by Stella Riley
‘Your father said he was sorry he sold the house on Berkeley Square – but I’m not,’ she confided. ‘The houses there are such huge, intimidating places and I’d much rather we lived somewhere more intimate.’
‘Intimate?’ Sebastian slanted a smile at her. ‘Yes. I like the sound of intimate.’
Cassie was learning to ignore his innuendos when it suited her. She did so now. She said, ‘Replies are already coming in to the invitations. No one has declined yet.’
‘The Vernons will. Philip called in Cork Street yesterday to deliver his congratulations and regrets in person. He and Isabel are leaving for Hertfordshire tomorrow.’
‘Are they? Why?’
Sebastian sighed and then said simply, ‘You remember the child at Drury Lane?’
‘Of course. I’m not likely to forget that night, ever.’
‘Isabel wants to keep her.’
‘Keep her? Adopt her, do you mean?’
‘Perhaps. All that’s clear at present is that Isabel won’t give her up. But --’
‘Well done, Isabel!’ said Cassie. ‘If the poor child ends up with a loving home, at least one good thing will have come out of that horrible business.’
Sebastian shook his head, grinning at her.
‘And well done Cassandra for looking at it like that.’ He glanced at the tag on the key he was holding and stopped walking. ‘This is it.’
Cassie turned to look at the house. ‘Oh,’ was all she said.
‘Oh,’ agreed Sebastian.
It was a double-fronted edifice built of stark grey stone, with a pair of vicious looking griffins glaring at each other from either side of the stairs to the door.
‘Perhaps it’s nicer inside,’ suggested Cassie. ‘It’s certainly very imposing, isn’t it?’
‘That’s one word for it,’ muttered Sebastian. ‘But you’re right. It may be better than it looks.’
The key squealed in the lock and, as the front door swung open, one elsewhere swung shut with an echoing clang that made Cassie jump. Panelled in dark oak, the hall yawned before them like a vast, gloomy cavern; a pair of rusting suits of armour guarded the broad, staircase and overhead, festooned in cobwebs, was a massive and very ugly chandelier.
Sebastian groaned. ‘We can’t live here.’
‘No,’ agreed Cassie, her voice oddly strained. ‘Have you read The Castle of Otranto?’
‘No. Why?’
‘B-Because I think we’re in it,’ she said, dissolving into laughter. ‘Come on.’
They toured the reception rooms hand in hand – in case, as Sebastian said, one of them got lost in the dark. Virtually all of the shutters had been left fastened and many appeared to have been nailed shut. They were in what they thought might be the formal dining room when Cassie said, ‘Sebastian?’
‘What?’ he grunted, heaving fruitlessly at a catch in an attempt to shed a bit more light.
‘Look up.’ She was no longer laughing.
He did – and promptly wished he hadn’t. ‘Hell!’
At just below ceiling height, the entire circumference of the room was decorated with hunting trophies. There were stags and foxes; tigers and wild boar; even a snarling wolf. In the half-light, the whole display was a mass of glassy eyes, teeth, tusks and dusty, moth-eaten fur.
‘That,’ said Sebastian, ‘is just obscene. Let’s go.’
She nodded. ‘Yes, please.’
Outside on the pavement, they spent a few moments silently picking cobwebs off each other. But eventually Cassie said, ‘Your father can’t have seen it.’
‘He hasn’t seen Bruton Place either. But it can’t be worse than this one. Can it?’
‘Nothing could be worse than this one,’ she agreed cheerfully, slipping her hand through his arm as they began walking again. ‘It was lovely of Adeline to insist on Rock bringing her yesterday.’
‘She’s fond of you – as, I believe, is the duke.’
‘He likes you, too, I think. He told me to ask you about something called the Casparov but I couldn’t tell if he was serious. What is the Casparov?’
‘A chess set I acquired in Russia. Basically, I won a game I wasn’t expected to win and got the board on which it had been played.’ Sebastian grinned. ‘What Rock wants is to know is who I won it from. I daresay he already has some theories.’
