‘Have you?’
He nodded. ‘I wanted to come before, but, knowing how much you needed to rest after all you had been through, I thought you might prefer it if I didn’t.’
‘And here was I in Chelsea thinking you might have given up on me. You have been very patient—and I am grateful—but I wish you had come to visit me sooner.’ When she saw pleasure and relief light his eyes she ventured a little smile. ‘What brings you here now?’
‘Tomorrow I leave for Charnwood and I would like you to come with me. It is your home now—and it is only right that our child should be born there.’
His words caught all Cassandra’s attention. She stared at him, experiencing a flicker of alarm, unable to credit what he was saying, unsure whether or not she could cope with another upheaval in her life quite so soon. ‘Charnwood? Forgive me, Stuart—but I—I thought—’
Anger flared inside Stuart when he fully comprehended what it was she did think, and that it might go a long way to answering why there was this change of attitude towards him, and why she regarded him so reservedly. His jaw tightened and his eyes became as hard as stones, a dangerous light flickering in their depths, as he glared at her.
‘Just what did you think, Cassandra?’ he said fiercely, reaching out and grasping her arms with a grip so powerful that she felt the pain of it. He forced her to look at him as she tried to avert her eyes, becoming increasingly annoyed by her coolness.
‘Did you honestly think I would desert you now?’ he said with angry frustration, wanting to shake her out of her lethargy. ‘I admit there have been times when I have been driven to the limits as I have struggled to come to terms with who you are—but my loyalty towards the child has never been in question. Even if I wished to do so, I would not reject it now—and I assure you it will not be made to suffer because of its ancestry.’
‘And how can I be sure of that?’ Cassandra cried earnestly, fired by the anger in his eyes, having lived with the fear of his possible rejection of both herself and the child for so long that it was difficult for her to grasp what he was saying—and yet wanting so very much to believe him. ‘How can I be sure that you have swallowed your pride and misgivings and will allow yourself to raise a child of Nathaniel Wylde’s blood?’
‘Because I have said so, and because you must.’
‘Why must I? Cast your mind back to the time when we first met, and how firmly you decided against me when you discovered who I am. Because of that I have every reason to doubt what you say. How can I be certain your acknowledgement of the child is one of willingness rather than duty? Forgive me, Stuart, but I have to know.’
Stuart’s complexion became pale with anger and his black brows snapped together. He listened with an air that was void of any remorse when she so cruelly chose to remind him of his treatment of her when he had become fully aware of her parentage. ‘Why? What difference will it make?’
‘A great deal of difference to me. I may be your wife, but no chain binds me to you.’
Drawing himself up to his full height, Stuart’s eyes blazed down into hers. He drew a long, harsh breath and said curtly, ‘What are you saying?’
‘That I am a woman with an independent will, which, although it would pain me greatly to do, I can exert and live apart from you if you feel that you cannot accept our child out of love.’
Stuart let his hands drop to his sides and he took a step away from her, looking at her incredulously. ‘I would not keep you against your will, but I expressly forbid you to even consider such a notion—and certainly not whilst you are carrying my child. I can understand why you must feel that way, but I did not believe you would doubt my sincerity.
‘I have many faults—which I readily admit to—and the feelings aroused by the discovery of your parentage and your deceit in keeping it from me were natural at the time. You could hardly expect me to rejoice in such a connection. But do you think that because of this I have no heart or soul—that I would reject my own child because it will bear the stain of your father? What a poor, despicable creature I must appear in your eyes.’
He spoke with deep contempt, the delivery of his words cold and lethal, which caused Cassandra to feel somewhat ashamed for having doubted him. In no mood for further argument Stuart sighed deeply, fully understanding the reason behind her fears. Cassandra’s eyes were downcast, the thick lashes making half-moons on her cheeks. A faint breeze blew some strands of hair across her face to create a fine web, and gently his fingers drew them back, causing her to raise her eyes and look at him openly and with love, aware as she did so of scalding tears burning the backs of her eyes.
