The Duke's Dilemma (The Wolf Deceivers Series Book 2)

by Elaine Manders

  Her hand shook and the punch spilled, leaving a stain of red on her gown. He put his hand under hers and held it to steady the cup as she drank. She lifted her head and he took the cup.

  Strained laughter bubbled from her lovely lips. “You must think me the clumsiest chit. This makes the second time I’ve spilled a drink and ruined my gown in your presence.”

  “What frightened you this time?” He saw no reason to dance around the issue.

  “I was only woolgathering about unpleasant things, a very foolish thing to do, it would seem.” She smiled, and he noted the color had returned to her cheeks. But she lied, and he intended to find out why.

  Now wasn’t the time, however. He reached around her to put the cup on the window sill. “Come, there’s someone I want you to see. A friend.”

  A worry line creased her forehead. “I have no friends, save you and Sarah.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” He pressed his hand onto the small of her back to urge her forward.

  A smiling woman with curly, black hair stood before them, her arms open wide. “Cassandra.”

  Cassandra threw Edward a shocked glance that turned to joy as she rushed into the woman’s arms. “Margaret, I can hardly believe you’re here.”

  The two women embraced and kissed. Lord Avery stood in back of his wife, beaming. Edward had known William Avery since childhood. The Avery estate marched along the north boundary of Langsdale.

  “Margaret, I’m so sorry I didn’t attend your wedding.” Cassandra held onto Margaret’s hand.

  “I quite understand. You were in mourning and that...well all those nasty accusations hurled at you. I regret I didn’t come to your aid.”

  “How could you? You had to go on your wedding trip, you ninny. I would have gone to the nuptials, but Millicent assured me I would cause a scene.”

  “You should know better than to believe anything Millicent says.” Margaret glanced to Edward. “Your grace, are you going to tell her what we have planned?”

  “William and I are planning some horse racing, and—”

  Margaret interrupted. “And they’re going to hold a race for the ladies. I told them you and I should go at it one on one. Remember how we used to race, Cassandra?” Margaret swept an impish glance to each of them. “Cassandra always won with that huge white mare. I always thought Lipizzaners were show horses, not racers, but that one flew like the wind.”

  Like clouds covering the sun, Cassandra’s countenance fell. "I no longer have Snowfire, Margaret.”

  Edward watched the sad droop of Cassandra’s lips. He wished he could tell her he already had plans for getting the horse back, but there was the outside chance those plans wouldn’t materialize, and he didn’t want to disappoint her.

  “It matters not, Lady Wayte,” William said. “Edward and I will select the mounts for the race to make certain you’re evenly matched.”

  Margaret took her husband’s arm. “My dearest husband always looks out for me.”

  “My purpose in life is to make you happy, my dear.”

  The look of adoration shared by husband and wife shot a dart of envy through Edward. He wanted that for his marriage. If only he could get Cassandra to cooperate. If only she cared.

  Cassandra peeped at him from under her lashes, doubt clouding her face. “I would enjoy racing with you, Margaret, and Edward has graciously invited me to Langsdale, but the time isn’t convenient.”

  Margaret released her husband and clasped Cassandra’s hand with both her own. “But you must make time. Do, I beg of you. William is away much of the day, and I am dying for want of some amusement.”

  Edward held his breath as Cassandra squirmed. “I shall give it serious consideration, though I can’t promise,” she said.

  He had a week to break through her objections and get her to join them at the country estate, and he resolved to do so.

  The aisle had cleared and their intermission had ended. Edward raised a hand. “We’d best return to our boxes or risk missing the next performance.” The orchestra’s strains already filled the air.

  He and Cassandra parted company with the Averys, and as they rounded a corner, a woman with hair tinted an unnatural shade of red came toward them.

  “Jane, are you performing?” Cassandra stopped, forcing him to do likewise. Why would Cassandra acknowledge this actress in public?

  Jane darted a sharp glance his way and laughed. “No, I only came to please Lord Howley. I’m not high enough in the instep to perform with the opera.”

