“Not with me.” Merrick studied Cass’s upturned face. These last weeks had drained some of the sunshine from her smile. The radiance was still there when they worked with the music, but whenever he encountered her elsewhere, he couldn’t help but remark the change.
His field hands had reported the various disasters that had struck her crops. He could afford to replant when the rain rotted his fields or the sun scorched them, but neither she nor her tenants could have continuing funds for such uncertainties. He often wondered if that were the only source of her unsmiling expression, but he couldn’t inquire into her personal life.
“My mother has some cronies of hers up at the house playing whist. It was such a nice evening, I thought you might enjoy a ride rather than their exalted company.”
Cassandra grinned as she stroked the nose of the little bay mare. “She has finally found a way to drive us out of the house. Your mother is a clever woman.”
“She is also manipulative, overbearing, and bored. We can go up to the music room if you prefer, but I remember you once wished to have a horse. I thought a little exercise might be beneficial. You have looked a trifle peaked lately.”
“Thank you, my lord, just the words a lady likes to hear.” At his wince, Cassandra added, “But you are right, of course. I have been out of sorts and a ride is just what I would like.”
It was curious how easily she could hurt him. Merrick never had been known as a ladies’ man, and over these last weeks Cass had come to understand why. Despite his wealth and title, he possessed little self-assurance.
She had concluded that he was shy around women, but not with her. That puzzled her until she remembered her own extreme forwardness. She had never given the poor man a chance to be shy, and he had responded by treating her as a friend. Their shared interest in music had reinforced the bond.
The sun was well above the horizon when they set out. Thunder rumbled in the distance as it had this past week, but no rain ever came of it. Cassandra glanced anxiously to the sky, hoping this time to find a cloud to water her wilting crops, but only a purple haze in the distance gave any promise.
Merrick offered consolingly, “It will rain before week’s end. MacGregor’s aching bones never lie. One of these days you will have to consider irrigating that field. You have quite an adequate stream nearby.”
Cassandra nodded and adjusted the skirt of her gown over the sidesaddle. Had she known they would be riding, she could have worn her habit, but the heat would be excruciating in that wool.
“You are terribly silent tonight, Cass. Have I offended you? Or would you have preferred to go to the music room?”
Cassandra summoned a bright smile and urged her mare to a canter. “This is what I want to do. Race you to the crossroad?”
Before Merrick could agree or disagree, she dug her heels in and her mount sprinted off.
They raced through the gathering gloom of the trees and into the sunset light of the road. A wind dancing through the treetops dipped to tear at their hair, and Cassandra’s curls began to tumble down her back.
The crossroad loomed ahead, and Merrick kicked his mount to greater speed, crossing the finish line a nose ahead and cantering toward the beckoning banks of a stream below. He heard Cassandra’s laughter and the hoofbeats of the other horse as he led the way through the shrubbery. He hadn’t heard her laughter in days, and it warmed him to know he had produced it.
He dismounted and turned to help Cassandra down. Merrick knew his error as soon as his hands touched her waist, but it was much too late by then. His fingers were already sliding her from the saddle, her breasts were brushing against his chest, and her face had turned expectantly toward him, her lips parted with promise and her eyes bright with joy.
Cassandra slid into his embrace so gladly that Merrick wondered how he had kept away this long. Or why. Her mouth was warm and eager and as willing as he remembered in all his joyous dreams. She embraced him with enchantment. All the old uncertainties disappeared, and there was only the music of her mouth against his.
Wyatt pulled her closer, fitting her willowy height against him. The wind caught at her skirts, whipping them around their legs. He could feel her thighs pressed against his, her hips rubbing where he needed her most. It seemed incredible that she did not pull away in terror. Instead she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and parted her lips and fell fully into his embrace.
Their breaths mingled with sweet heat. Merrick gathered her silken curls in both fists and drank deeply of the heady wine offered. He couldn’t get enough, and he lifted her from the ground to have her closer.
Cassandra dreamed she had died and gone to heaven. Nothing could equal the rapture of Wyatt’s kiss. She felt his need, knew his desire, and they matched the churning excitement of her own. Maybe this time he would teach her where kisses led. She felt as if she would die if he did not. There was more, she knew it with age-old instincts, and she cried out her joy as his kisses strayed to her ear and throat. Her breasts pressed eagerly against her bodice, awaiting his touch.
When he stroked her there, Cassandra sighed happily and felt the molten heat rise through her middle. She wanted to shed all her clothing and give him free rein to touch where he willed. Surely then she would know the relief her body sought in his embrace.
Merrick returned his kiss to her lips while he fumbled with the various fastenings of her bodice. She could feel the heat of his hand as he gained the entrance he sought, and then the barrier was gone. He located the sensitive peak of her breast, and she moaned with pleasure.
Wyatt peeled her bodice down, freeing both her breasts to his explorations. His hands splayed across the swelling ache he had created, and still it was not enough. Cassandra clung to his mouth when he would pull away, and she wrapped her fingers in his hair to prevent any parting.
Wyatt’s lips reassuringly brushed hers, burning tiny trails to the corners, then heartbreakingly moving onward. Cassandra threw her head back in joy when she realized his destination and allowed him to lift her to his kiss.
