The Passions of Lord Trevethow

by Bronwyn Scott

‘Then let’s cut to the chase. Why did you leave me?’ Cassian fixed her with a stare over the rim of his tumbler.

  ‘Why does it matter? What we had between us was never going to last. We were going to leave each other sooner or later.’

  ‘But why then? We had plans.’ He wanted to melt the glacier of her exterior with a reminder of the heat that had passed between them, of what he’d done to her, of how she’d felt when he’d done it. Surely, she didn’t think the passion between them was usual? ‘You’d wanted to—’

  Pen’s cheeks flamed in the darkness. She cut him off sharply. ‘I know what I wanted. A gentleman wouldn’t mention such a thing.’ It was a wanton desire, one she’d not likely forget.

  He moved nearer, closing the distance between them, his voice a sibilant seduction in the firelit darkness. ‘You lied to me. You told me you would come and you didn’t.’ His voice lulled her toward confession, his words dragging her back into the fantasy where Em and Matthew could ignite each other with a touch. Beyond him the fire crackled and popped.

  Pen shook her head. ‘When I made you that promise, I meant to come.’ She covered her mouth. No. She would not explain to him. Em might have explained. But Em and Matthew were no more and neither was what had existed between them—that had been as great a fiction as their names. She’d made a grievous mistake and now her little adventure had come back to haunt her. ‘No, I won’t apologise.’ Pen straightened her shoulders and fixed him with a stare, hardening her resolve and summoning all the reasons he was dangerous, all the reasons she detested him. He was everything she wanted to avoid in a husband. ‘You’re acting like the wronged party here, but I never lied to you. Even as Em, I told you my father was pursuing a match for me. You knew.’

  ‘I thought it was a merchant, a tradesman. When you mentioned the roses, I thought perhaps a land steward, a landscaper. You led me to believe—’ he fired back but she was quick to interrupt.

  ‘I never told you that, I never misled you. You did that all by yourself, drawing whatever conclusions you wanted.’

  ‘What else was I supposed to think?’ Anger was growing now. The viscount had a hot temper. ‘You let me think you were a commoner. You knew that’s what I thought and you allowed it to go on.’

  Pen gave a snort of disbelief. ‘Who was in disguise? It was not only me. You presented yourself as a squire’s son with your dirt-caked boots and your greatcoat and your windblown hair. You weren’t half as put together as you are tonight. Where were your silk waistcoats and watch fobs then?’

  ‘One does not wear such finery when tromping the cliffs of Cornwall. I was unaware there was a dress code for that.’ His eyes narrowed, scrutinising her, and she felt a flush of heat go through her. ‘Besides, those were our rules, Pen. Anonymity was our rule.’ Her heart raced a bit at the use of her name, her real name. She could not afford the attraction. ‘We wanted our secrets. Do you deny it?’

  No. She couldn’t deny it. The fantasy had been intoxicating, only now did she realise how far out of her depth she’d been. ‘I never thought...’ She couldn’t finish the sentence without admitting her stupidity. Even in the dim light of the room, her cheeks betrayed her with remembrances of the things she’d done with him, of the things he’d done to her, thinking she would never see him again, that she’d never need to be accountable for them.

  Cassian—that was his name, wasn’t it? It was how he’d been introduced to her tonight. Cassian Truscott, Viscount Trevethow. It was strange to think of him that way—chuckled softly. ‘Never thought what? That we’d both be masquerading as someone we were not? Never thought your little indiscretion would come back on you?’ It was exactly what she’d thought. Never mind the false names. She’d thought there was truth in how he’d presented himself. Even if she didn’t know his name, she’d been confident she knew what he was.

  He reached for her, close enough now to touch her, his hand skimming her cheek. Her body thrummed at his caress, remembering other touches, other caresses. She had to keep herself in check. She could not repeat her mistakes. ‘Can we get past this, Pen? I know you were surprised to see me again tonight just as I was surprised—stunned—to see you. I’d given up hope of finding you again.’ His voice was low, intimate. ‘I was devastated when you didn’t come. I waited for hours that afternoon. I went back for three days hoping you would be there. I didn’t want to believe you’d left me. But now, we’ve found each other and this should be a happy occasion. We don’t have to pretend any more. We can be ourselves, we can continue to explore what we can be together. Pen, what I’m saying is that I forgive you. I want to try again.’