‘It sounds very mysterious.’
‘It’s not. But it will make more sense when you see the set,’ he shrugged. And considered promising to show it to her on their wedding day.
He had said nothing about the special licence. He couldn’t deny that it tempted him … but he was already rushing Cassandra to the altar and a month wasn’t long to wait. One part of him said he ought to tell her about it; another said that, if he did that, she might think it was what he wanted and say they should use it, regardless of her own feelings. All in all, he decided, it would be best to keep the matter to himself.
The property on Bruton Place was an elegant pale stone town-house with pillars flanking the door and generous windows. Cassie’s hand gripped Sebastian’s sleeve and she said, ‘Oh – it’s lovely!’
‘It’s certainly an improvement on the other,’ he agreed, setting the key to the lock. ‘Let us hope there are no dead animals glaring down on us in this one.’
There weren’t. The hall was light, its black-and-while tiled floor spotless and its staircase rising upwards in a graceful curve. There were three spacious reception rooms, as well as a dining room and a cosy library; the master-suite comprised two elegant bedchambers, each with their own dressing-room and a large shared sitting-room; and there was even a little furniture – a table here or a chair there – all swathed in dust-sheets.
Cassie ran from room to room, exclaiming and laughing. Sebastian followed more slowly, enjoying her delight.
‘I love it!’ Twirling around in the middle of what, judging by the dainty floral décor was the mistress of the house’s bedchamber, she threw her arms wide and said, ‘It’s perfect. Don’t you think?’
What Sebastian thought was that there was actually a bed in the room; a bed he was trying not to look at. So, distracting himself by teasing her a little, he said, ‘I don’t know. The dining room is perhaps a little small. And do you think we can manage with only five spare bedchambers?’
‘Manage? Don’t be absurd. It’s just right.’ She stopped, eyeing him uncertainly. ‘Do you really not like it?’
And that was where teasing had to stop. The very last thing he wanted was to spoil her pleasure. He said, ‘Of course I like it, sweetheart. And you’re right. It’s --’
Hurling herself against his chest and nearly knocking him off his feet, Cassie twined her arms about his neck and gazed into his eyes. ‘So please may we have it?’
‘If you want it, my darling, it’s yours.’ And wrapping her close, he sought her mouth with his own.
Her response was immediate and purely instinctive. Her lips parted beneath his and Sebastian promptly stopped thinking. He took what she offered, deepening the kiss further and much faster than he’d done before while his hands took a path of their own. For the first time, he discovered the curve of her spine, her waist, her hips, a low sound of satisfaction escaping him when she pressed so close that they were joined from breast to knee. His mouth swept along her jaw; his teeth closed lightly over her ear-lobe; his tongue found the hollow at the base of her throat. With a sobbing moan, she released her hold on his hair in favour of pushing her hands under his coat to explore the muscles of his chest and back. Heat eddied and flowed between them; desire, untrammelled for the first time, soared up and up; the kiss and their hands on each other became a dangerous conflagration.
It was when his back collided with something that turned out to be the bed-post that Sebastian came to some vague awareness of what he was doing … and that he was perhaps a minute away from pulling Cassandra down with him upon that oh-so-tempting mattress. Her hair was falling down her back, her fingers had somehow unbuttoned enough of
his vest to enable her to slide her hands beneath it … while he, having been defeated by the neckline of her gown, had actually begun unlacing it.
Sebastian froze, his heartbeat and pulse hopelessly erratic. He forced his hands back to the safety of her shoulders and gently set her away from him. Flushed and exquisitely dishevelled, Cassandra stared back out of dazed eyes, her breathing as uneven as his own.
For a moment, they merely looked at each other, neither of them quite knowing what to say. Then, turning away a little while he waited for the turmoil in his body to subside, Sebastian said huskily, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Are you?’
‘No. But I should be. I’m the one who knows what he’s doing and I’m supposed to be a gentleman. I should have more control.’