Fire, swift and searing, swept through her from where Wyatt’s mouth closed over her breast. The tingling in her lower parts became something stronger, headier, more demanding as she surged against him. She wanted nothing more than to give him all he asked.
It no longer mattered that the man loving her was the Earl of Merrick, a man of stature and importance in the community and society. It no longer mattered that she was married to a brutal rake who had nearly killed a friend. All that mattered was that they were together, at last.
A crack of thunder broke overhead, startling their horses into anxious whinnies. A fat raindrop splattered across Cassandra’s breast, running downward until Wyatt caught it with his tongue. She shivered, and the hot, hard points of her breasts pressed against his palm. The thunder caused Wyatt to bank the fires with tender strokes and pull her bodice together again.
“That is not why I brought you out here,” he murmured.
“It doesn’t matter, Wyatt,” Cassandra whispered, catching his hand and holding it against her breast. “Don’t stop now.”
“Not here, my love. Not ever, perhaps. Come, let’s get you dressed and back to the house before you are drowned.”
His will was strong, but his flesh was weak. It took a long time to find all the hooks and ties and fasten them properly between each kiss. They were both weak with desire before she was respectable again.
Azure eyes gazed uncertainly, expectantly up to him as Wyatt straightened but continued to hold her against the telltale signs of his arousal. He didn’t know what to say or do. Had she been unmarried, he would be obliged to offer for her, and would have done so gladly, even if it would be the single most insane thing he had ever done. He had no illusions about what life would be like with a tempest like Cassandra. She had already made life at home a living hell simply by existing.
But she was married, and he was not a man who dallied with other men’s wives.
“I don’t know
what to say, Cassandra. There is no excuse for my behavior, nor any remedy. Will you forgive me?”
She wrapped her fingers in his shirt. “Don’t set me aside, Wyatt. I should never have embarrassed you like that at Hampton Court, but I tried to relieve you of your obligation by marrying Rupert. And I know they’re whispering all over the neighborhood about our being so much in each other’s pockets, but I promise never to be seen in public with you again if that will help. Just do not abandon me entirely, Wyatt. Tell me you will still see me.”
Merrick wasn’t quite certain he believed her. Cassandra could be a melodramatic little flirt, but he did not think she was normally given to begging.
“You married Rupert to relieve me of my obligation?” he asked in disbelief. “Forgive me if I appear a little caper-witted, but wasn’t that a rather drastic means of settling the matter?”
Now she had done it. He was angry with her, and she would never be able to explain. Cassandra yanked from his grasp and turned to her nervous mount. The sky was growing darker, but no real rain had come of it yet. She wished for a quick drenching downpour to soothe her fevered skin.
“I had very little choice in the matter, Wyatt. Let us not argue now.” She kept her chin up as she waited for him to assist her into the saddle.
He did not immediately oblige. “Perhaps my memory is ailing. Did I not come to see you after the announcement was put in the paper? Did I not offer for you again, even though I was no longer under an obligation to do so?”
“Yes, you did,” she whispered at the saddle.
“But you still felt you had no choice but to marry Rupert? That is not how I see it.”
She didn’t want to explain why she had to marry Rupert. She didn’t want anyone to know how great a fool she was, nor to reveal her mother’s secrets. She led her horse to a fallen log and prepared to climb into the saddle without his assistance.
Furious, Merrick strode across the distance between them and threw her up in the seat. The silence stretched between them and grew like a tangible thing, a briar patch of thorns that could not easily be traversed.
Chapter 15
The thunder continued to roll as Cassandra lay sleepless in her lonely bed, waiting for the patter of rain to begin. Her body ached with a fierceness hitherto unknown as she relived the past hours.
Closing her eyes, she could feel Wyatt’s hands still on her, smell the masculine scent of his skin with his beard-roughened kiss, see the smoky desire in his eyes. If she had anything at all to give, she would give it now to have Merrick by her side again. She just wanted him to hold her, to lie here beside her so she wouldn’t be so alone.
She had once asked Peggy, her father’s mistress, what happened between husbands and wives in bed. Peggy had always been honest with her, and she had replied that husbands and wives held and loved each other in bed. That was what Cassandra wanted: to be held and loved.
A tear slid down her cheek, and she hastily rubbed it away. When she was twelve years old she had resolved never to cry again. Crying accomplished nothing. When she felt like crying, she hit something instead. But it was hard to find satisfaction in bruised knuckles.
She loved her parents. They were all she had. And sometimes, she knew, they loved her back. Even though she wasn’t his true daughter, the marquess had paraded her before his friends and called her his little princess. When he was in funds, he would buy her pretty trinkets and ribbons and carry her beside him on his horse or carriage. She had never even known he wasn’t her father until Duncan had told her when she was twelve, and the marquess hadn’t denied it.
She had punched Duncan in the stomach and walked away, head held high.
She had no one to hit for her pain now.
~*~
Cassandra approached the stile the next night with trepidation. She had talked herself to the meeting place with arguments too obscure to study closely. She just knew she had to see Merrick again.