  The cad! How dare he make this disaster out to be of her making? She’d almost been drawn into the fantasy, almost. Pen swatted at his hand, pushing it away. ‘Do not touch me. Do not think you can waltz in here, ask me to shoulder the blame and then offer me forgiveness I’ve never asked you for as if this is all my fault.’

  She was blazing now, but with the heat of an anger that had nothing to do with the warmth she’d felt earlier. ‘There is a liar in this room and it’s not me. I’ve been nothing but honest about having a match being made for me, about going away to visit the man my father chose for me. But you were never honest. You made all these protestations of love when we were together and tonight you profess to have been devastated when I didn’t come, but here you are in a ballroom hunting a wife and contemplating marriage just weeks later. Those are not the actions of a devastated man in love.’

  He stood there, unmoving. There was no reaction and that only made her all the angrier. ‘Say something, Cassian. Argue with me, shout at me. Hate me.’

  But Cassian did none of those things. He was perfect in those moments; perfectly controlled, perfectly contained. He looked every inch the duke he would one day be while she was acting nowhere near a lady. ‘I don’t want to argue with you. I don’t want to shout. I don’t want to hate. I want you to see the good in this. Matthew and Em had something special and now Cassian and Pen can have that too. You can have Matthew, Pen. He’s not gone.’

  She shook her head. She would not be taken in again. What did he want from her that he was willing to set aside his anger and his earlier sense of betrayal? ‘No, I can’t. Matthew doesn’t exist. He never did and that means the man I thought you were isn’t the man you are.’ She’d nearly given herself to a pretence. She’d had a lucky escape even if she hadn’t realised it at the time. What would have happened if her father and Phin hadn’t whisked her off to London?

  ‘What is that supposed to mean? If Matthew doesn’t exist, then how do you know anything about me? You can’t have it both ways.’

  ‘I know you’re here and I know why you’re here. You are no different than any other man in the ballroom tonight. Do you think any of them care about me? They care about the Redruth alliance and the dowry that comes with it. When they dance with me, they’re already calculating how they can pay off their debts or they’re wondering why I’ve been hidden away in Cornwall for years. I’m a thing to them, a curiosity.’

  ‘Not to me, you know that,’ Cassian insisted. ‘What about Mutton Cove and the things we told one another?’

  ‘What I know is that you played with me in the gamekeeper’s cottage, knowing that you would leave at the end of April. You started the affair knowing full well the Season would take you away. Dukes’ sons dally with common maids all the time, intending to discard them.’

  ‘That’s not how it was,’ he broke in, but she stalled him with a shake of her head. She wanted to believe otherwise, but the facts wouldn’t allow it. Her heart was breaking all over again.

  ‘It’s exactly how it was. I was nothing to you then but a plaything and I am nothing more than that to you now. Viscount Trevethow came to court me sight unseen. You had an audience with my father, the two of you arranging my life without any consideration for how I might feel about it, all so that my father might have husband w
ith a title for his daughter and so that you might have an alliance you find in some way useful. That is all the proof I need that you are no different than any other man here tonight. The one thing I thought Matthew could be capable of was liking me for me. You’ve taken that away.’ That was what hurt the most about this whole debacle. She drew a breath and smoothed her skirts, calming herself. ‘You’ve had more than your five minutes. I need to return to the ball. I would like you to leave the premises when you’ve finished your drink.’

  She walked to the door and slipped out into the hall without a backward glance, letting her anger sustain her. It was better than giving in to other emotions. She felt as if someone had died. Matthew, and who she thought he was, was gone. Cassian Truscott could never replace him. He must be resisted at all costs. He might look like Matthew, but he did not share the values she’d associated with Matthew. She would not take a husband that was settled on her by her father, but that wasn’t Cassian Truscott’s greatest sin. His greatest sin was that he was supposed to have been different from the others and he wasn’t. He’d gone to her father without even knowing who she was. He’d been willing to buy her sight unseen. It reduced her to a sack of potatoes in the market place, something to be bartered and traded while he’d pretended to have a different code of honour with a different girl in the cottage.