‘You’d have stopped if I’d asked, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes! God, Cassandra of – of course I would!’
‘That’s what I thought. But I didn’t ask, did I?’ Sitting on the edge of the bed and letting her lashes veil her eyes, she said softly, ‘I – I liked what you did. What we did. I especially liked knowing that you wanted to do it. How exactly does that make it your fault?’
The air evaporated from his lungs and he dragged his hand through his already untidy hair. The ribbon came loose and floated to the floor. Sebastian looked down, still helplessly adrift and saw the scattering of hairpins littering the floor around it.
He dropped on one knee and started gathering them up.
How on earth had they got there? What else – while he’d been drunk on the taste and scent and feel of her – had he done that he didn’t remember? And what else might he have done if he hadn’t come to his senses in time.
Without looking up, he said, ‘You have my heart, Cassandra. Unfortunately, all the baser parts of me come with it.’
There was a long silence. And then, ‘I don’t know much about these things … but I suspect it might be a bit disappointing if they didn’t.’
His eyes flew to her face and he made a surprising discovery.
‘Are you laughing at me?’ he asked.
‘Not at all. But it’s supposed to be me having the vapours.’
Just for a second, words failed him. ‘I am not having the vapours.’
‘Are you sure? Aunt Almeria has them sometimes and it looks just the same.’
Sebastian stood up and loomed over her.
‘One more word, you atrocious girl – and I swear I’ll shake you.’
Cassie smiled up at him. ‘Now who’s laughing?’
He stretched out his fingers and traced the line of her cheek. Her face was incandescent with joy and love … an expression so bright it nearly blinded him. He said stupidly, ‘You look so happy.’
‘I am happy.’ She captured his hand and held it. ‘I love you. And in a month, we’ll be married.’
A month. It was nothing, really. He could wait one month. Hell, he’d wait for twelve or even longer if he had to. The trouble was that he’d been given something that meant he didn’t have to.
His brain was at war with itself.
Tell her.
Don’t tell her.
Tell her and let her choose.
Don’t. She might make a decision she’ll regret.
Trust her – or start your marriage with a secret.
It was the last thought that did it. Sighing, he sat down beside her, pulled the licence from his pocket and handed it to her.
‘My father gave me that. In many ways, I wish he hadn’t … and I’d half decided not to tell you about it. But I won’t begin our life together by keeping things from you.’
Cassie unfolded the paper and read enough of what was written on it to understand what it was. Looking up into Sebastian’s eyes, she said, ‘A special marriage licence? Why?’
‘When he applied for it, he wouldn’t have known I’m already dragging you to the altar with indecent haste. And --’
‘You are doing no such thing.’
‘And he’s got some notion about Audley men falling ‘hard and fast’, as he puts it – as if the ridiculous red hair wasn’t enough of a curse. Anyway --’
‘Your hair isn’t ridiculous. It’s beautiful. It’s like --’
‘Stop. If you love me, please stop. I’ve heard more adjectives applied to it than any self-respecting man should ever have to bear.’ He took the paper back and replaced it in his pocket. ‘At any rate, Father seems to have got the idea that we might not want to wait. But we can ignore it. In fact, I think we should. He won’t mind. And I only told you because it didn’t seem right not to.’
Cassie was silent for a very long time. Finally she said, ‘Don’t you want to even think about it?’
‘Do you? And even if we both did – your parents would have a fit at the very idea.’
‘Not necessarily,’ she said slowly.
And for the second time in the last ten minutes, she deprived him of breath by making an utterly astonishing suggestion.
~ * * ~ * * ~
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
After another lightning tour of the house which this time included the servants’ quarters and kitchens, they walked back to Conduit Street, discussing Cassie’s idea as they went. At least, it began as a discussion; but very soon Sebastian was marshalling every counter-argument he could think of in order to find out, beyond any shadow of a doubt, whether this was what she wanted. Unaware of his motives, Cassie eventually began to lose patience. And finally, when he made the same point for the third time – albeit in different terms – she came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the pavement, causing other pedestrians to swerve around them.