When he didn’t come, she let anger build over the pain that threatened to swallow her. She refused to think that what they had done was wrong. Anger carried her over the stile toward the mansion in the park’s center.
No lamps illuminated the front drawing room, so they weren’t entertaining. Maybe Merrick wasn’t there at all. Maybe he was out courting Catherine, as his mother had made plain that he must do. Let him marry Catherine. All she wanted was a little of his love. Catherine would never have that.
The knocker sounded hollow against the great front door. A servant answered with smooth efficiency and stared at her as if she were some waif washed upon the step by a wayward tide. Cassandra met his blank stare with fury.
“Let me in, James. I wish to see Lord Merrick.”
“His lordship is not at home, my lady.”
She had no way of knowing if the servant lied at Merrick’s or his mother’s request. Anger made her brave. “I daresay he will be soon enough. I will wait in the music room until he comes.”
The servant opened the door a little further, but her voice must have carried up the stairs. Lady Merrick sailed down the hall, her silks flying in the breeze.
“You are letting in a draft, James. Close that door at once.” As if just noticing a visitor, she frowned. “Lady Cassandra, what brings you here tonight? Wyatt has gone out and I don’t expect him to return soon. I am so sorry you have made the journey for nothing.”
The malicious gleam in the widow’s eyes was fuel enough to kindle Cassandra’s ire. With equal spite she replied, “I am so sorry to have missed him, my lady, but it is you I have come to visit. I have been meaning to this age, but you have been busy and I had no wish to intrude. Since Wyatt isn’t here, we should enjoy a good long tête-à-tête.” She deliberately used the earl’s given name to watch his mother blanch.
Shocked to the toes by this blatant untruth garbed in social flattery, Lady Merrick hesitated. Cassandra took advantage by stepping into the foyer, her chin held high and a false smile upon her lips, much as she’d approached the world since the age of twelve and truth.
She studied the cold formality of the interior, the lack of any welcoming flowers, the polished tiles without so much as a rug to warm them, and her determination intensified.
“It is so good of you to see me, Lady Merrick.” She mouthed the words she had heard uttered in some earlier time. She longed to head for the music room, but no melodic tones drifted from that direction. Now that she was here, she meant to stay until she and Merrick had this straightened out.
“I really cannot visit. There is so much for me to do,” the countess protested, but Cassandra proceeded down the hall without her.
“Merrick tells me you are bored, my lady.” Cassandra espied a fire in the room on her left and turned toward it. “That seems hard to believe when there is so much to be done with this house.” She hid her triumph as she spotted the countess’s tea tray with a steaming pot waiting.
Accepting Cassandra’s challenge, the countess returned regally to her chair. “I cannot imagine how you received that impression, child. There is scarce time to be bored on an estate the size of Merrick. I am constantly busy. Sometimes I must take time to breathe. That is what I was doing before you arrived. I insisted that I have one night a week to myself, and Wyatt graciously agreed.”
When the countess made no effort to offer tea to her guest, Cassandra signaled the footman to fetch her a cup. She had not grown up in the house of a marquess and learned nothing. Perhaps a properly coached young lady did not order other people’s servants about, but she had no timidity in doing so. Half the battle in winning Merrick’s affections lay here, and she was about to dig in her heels and fight.
“I am certain Wyatt is a most considerate son. He has been kind in offering me the use of his music room. He is very fond of music, is he not?”
The servant arrived with the cup, and the countess ungraciously poured a splash and handed the china to her uninvited guest. “He is good at whatever he does. However, he is much too busy to continue entert
aining you. He has been neglecting his other estates by lingering here overlong this spring. It would not surprise me if he left shortly to tour his other holdings.”
“I do believe he has a steward and a man of business who are capable of managing those lands without his constant attention,” Cassandra replied demurely over her teacup. “Perhaps he should turn his attention to renovating the interiors here. If I am not mistaken, there is a serious water stain on the brocade of that drapery.” She indicated a window to their right.
The countess drew herself up in a flurry of ruffled feathers. “Wyatt has better things to do than consider the furnishings, and so have I. When we have the time to turn our attention to it, we will hire an architect to make the necessary changes.”
“You would do better to hire a housekeeper,” Cassandra said wryly. “What this house needs is someone to love it.”
“How dare you!” Finally outraged, the countess set her cup down with a bang that should have cracked the flowered china beneath.
Before she could speak further, a masculine voice in the hall warned that the master had returned.
Cassandra schooled her expression to neutral as Merrick entered the room. His hair was wind-tousled, and the fresh scent of the coming storm carried with him. He was so strikingly handsome in his informal tweed habit with only a twisted length of linen at his throat that Cassandra almost had to look away to fight down the pain. That same man had held her in improper embrace just the night before.
Merrick bowed to the ladies, sent a questioning glance to Cassandra, and formally addressed his mother. “I see you are entertaining. Am I intruding?”
“No, you are not. Lady Cassandra was just about to leave. You may summon James to see her out. I have some things to discuss with you.”
Cassandra remained smilingly where she was. “I am in no hurry, my lord. Perhaps you would permit me some time with your pianoforte while you and your charming mother have your discussion.”
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