‘Having had time for contemplation,’ he went on, his tone less cutting, ‘I now realise that anger and hatred seem futile—and to continue nurturing such emotions can only lead to a lifetime of bitterness. Your father was justly executed for his wrongdoings and it is time to lay his ghost to rest.
‘For the sake of our child we cannot allow this to stand between us forever. It is over—in the past. It’s the future that matters. Despite everything, I believe we can have a life together—you, me and our child. We must build our own happiness—at Charnwood. Do you still doubt me, Cassandra? Have you no faith in me?’
He fell silent, watching her soft profile intently, his gaze long and searching as he waited for her to reply.
For Cassandra the moment was unforgettable, his words unexpected and more than she had dared to hope for, but she had doubted for so long that they could have a future together that all the obstacles to their love and life together were not easy to overthrow. Thoughtfully she began to walk on slowly, the light that had come into her eyes on seeing him becoming brighter.
Falling into step beside her, Stuart drew his dark brows together when she did not reply immediately and made a gesture of impatience. ‘It is what you want, is it not,’ he demanded harshly, ‘unless you thought to remain here at Chelsea?’
‘Of—of course it is what I want,’ she murmured hesitantly. ‘Forgive me—only—well, it is all so unexpected. I confess that I had thought of staying here with Meredith and John—at least until the child is born.’
‘There is no question of that,’ Stuart said firmly. ‘It is my wish that our child will be born at Charnwood, where he or she will be raised in love, honour and decency.’
‘But—have you thought seriously about what it will mean?’
Sensing her compliance, Stuart began to relax and smiled down into her eyes upturned to his. ‘I have thought of little else.’
‘When your aristocratic friends and neighbours discover who I am you will be ostracised.’
Stuart paused beneath some trees and looked down at her, his face grave and calm. Taking her hands, he drew her towards him. ‘Do you believe that would matter to me, Cassandra? You are already my wife—and besides,’ he murmured, treating her to one of his old wicked smiles which she had always loved, ‘with my mother behind us no one will dare to slight us.’
‘Your mother approves?’
‘Yes. None of this has been easy for her, but she does understand. She is wiser and fairer than either of us give her credit for. She may not be able to bring herself to visit us at Charnwood for quite some time—which is only natural considering the past, but she will come, in her own good time. You have no objections to this, I take it?’
‘No. I am not asking you to forgive me for all you have suffered on my account, but if I come with you I must be your wife wholly and completely. However,’ she said, averting her eyes, a soft flush mounting her cheeks as she continued, ‘you must not expect too much of me straight away. We must take things slowly—one day at a time. Do—do you understand what I am trying to say?’
Stuart’s eyes were dark and compelling when he looked at her, fully comprehending her meaning, and Cassandra was overwhelmed to see a passionate desire leap in their depths. She found him scrutinising her with a thoroughness that made her feel undressed. His gaze moved unashamedly over her high, full breasts, then meandered leisurely ov
er the length of her before returning to capture her gaze.
Unable to prevent himself, or to resist the soft light glowing in her eyes and the magnetism of her softly parted lips, placing his hands lightly about her waist, Stuart bent his head and brushed her lips ever so lightly with his own, which caused Cassandra’s pulses to soar. ‘I understand perfectly,’ he murmured, his lips hovering just above her own, his warm breath caressing her mouth, ‘but you cannot blame me for having erotic thoughts and wanting to pull you down into the grass here and now and make love to you.’
Filled with a tremulous joy and yet pretending to be shocked, Cassandra gasped and allowed her lovely mouth to curve in a soft, haunting, sweet smile, unable to stem her delight as the atmosphere between them became light-hearted. ‘Stuart Marston! You are incorrigible!’ she exclaimed, placing her hands on her swollen abdomen. ‘And here was I, thinking my size would put you off.’
Stuart kissed the warm hollow of her throat where a pulse throbbed rapidly, his lips like soft velvet. ‘On the contrary. You have blossomed way beyond my expectations. You, my darling, beautiful, pregnant wife, are adorable, and I am considering the frenzy you will create when I present you as my wife to my friends and neighbours at Charnwood.’
