But before I go, I want your word that you will you tell Lady Pen everything.’

  ‘I might lose her,’ Cassian warned again. His father’s wisdom was sound, but it formed a pit in his stomach. He’d already lost her once.

  ‘You might. But you will lose her for
certain if you don’t. It will just be a matter of when. What kind of marriage can you have without the truth between you from the start?’

  Cassian hated it when his father was right. He was making Pen promises he could keep: a life of adventure, a life of passion. All of it was honest and true. Except for what he’d left out. Would she think his promises nothing more than barter for her acres? Would she once again think his compliments false when nothing could be further from the truth? He would tell her, but when? Perhaps it would be best to say nothing of the land until their relationship was more stable, where they could weather a storm, or at least a light squall, where the smallest of dents wouldn’t destroy their hard-won trust in one another. Everything was so new and fresh between them, fragile like a baby. Cassian let out a breath. He would wait to tell her about the land, but perhaps he could start tonight with smaller truths to pave the way. There were other things he could share with her, things that might win her to his side so that when the time came for the land to be discussed, she would understand. Tonight, he would tell her about the park. Vauxhall would be the perfect setting.

  * * *

  Vauxhall dazzled from the first impression of the lights from the Thames as their wherry pulled alongside the stairs, to the concert and supper with the infamous thin-sliced ham. Pen couldn’t stop gazing at all the marvels and there were marvels around every corner: paintings, lamps in trees, acrobats and fortune tellers.

  ‘This is even better than the St Piran’s Day fair,’ she whispered to Cassian, careful for the others not to hear. If there was any imperfection on the evening it was that they weren’t alone. Her father was there with Phin and her aunt. Cassian’s friend, Inigo, was there along with Vennor Penlerick, who was escorting Miss Marianne Treleven and her sister, Ayleth, friends from home. It made for a merry party in the private supper pavilion Cassian had arranged, but it afforded little intimacy.

  ‘Would you care for a stroll, Lady Penrose?’ Cassian offered his arm, his eyes suggesting he’d read her thoughts. ‘You haven’t seen the paths yet and there’s just time before the Cascade and the fireworks.’ He courteously nodded to her father. ‘We won’t go far or be gone long, sir.’ The other message was also clear. Company was not invited.

  Once outside, Pen breathed deeply. ‘The stars are even out tonight. They so rarely are in London. I must thank you for another magical evening.’

  ‘You haven’t seen the best yet.’ Cassian steered them down a path lit with colourful gas lamps. There were others strolling as well, but they were alone in the conversation. Out here, they might talk about anything. ‘There are still great things to come.’

  ‘I think the lights are my favourite part. I can’t imagine this many lights and yet here they are.’

  ‘Twenty thousand of them,’ Cassian supplied.

  ‘Impossible. How do they light them all?’ Pen argued in disbelief. ‘I would need all night to light them.’

  ‘Not by hand, I assure you.’ Cassian laughed. ‘They’re lit by linked fuses.’

  ‘Like daisy chains?’ She smiled. ‘This place is a fairy tale. I had no idea such a place could exist.’ Her smile faded. ‘I wonder if I will love Cornwall half as much when I return? I think it might be hard for Redruth to compete. I fear it will seem desolate.’ It was already June. A month in London had slipped away, a month of freedom and she was starting to dread what that meant. Every day that passed was a day closer to returning to Castle Byerd and every day closer to making a decision on a suitor, committing to be passed from father to husband. Cassian had already suggested he could make the decision an easy one, that he would offer for her.

  She slid an unobserved look at Cassian’s strong profile. Would it be so bad if that husband was Cassian? Could the fun of being with him be enough to overlook that he’d come wife-hunting despite having declared love for Em just weeks earlier? If she had to marry one of them, one of the ton’s titled gentlemen—why not choose him? Her father would be happy. She could imagine his face now when she walked into his study and announced she’d accepted Viscount Trevethow. And she would be happy, as long as she protected her heart, as long as she didn’t give it entirely, but kept one small part for herself. That way, she couldn’t be hurt if her faith in Cassian proved misplaced. It would be a worthy compromise and it might be the best she could manage.

  They stopped outside a small building to listen to the Turkish band inside. ‘It sounds exotic,’ Pen said wistfully. She could imagine hot nights and harems in the sounds, something straight from Arabian Nights. She danced a couple of steps, rolling her hips, and halted, self-conscious. A decent English girl didn’t dance like that.

  ‘Why did you stop?’ Cassian looked disappointed.