  Such was an understatement. Jane’s appearance confirmed she didn’t belong here. Her gown was cut so low, the fabric strained at her ample bosom. That in itself wasn’t unusual for female performers, but her tinted hair and course makeup proclaimed her to be what she was—a woman of loose morals.

  Edward slipped his hand through the crook in Cassandra’s elbow and tugged her along. She twisted her head for a backward glance. “I’ll see you later in the week.”

  “I’ll call on you, make sure,” Jane replied.

  The whole interchange set Edward to simmering. Disappointment and anger warred within him. Until now, he’d given Cassandra the benefit of the doubt and refused to believe Aunt Chloe and the gossips who said Cassandra associated with actresses, but how could he refute his own eyes and ears.

  After a few steps, he couldn’t hold his displeasure back. “Why do you acknowledge a woman like that?”

  Cassandra seemed taken aback. “Jane is one of my oldest friends.”

  “I thought you had no friends.”

  “I misspoke.”

  “Are you so desperate for friendship you’d stoop that low? The woman used to operate a flash house and is now Lord Howley’s mistress.”

  She faced him, fire flashing in her sultry blue eyes. “I’m aware of that, your grace, but even Christ associated with prostitutes.”

  He bit back a retort, finding himself unable to argue the point. Forcing a smile, he withdrew his hold on her arm. “You have respectable friends, Cassandra. Lady Avery for one.”

  “But Margaret doesn’t live here.”

  “You have the opportunity to visit with her.” He’d prod her to leave town with every chance he got.

  She huffed a breath that ruffled the blonde curls on her forehead in a charming way. “I promised Margaret I’d consider a visit. Let’s be seated before we miss Marcelli’s next number.”

  They entered the box, making further talk impossible. Edward settled in his chair and took up his opera glass, but instead of looking at the singer, he cast a sidelong gaze to stare at Cassandra’s profile, the tilt of her chin, the slope of her neck.

  He had to accept that the gossips might be right about her. Charles’ investigation might reveal that Cassandra lacked the character to become the duchess of Langsdale. Edward couldn’t let his infatuation overrule his responsibility. He had Sarah’s welfare and the whole family to consider.

  Perhaps he should renew his association with Daphne. Her credentials were impeccable, though the very thought left him cold. This called for much prayer, and he had to concede the answer to that prayer might not be to his liking.

  Chapter 11

  When Cassandra awoke the next morning, sunlight spilled through the slits between the curtains of her bedroom windows. Had she overslept? Harcrumb’s threats should have kept her up all night, tossing and turning. Yet she felt more rested and clear-headed than she could remember.

  He’d succeeded in cementing her resolve. The world would be a better place without him.

  In bare feet she patted across the floor and parted the damask panels. No, she’d not overslept. This was one of those rare days when fog hadn’t blanketed the city.

  She rang the bell for her maid to bring breakfast and hastened to get ready for the day.

  After a hardier breakfast than usual, she prepared for her morning constitutional, a habit she’d not broken since coming to London. She traced her steps, with every movement and every detail coming aut
omatically. Except one.

  She halted at the commode that graced the foyer. Opening the top drawer, she retrieved a metal case and pressed the spring lid. Lord Wayte’s dueling pistols rested on the velvet lining. She dropped one of the pistols into her reticule and swung the bag on her arm.

  Sir Harcrumb might accost her at any time. She wasn’t certain what game he played, but she had to be prepared. Hilda Garth’s warning sprang to mind. Harcrumb hadn’t forgotten his promise for revenge, nor his desire to possess Cassandra. The evil glint in his steely eyes assured her of that.

  Lord Wayte had taught her how to use the pistol before they’d married—a skill giving her comfort now, not that she thought Harcrumb would be so bold as to confront her on the streets.

  She hoped he would. If she could shoot him to protect herself in view of witnesses, she could save herself and Hilda a great deal of trouble.

  The bag hung heavily on her arm as she strode along the walk.

  “Come ride with us, Lady Wayte.” Sarah’s high pitched voice stopped Cassandra in midstride. Dressed in a maroon riding habit, Sarah rode a cream pony toward her, Edward following behind on his black stallion. He held the reins of a beautiful roan mare trotting beside.