  She would not set herself up for failure and heartbreak. She didn’t want to marry a man who would hurt her. She knew already Cassian Truscott had the power to do that. She’d loved that man in the cottage and that man had moved on to another woman, a woman he’d never seen, with no regret. She could not give her heart again to such a man, knowing what she risked. He would hurt her over and over again. He would say whatever it took to win her in the moment, but he could never be true. He’d proven it tonight.

  Chapter Thirteen

  He’d not proven himself worthy of her. She’d dismissed him for a cad, a man who was pursuing her only for her money, and she wasn’t entirely wrong. He had come courting the Redruth girl for those very reasons. Cassian was still reeling from her set-down the next morning over coffee in his rooms at the Albany. He deserved everything Pen had said last night. He couldn’t recall the last time or any time a woman had not responded favourably to him. The evening could not be termed as anything other than an utter failure.

  ‘Another resounding success for you, old chap!’ Inigo strode into the dining room and slapped the newspapers down on the table, pages already creased back. ‘One night back in action and already you’ve made the columns. Allow me to read aloud.’ He cleared his throat dramatically. ‘“Viscount T. set hearts to fluttering and tongues to wagging when he took to the floor at Earl R.’s long-overdue debut ball for Lady P. with said lady in his arms.” Then there’s this charming little mention.’ Inigo reached for another newspaper.

  Cassian shook his head. ‘Stop. It was a disaster, Inigo. She’s all but refused to see me. She threw me out of the ball.’

  Inigo pulled up a chair and poured a cup of coffee, becoming instantly serious. ‘Well, at least no one knows.’ He nodded towards the papers. ‘Everyone thinks a St George’s wedding is imminent. So, she’s refused you. We can work with that. Once she knows you, I’m sure she’ll find you charming and your height less overwhelming. You can cut an intimidating figure, Cass.’

  ‘That’s the problem. She does know me.’ Cassian leaned close to whisper, ‘Inigo, she’s Em.’ There was some satisfaction in watching Inigo’s face process the information, moving from confused to dawning realisation to stunned.

  ‘Oh, damn.’ Inigo whistled low. ‘I’m not sure if that’s lucky or not.’

  ‘It’s not,’ Cassian growled. ‘I’ve found her, but she wants nothing to do with me. She thinks I was merely toying with her in the cottage, a nobleman taking advantage of a commoner. Worse, she feels now that I’m here pursuing a wife so soon after our encounter that nothing I said was true, that my feelings were a sham just to seduce her, that I’ll say anything to get what I want.’ Cassian pushed his plate away—what little appetite he’d had was gone. Guilt was eating at him hard: guilt over Pen, guilt over Collin. He couldn’t satisfy one without being untrue to the other. ‘It seems I’ve become the unscrupulous fortune hunter I’ve guarded myself against.’ That thought had haunted him long after he’d left Byerd House.

  ‘May I? If you’re not going to eat this?’ Inigo reached for the discarded plate still full of warm food. ‘Your cook does the best eggs.’

  ‘I’m glad someone can eat,’ Cassian replied pointedly. ‘The rub is that for a moment last night, when I saw her face, I thought everything would be perfect. We’d found each other and we could pick up where we left off. Then, everything fell apart. The only things I’m picking up now are pieces. I need to win her back. I need her trust.’ He needed Em.

  ‘You need her land.’ Inigo waved his fork.

  ‘I need her attention before I can contemplate that. How do I pursue a woman who doesn’t want to be pursued?’

  ‘You go back. If you don’t go back, she’ll know you were all fluff and no substance. But...’ Inigo dropped his voice conspiratorially ‘...if you go back, she’ll know you’re willing to fight for her, that you’re serious.’

  Cassian chuckled. ‘I told Eaton something similar when he was certain he’d lost Eliza. It’s a lot easier to give advice than it is to take it.’ He fixed Inigo with a sombre stare, his mind working. He had to show Pen the man who was concerned for his people, for his region, a man who was willing to create an industry, to create jobs and income, a man who was willing to come down out of his ivory tower and put his privilege to work for others. Most of all, he needed to show her the man she’d fallen in love with at the cottage. ‘What time is it?’