  ‘It’s music for veils, not skirts, I think.’ Pen blushed. ‘But never mind that. I’ve been waiting to be alone with you all night. We have to finish our conversation from the picnic. You promised to tell me your dream.’ She’d not forgotten despite the allure of Vauxhall. She’d spent most of the evening trying to guess, running through theories in her head. What did Cassian Truscott, a man who’d seen the world, a man with a title, a man who would be a duke some day, dream of? What was left to want?

  It was his turn to be self-conscious, something she would not have associated with this confident man if she hadn’t seen it. They started to walk again, her hand tucked through his arm as if it had always belonged there. Then the words came. ‘I want to bring Vauxhall to Cornwall.’

  ‘You mean a pleasure garden at home?’ She cocked her head to look at him with curiosity. ‘What would it be like?’

  ‘It would be exotic like the Turkish pavilion. There would be music from all over Europe and food, too, so people could hear and taste other cultures. Each pavilion could house a country, a culture. The Turkish pavilion would have music, carpets and mosaics, and robes. People could eat kebabs and kofte. In the evening there could be a show with Turkish dancers and fierce Turkish warriors with their curved swords. In the Russian pavilion there would be Cossacks with their trick riding.’

  ‘Wherever would you find people who could do that?’ Pen couldn’t get her head around the logistics of acquiring people and supplies. The magnitude of the concept was bewildering, but exciting.

  ‘It wouldn’t be that hard. London has managed to find Turks for Vauxhall. Nikolay could help with the Cossacks.’

  ‘It sounds wonderful. It would certainly bring entertainment and education to an isolated part of the world.’ Pen was starting to see the vision, the dream. ‘People who never leave home could experience the world.’ What a gift that would be for those who couldn’t travel, people like herself.

  ‘We’d have amusements too.’ Cassian was in his element now. He made an expansive gesture with his hand, encouraging her to imagine with him. ‘I want to have a “mountain” like the one in Russia, a coaster. The problem with it is that it doesn’t stop reliably. But I studied a model in France, the Russes à Belleville—it’s a little cart you can sit in and it has a groove that’s inserted into the track that guides it. It can go up hills, down hills, around corners, and at fast speeds so that there’s some thrill to it.’

  ‘Just to ride around a track?’ Pen wasn’t sure she saw the appeal that excited Cassian so much.

  ‘A set could be designed. We could recreate mountain peaks: the Alps, the Matterhorn, Mont Blanc or the Dolomites. People could pretend they were coasting through those locales. It would be a reality fantasy.’

  The Alps, the Dolomites, the Matterhorn.

  The words were as seductive as the man, as the night alight with Vauxhall lamps. In her mind, she could see each peak, each range, on her maps. But the magic she was caught up in was all him. ‘Maybe there could be a river and we could sail down the Nile and see the pyramids, or camels on the shore, or the Egyptian desert by moonlight.’ She sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder.

  ‘We could. We could ha
ve rivers and boats and a thousand adventures at our fingertips any time we wanted them.’ Cassian whispered at her ear.

  ‘When I was young, I had great plans to sail to China.’ She laughed softly in the darkness.

  ‘We’ll bring China to Cornwall until you can go yourself,’ he assured her. ‘It’s more than entertainment, though, Pen.’ His tone was sombre. ‘It’s about jobs. Amusement gardens don’t run themselves. Think of all the musicians and waiters Vauxhall employs, to say nothing of the gardeners and caretakers who manicure the grounds, or the set designers who paint the scenes and the pavilions, who create the fantasies we see tonight, and the acrobats. Admittedly, some of those jobs are very specialised and will need to come from outside Cornwall, but many of the jobs aren’t. Gardeners, caretakers, waiters—all of those jobs can be filled by Cornishmen. They can make a decent wage, take care of their families without leaving home. And that’s just the direct employment. People with inns, people who can supply the park with food, they’ll all benefit too. People with carts to carry the food.’

  ‘And it wouldn’t be charity.’ Pen was nearly as dazzled by the thought of employment as she was by the park itself. ‘There is so much need. People are happy to work, but there are no jobs to be had.’ The charity baskets she made weekly barely had an effect on families and what stop-gap they did provide was short-lived. But a project of this magnitude could create long-lasting change. ‘I think you must build your park, Cassian. Whatever it takes,’ she whispered, looking about her for the first time since he’d begun his impassioned dissertation. ‘There are fewer lights here. You, sir, have taken me off the well-travelled path,’ she scolded lightly.

  ‘Because I wanted to do this.’ Cassian’s hands were in her hair, tilting her face up, his mouth on hers, and she welcomed him whole-heartedly. ‘No night at Vauxhall is complete without a little seduction on the paths.’