  “I had tea with Aunt Chloe and Lady Hayes yesterday. Lady Hayes told us you were a magnificent horsewoman.” Sarah stopped the pony in front of Cassandra. “I knew you’d like to ride, so I persuaded Edward to bring you a mount.”

  Edward laughed. “I told Sarah she was being presumptuous, but you know Sarah.”

  Cassandra let her gaze linger on him, and her foolish heart sped up. How handsome he was today in his riding clothes, tight fitting chamois breeches, black waist coat, beaver tilted at a rakish angle.

  She finally found her voice. “A ride would be lovely, but I’m not dressed for it.”

  “We’re only going so far as the little park. You must go.” Sarah pouted. “I brought my canvas and paints.” She patted the bag hooked to her saddle. An easel frame hung from the other side. “I wanted to work on Edward’s portrait in the daylight. You said yourself daylight is best.”

  “We’ll wait for you.” Edward leaned forward in the saddle and smiled an invitation that would have melted any woman’s good sense. How could she deny him anything?

  Truth to tell, she missed riding. While living at Waytefield, she’d ridden everyday on the beautiful white mare Lord Wayte gave her. “It shouldn’t take me above a quarter of the hour.” With a whirl of skirts, she sped to the house.

  In less than ten minutes, she returned dressed in a royal blue riding habit. Edward had dismounted and stood beside her horse. “Allow me to assist you.” Her cheeks warmed as he lifted her onto the saddle, the pressure of his touch remaining long after he removed his hands.

  They clip-clopped along the near empty street, three abreast, with Cassandra in the middle. “This is a beautiful horse.” She patted the roan’s neck. “I can’t believe how good it feels just to sit a horse again.”

  “Edward’s going to purchase a bigger, more spirited beast for me.” Sarah sat as tall in the saddle as her frame would permit. “Lady Hayes said you had a horse in the country.”

  Cassandra’s mind skidded back to those carefree days of riding across the meadows before Lord Wayte’s stroke. “Yes, a Lipizzaner mare straight from Vienna. I named her Snowfire…snow for her color, fire for her spirit.”

  Sarah sucked in her breath. “Oh, she sounds beautiful. Why didn’t you bring her with you?”

  Cassandra turned from Sarah and found Edward staring at her. How could she explain? Leaving Snowfire was one of the two great mistakes of her life. Trusting Sir Harcrumb to give her respectable employment was the other.

  “Lord Wayte’s son, George, insisted that all the livestock was attached to the estate which he inherited upon his father’s death. I argued that Snowfire was a personal gift to me, but he was adamant, and—” She dropped her gaze to the saddle’s pommel. “I was so anxious to get away from Waytefield that I—” Tears burned behind her eyes, and she let the words die in her throat.

  “You need to ride more often. Rosy is at your disposal anytime you wish.” The duke’s timbre was kind, making her want to weep even more. All the acrimony in his tone of last night when she’d spoken to Jane Vernon was gone.

  With some effort, she smiled. “Rosy’s a wonderful horse, and I’m tempted to take your kind offer.” Forcing her attention away from his handsome face, she glanced to Sarah. “What’s your pony’s name?”

  “Lilly. I’ve had her since I was four years old. Edward’s going to get me a black named Ebony.”

  Edward laughed. “We’re not as imaginative with names as you are.”

  They arrived at the park. Until now, Cassandra hadn’t known of its existence. Not as grand as the great parks, but well maintained. Little flower plots dotted the area, though most of the blooms had gone with late summer. Ancient elms shaded the benches set off from the meandering cobbled path. A sizeable lake anchored one side, and placid swans skidded over the surface. Her fingers itched to begin a painting of her own. How lovely the lake scene would be.

  But she was here to help Sarah.

  Without waiting for assistance, Cassandra dismounted and gave the reins over to Edward. She stepped over the spongy grass and found a place for Sarah to set the easel.

  Cassandra discarded the protective covering of the canvas and studied the sketch, the faint strokes showing plainly in the daylight. Rarely was she satisfied with her first efforts, but this was the exception. She’d executed most of the sketch without Edward posing.