  Inigo flipped open his pocket watch. ‘Half past eleven. Why?’

  Cassian set aside his napkin and rose. ‘That’s just enough time.’

  ‘Time for what?’ Inigo looked up from polishing off the plate.

  Cassian grinned, feeling more optimistic than he had in a long while. ‘To win her back.’ Lady Penrose and her aunt held at-home on Thursdays from three until five. He had four hours to make himself presentable and to acquire the appropriate ‘accessories’ for his visit. He’d have to time his entrance just right. If her attitude last night was a solid indicator about her husband hunt, she wasn’t enamoured of it. She’d had a cynical view of why the young men had flocked to her. Cassian would bet she wasn’t looking forward to an at-home the night after her debut. It would be crowded with sycophants. By quarter past four, he’d wager she’d be looking for a way out and he’d be there to provide one. Even the strongest damsel needed to be rescued sometimes. He called for his manservant. ‘Send to the stables, have the horses and Oscar ready at four.’

  * * *

  Pen felt her pasted-on smile start to waver as yet another gentleman paid homage to her eyes, her hair, her gown, her laugh, with insipid words designed to appeal to her. Flattery did not impress her. Honesty impressed her and that had been in short supply. She’d almost welcome the man who’d burst into the drawing room and declare in loud terms, ‘I’m here for your dowry, Lady Penrose, and you can come along too.’ At least she’d know where she stood with that man. She had to be honest, too, though. That man, should he exist, might be welcomed for his truthfulness, but she wouldn’t marry him for it any more than she’d marry Wadesbridge for his kindnesses. It didn’t change the fact that she wanted to marry a man of her choice for love, his antecedents and her dowry be hanged.

  She glanced surreptitiously at the clock. It was four. An hour to go. It might as well be an eternity. The minutes seemed to drag. Her jaw actually hurt from endless smiling. Her brain hurt from trying to remember all the names. She’d danced with most of these men last night. They’d sent bouquets this morning until the house was bursting with vases full of roses, carnations and lilies of the valley filling up every available mantel and
tabletop in the townhouse. Her father had beamed with delight when the morning papers had joined her name with Cassian’s. Her father would be disappointed when her aunt reported Cassian was the only one not among the crop in the drawing room today.

  As to her own disappointment, Pen wasn’t certain. Part of her had hoped he might come even though she’d been quite clear last night that she didn’t want to see him again. Part of her was glad he’d taken the set-down to heart and stayed away. But no part of her believed that was the end of it. So, here she sat, waiting for the other shoe to drop, as if discovering that Cassian was Matthew wasn’t shocking revelation enough.

  Even this afternoon, with time to process that reality, it was still stunning. He was not lost to her after all. Oh, how she’d felt last night when she’d seen his face and knew it was him, not a mirage! For a moment, it had been a miraculous discovery. There’d been a split second of pure joy before reality had swept in, bringing with it all the consequences of what his presence meant: for him to be here meant he’d not been honest with her and he was dangerous to her. He could expose what they’d done in that cottage and she’d be ruined. Furthermore, he wanted something from her father enough to court her sight unseen. That in itself should be frightening. Logic proposed she ought to be glad he hadn’t come to the at-home.

  But it wasn’t that simple. Her heart, her body, disagreed with what her mind recommended. Last night in his arms, she’d been hard put not to press herself against him as they waltzed, convention be hanged. It had been torture to be close to him, but not close enough to feel the hard muscles of his chest beneath his clothes, to not be able to lay her head against his shoulder, to feel his arm around her, folding her to him. She’d had to resist those temptations not only for propriety’s sake, but for her own sake. He would take advantage of those feelings and the stakes were so much higher now. Marriage. For ever. Her father would be ecstatic. His daughter, a duchess! He would gloat that Father knew best after all. Yet, her eyes still drifted to the doorway and she had to remind herself of all the reasons Cassian wouldn’t come through it.