‘Never. He is our son, Cassandra—yours and mine—no one else’s.’
Cassandra cherished those early days after their son was born—basking in the closeness and intimacy and the long silent looks from Stuart as he went about his work. They spoke little, having no need for words with this new understanding between them, and their son drawing them closer with each new day. But when they were alone, Stuart made no attempt to touch her or draw her into his arms, for this new relationship, without shyness or restraint, was so wonderful that neither wanted to shatter it. They wanted it to go on and on, the days belonging only to them, where nothing else mattered but each other.
But it was the nights that were a problem, when each would go to their separate beds. It was a state of affairs that could not continue.
When their son was two months old, Cassandra decided it was time to take the initiative.
At Christmas they were to give a ball, the first major event at Charnwood since Stephen had died. Invitations were sent out to the local gentry and affluent guests invited from London. Even though the roads would be virtually impassable in parts owing to the dismal winter weather, few declined the invitation. Curiosity to see the couple who had married in adversity was too great to resist.
Stuart’s mother had arrived at Charnwood after the birth of the child, determined to take a leaf out of her son’s book and make the best of the situation. She had the wisdom and good sense to see that Cassandra would make him a loving and caring wife. Stuart was extremely fortunate. Despite the identity of the child’s maternal grandfather, the Dowager Lady Marston adored her grandson to distraction.
When trunks were delivered to Charnwood—Stuart’s property and Cassandra’s own from the Sea Hawk, she had no difficulty in deciding what she would wear for the ball, insisting on keeping her dress a secret, no matter how hard Stuart tried teasing it out of her.
The evening promised to be a splendid affair. The house was filled with the sound of music and exotic flowers were sent down from London, with only the finest food and wines for the guests. As Cassandra dressed for the occasion she was nervous and oddly excited. Many of the people due to arrive had never seen her, and she knew they were in for a surprise—as was her husband.
Assisted by her maid, it was for Stuart that she bathed and anointed her body with lightly scented jasmine, before dressing in the shimmering gown of creamy white silk gauze embroidered all over with tiny pearls—the gown she had worn as a bride on her wedding day. She luxuriated in the delicious feel of it as it caressed her body. Her shimmering wealth of hair, brushed to a silky sheen, was unadorned, and hung down the length of her back.
When Stuart entered to escort his wife down to their guests, resplendent in black coat and knee breeches, white silk stockings and delicate white lace at his throat, he stared at her, at a complete loss for words. He had known her gown was to be something special, but he had not expected this.
She stood tall and proud, watching him calmly, as his eyes travelled from the top of her shining head to the slippers on her slender feet, with incredulity and disbelief, before meeting her eyes. They looked at each other for a long moment that stretched into eternity—each remembering the last time she had worn the gown, and the occasion, and wishing, with love and longing, for the evening to end so they could be alone at last.
‘What can I say?’ he murmured at length, moving to stand in front of her. ‘You look quite incredible and as exquisite now as you did on our wedding day.’
Cassandra trembled, looking up into his dark, brooding eyes, her face full of passion and her moist lips parted and quivering, longing for the kiss she expected but did not come. Instead he brushed her lips with the tips of his fingers, sensing her mood.
‘If I kiss you now, my love,’ he said hoarsely, his eyes dark and filled with passion, ‘I shall not be answerable for my actions. But later, when our guests have gone, nothing will keep me from you. I will make love to you until you beg for mercy.’ His lips curled into a smile at the warm glow that shone in her wonderful blue eyes, which told him he would be welcome. ‘Now, come—let us greet our guests. Everyone is curious to meet you—and I am convinced they will be impressed. Not only will you charm each and every one of them—but you’ll give them something to talk about for a long time to come.’
The ball was a huge success and it was almost daybreak when the magic moment that would elevate Stuart and Cassandra out of time arrived, but they had been apart too long for Stuart to hurry. Lithe of limb and graceful, Cassandra raised her arms and began to remove her gown but he stopped her, preferring to do it himself, to feel its silky softness, and, lowering her arms, she happily gave herself over to him.
He proceeded to do what his fingers had ached to do all evening. Slowly and methodically he undressed her and spread her hair like a soft, shimmering cloud over her gleaming shoulders before gathering her up into his arms and carrying her to the bed.
As he leaned over her, his warm, moist lips began to kiss every inch of her naked body and, overwhelmed by the intensity of his passion, Cassandra yielded herself to his soft, caressing touch willingly, clutching and clinging, and they came together as easily as night follows day.
They loved and slept and towards morning there was more love, and by the time the sun rose Stuart knew that the wonderful adventuress he had met and fallen in love with in Barbados had returned to him. She had not vanished, after all. She was there, just waiting to be resurrected.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-3694-3
THE PIRATE’S DAUGHTER
First North American Publication 2004
Copyright © 2003 by Helen Dickson
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