  He didn’t have to. The finest details of his handsome features were etched into her mind. She’d always possessed the talent to commit a picture to memory, but never this quickly.

  “Where do you wish me to pose?” Edward’s question made her jump. She’d not heard him coming from behind.

  “Over there on that little bench should do nicely.” She gestured in that direction. “Sarah learns so fast, she should finish within a week.” She laughed, laying her hand on his arm folded across his chest. “Oh, you don’t have to pose all that long. We’ll finish all the details in a short while. All the more tedious work won’t require you to pose. As it happens, I have every facet of your face committed to memory.”

  She blushed at having revealed her heart.

  He grinned. “Is that your artist’s eye, Cassandra, or is it only me you’ve committed to memory?”

  His light flirting made her laugh again. “It’s easy for me to commit every subject to memory, your grace...I mean Edward.”

  He lingered at her side while Sarah remained crouched on the grass, preparing her paints. “After I’ve posed long enough, would it be agreeable if I left you and Sarah while I keep an appointment with a gentleman? I shouldn’t be gone over an hour.”

  It wasn’t agreeable, but she couldn’t think of a reasonable objection. “Of course, we’ll continue to work on the portrait while you’re gone. It’s pleasant and peaceful here.”

  He directed his gaze across the lake. “Since you like riding so much, I must remind you that you’d have a chance to ride at your leisure in the country. Might I persuade you to reconsider our invitation to accompany us to Langsdale?”

  Her smile drew into a frown. Did he have to remind her of that glorious opportunity she couldn’t even consider? “I fear I cannot accept your kind invitation.”

  His scowl forced her to add, “Another time, perhaps.”

  She heard his deep sigh, but Sarah called her, rescuing her from the uncomfortable discussion.

  They took their positions, and she and Sarah fell to work. Cassandra found herself glancing up more often than necessary to stare into his eyes.

  She’d hurt him with her refusal, though he tried to hide it. What could she expect? She’d welcomed his attention to take him from Lady Ashford. He must wonder at her reluctance to accept an invitation any unattached lady would deem preferable to meeting the Prince.

 
His forest green eyes had darkened, giving him a somber, brooding look. Tonight she’d begin her own portrait of him as he’d been before she’d crushed his ardor. Something she’d keep to remind her of what might have been.

  ***

  Edward had sat for portraits several times before, and even now, being able to feast on the loveliness of Lady Wayte, it was a tedious job. He attempted small talk, but the frown on Cassandra’s face told him she didn’t want him interrupting Sarah’s concentration.

  “Now I’ve made a horrid mistake.” Sarah’s wail threatened a burst of tears.

  “It’s quite all right, dear.” Cassandra took the brush and bent over the canvas. “There are no mistakes that can’t be covered.”

  Those words and the sight of her comforting Sarah took him back to his childhood. He’d come to his mother to confess some transgression. He wouldn’t recall what he’d done, but the memory of his guilt lingered.

  “There’s nothing I can do now.” He’d wept on Mother’s shoulder.

  She’d given him that gentle, loving smile. “There is something you can do, dearest Edward. Seek God’s forgiveness. There are no mistakes the blood of Christ can’t cover.”

  Over the years, he’d forgotten his mother’s teachings and made many mistakes—mistakes that would have shamed his parents, had they known.

  It took war to open his eyes. Cornered by the French in enemy territory, his regiment faced annihilation. Even after hours of discussing strategy with his officers, he saw no way out. With no time for soul searching, he’d fallen to his knees and pleaded with God to save his men. Then remembering his mother’s words, he’d prayed for forgiveness. The next morning, a fog had rolled in, disorienting the French.

  Edward’s regiment won the battle without losing a single man. From that moment on, he’d put his faith in God. That faith was tested again within the month when he got word of the tragedy that took his parents.

  Without a doubt, if it was God’s will that Cassandra be his wife, God would show him a way to make it so.

  He noticed Sarah nodding vigorously, and Cassandra glanced his way. “I believe we can finish without you if you wish to keep your appointment now.”