Cassandra leaned back in his arms, a mischievous light dancing in her eyes. ‘Because I am a stranger to them?’ she queried. ‘Or because I am the daughter of a notorious pirate?’
Stuart’s chuckle was low and gently chiding, his warm gaze caressing her face. ‘Both. Do you know just how beautiful you are?’
Cassandra was taken aback by his enquiry. ‘Beautiful—as big as I am?’
‘Aye, Cassandra, and still virginal for all that.’
A hot flush of colour burned her cheeks. ‘You of all people should know better, and the proof of it is for all the world to see.’ When she felt his arms tighten around her she laughed softly and pushed him playfully away, all the while thinking that perhaps they wouldn’t have to wait too long to experience such pleasurable delights of the flesh after all. ‘You must behave yourself. Someone might see.’
‘And what is wrong with that, pray? What is wrong with a man wanting to kiss his wife?’ He smiled seductively and, with a sigh of regret, reluctantly let her go. ‘Oh—very well. But do not make it too difficult for us. Do not take too long. Patience never was one of my virtues.’
Observing the softness of her face, something inside Stuart began to melt, his anger of a moment before having vanished under the tender assault she had on his senses and his impulse to protect. The barrier he had sensed earlier had crumbled with his kiss and suddenly Cassandra looked so young, so innocent. They stood and gazed deeply into each other’s eyes and each knew what the other was thinking. Something passed between them, something they both fully understood, and, no matter how much hatred and bitterness lay between them, there was a physical bond holding them together which neither of them could deny.
When Cassandra saw the change in Stuart and the softening in his eyes, a solitary tear ran slowly down her cheek, which he wiped away gently with his finger.
‘You are right,’ he said softly. ‘Perhaps when you have settled down at Charnwood—when the child is born and we have introduced some gaiety and laughter into our marriage—there will be better understanding between us. Until then everything in its own time. I promise you that I will be the soul of courtesy. You must not be afraid of anything—especially not of me. I know how hurt you have been—and I would have you know that I would not hurt you intentionally. There was a time when I never thought we would be together—I couldn’t see how we could be, but now we are I shall make damned sure I don’t lose you. I love you, Cassandra—so very deeply. I cannot live without you.’
Cassandra trembled slightly beneath the intense, glowing look that had entered his dark eyes and averted her gaze. Stuart reached out and touched the hair tumbling about her shoulders, then very gently he drew his finger down the soft curve of her flushed cheek and placed it beneath her chin, tilting it up so she had to look into his eyes.
‘And I love you, Stuart,’ she whispered. ‘I love you so very much.’
He contemplated her for several moments, his dark, brooding eyes riveted on her face.
‘Just don’t keep me away for too long. That’s all I ask,’ he said, with unconcealed passion, drawn by the tenderness in the depths of her eyes and her moist, slightly parted lips. His voice was as rich and thick as honey, which made Cassandra think of the last time he had made love to her, of his body and the way it had attuned itself perfectly to her own.
‘What the future holds we have no way of knowing,’ she whispered. ‘The past is gone and whatever regrets either of us have, we have the consolation of knowing it will never come again.’
Reaching inside his tunic, he brought out a small box, opening it to reveal the ring Cassandra had given back to him when she had gone with Drum O’Leary following the raid on the Sea Hawk, the beautiful sapphire and diamond ring that had been a token of his love on their wedding day—the ring she had despaired of ever seeing again.
‘This, I think, belongs to you,’ he said softly, taking her hand and slipping it easily on to her finger, kissing the precious gems lightly with his lips.
The token made Cassandra gasp with delight. Looking down at her hand, she saw how brightly the diamonds shimmered and how the sapphire flashed in the sun’s rays. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘I do believe it looks more beautiful than it did on our wedding day.’
Stuart smiled, pleased with her reaction. Cassandra raised her eyes to his and, placing her hands on his shoulders, reached up and brushed his lips with her own. With a teasing scowl he stepped back, taking her hand and tucking it into the crook of his arm.