‘If you don’t like the idea … if the truth is that you really don’t want to even consider it, let alone do it … for heaven’s sake just say so.’
‘I thought we were considering it.’
‘No. We’re not. You are arguing. And it – it’s boring.’
Sebastian folded his arms. He wondered how it was possible to fall more deeply in love with each day that passed.
‘I,’ he said flatly, ‘am not boring. In fact, I am probably the least boring man in London.’
‘You were. Right now, you sound like my Great-Aunt Maude with all this talk of What People Will Think and things that are Just Not Done.’
How Sebastian kept his face straight, he didn’t know. But somehow he managed a mournful sigh and shook his head. ‘Your father said this would happen.’
‘He said what would happen?’
‘That I’d end up henpecked and wholly downtrodden.’
‘He did not!’ gasped Cassie, outraged. ‘He’d never say such a thing.’
‘Not in those exact words perhaps … but it’s what he meant.’
Something must have given him away because her eyes suddenly narrowed and she said, ‘You – you’re being deliberately provoking.’
‘And enjoying it immensely,’ he agreed. Then, seeing that he’d finally rendered her speechless, he set her hand on his arm, held it firmly in place and led her onwards. ‘Now, sweetheart … think very carefully. If this is truly what you want, we’ll lay the idea before your parents. If is isn’t, we forget it right now – the same being true if, as I believe they will, your parents won’t hear of it. And that, my love, is quite final.’
Cassie walked beside him in silence for a moment.
‘You haven’t said whether or not it’s what you want,’ she remarked.
‘No. I didn’t think I needed to.’ Looking down at her he gave a sudden choke of laughter. ‘Great-Aunt Maude, indeed!’
She smiled back. ‘Should I apologise?’
‘By no means. If you want to put a fellow on his backside, likening him to somebody’s great-aunt will do it every time.’
* * *
They arrived in Conduit Street to find Lord Wingham taking tea with Charles, Serena and Olivia. Forgetting to curtsy or even take off her hat, Cassie sank down on a footstool beside the viscount’s chair and said, ‘Bruton Place, if you please
, sir. We love it.’
‘Not Mount Street?’
‘Definitely not Mount Street,’ pronounced Sebastian. ‘Cassandra felt she’d stepped into Gothic horror story and I expected to find a corpse.’
Olivia giggled. ‘How marvellous. Can I go and see it?’
‘No. But you can come to Bruton Place with Mama and me tomorrow,’ said Cassie. ‘And I hope, my lord, that you will accompany us as well. You can’t possibly give Sebastian and me such a generous wedding gift without seeing it!’
Lord Wingham shook his head at her and flicked her cheek with one finger.
‘Well, puss … if it would make you happy --’
‘It would make me very happy, sir. Thank you.’
‘I notice,’ remarked Sir Charles, with a hint of amusement, ‘that I am not invited.’
‘Nor I, it would appear,’ said Sebastian.
‘Gentlemen are of little use in such matters,’ remarked Serena, rising to pour tea for the late-comers. ‘And the two of you have more mundane things to settle. You may do so tomorrow morning whilst the rest of us enjoy ourselves.’
Sebastian strolled over to draw Cassie first to her feet and then into the curve of his arm. He said, ‘Cassandra and I have a suggestion we would like you to consider. A betrothal ball in four days’ time and a wedding three weeks later is a lot to ask. So we wondered if the betrothal ball might not be transformed into a … wedding party.’
There were perhaps three seconds of stunned silence before Olivia clapped her hands and said, ‘Oh – yes. That’s famous!’
‘What?’ gasped Serena. ‘No. What on earth can you be thinking? It’s quite impossible.’
‘Technically, it isn’t,’ said Charles slowly. ‘It merely requires a special licence.’
Sebastian withdrew the document from his pocket. Holding it up, his expression rueful, he said, ‘Time for you to take the blame, Father.’
‘You got them a special licence?’ demanded Serena. ‘What on earth for?’