‘I think we’d best be getting back to the house. I am reluctant to start something we cannot finish.’ Cassandra laughed with a tantalising seductiveness that delighted him, for it was reminiscent of the Cassandra he had met in Barbados.
‘Oh, I don’t know. The meadow grass smells so sweet—and I am sure it is as soft as a feather bed—that I might just take you up on your offer after all.’
Any anxieties Cassandra might have harboured about going to Charnwood soon vanished when she saw the house. Nothing could have prepared her for the beauty of it. It was a large, Tudor manor house near Tonbridge, close to the banks of the River Medway. It was built of local stone—a rich golden yellow streaked with reddish brown and rising in stately splendour over a large lake. The surrounding landscape was gentle and peaceful, with large, undulating stretches of parkland.
Because none of the family had been in residence for some considerable time, the house retained a skeleton staff and the estate had been left in the capable hands of a bailiff. During the early days Stuart had little choice but to leave Cassandra very much to herself while he familiarised himself with estate affairs. He was kept so busy that he had little time to think about or miss his life at sea but, even if he did have any regrets, they were of little consequence now he had Cassandra by his side.
Cassandra found herself drawn more and more to the stables, which Stuart was slowly beginning to replenish with fine bloodstock, and he would laugh when he saw the yearning look in her eyes, knowing how eager she was to climb up into the saddle and ride hell for leather through the park.
‘Will this child of ours never be born?’ she once complained with severe frustration after one of her visits to the stables when he was walking her back to the house. ‘You have no idea how I so long to ride again.’
Stuart looked down at her, a smile curling his lips, his lids drooping seductively over his smouldering black eyes. ‘I think I have. But I would not dream of letting you climb into a saddle so near your time. I want you strong and healthy, my love, for later. We have a lot of catching up to do after your confinement.’
Fully comprehending his meaning she flushed prettily. ‘Then for the time being I will have to content myself with the carriage,’ she quipped light-heartedly, ‘bu
t it’s not nearly as much fun.’
‘I once remember you telling me that you rode like a gypsy—and I can well imagine you with your hair flying out behind you like the pennant attached to the mast on the Sea Hawk, and the wind on your face, dropping your cares like fancies along the wayside as you ride by. There will be time enough for me to show you the parts of the estate the carriage cannot reach after the child is born.’
If Cassandra had thought her marriage to Stuart would ostracise him from friends and neighbours, she was wrong—in fact, it had quite the opposite effect and caused intense excitement. Everyone was intrigued by their strange marriage and more than a little curious to see if Nathaniel Wylde’s daughter was as beautiful, and as wild, as rumour had it.
Those who saw her riding by in the carriage were not disappointed. With wry humour, Stuart pointed out on more than one occasion, which brought a smile of amusement to Cassandra’s lips, that most of their bewigged and dandified neighbours, who considered themselves to be a cut above the rest, had more than one skeleton propped up in their ever-so-expensive cupboards.
Their son slipped into the world with relative ease, a big lusty boy with a cap of black hair and, as he suckled greedily at his mother’s breast, he was blissfully unaware of all the pain and sadness that had almost driven his parents apart.
The moment Stuart picked him up and held him close in the curve of his arm, the infant entered his heart, holding it so tightly that he knew he would never let go. He was a beautiful child, as dark as a gypsy, with hair the same colour as his own. Briefly the image of Nathaniel Wylde entered his mind and he was thankful his son bore him no resemblance.
Cassandra’s eyes were soft with love as they dwelt on father and son and tears of unbelievable happiness shone in her eyes, for it was a sight she had once, not so very long ago, despaired of seeing.
‘He’s a fine boy, don’t you agree, Stuart?’
‘Yes, a fine, beautiful boy, indeed.’
‘And—and you will not blame him…’ The question she had been about to ask trailed away when Stuart cast her a fierce glance, drawn towards where she lay by the dazzling brilliance in her eyes.
The Pirate's Daughter Page 27
