Cassandra's Deception
Page 22
Mr. Raven shut the door and turned to advance on the canopied bed. Cassandra, who had said not a word while she watched in dismay while her various relations deserted her, shrank back against the pillows. She was feeling very vulnerable and alone of a sudden. She searched Mr. Raven’s face, trying to discern some sign of his thoughts. She did not find his bland expression encouraging.
Cassandra was astonished and startled when he chose not to sit in any of the chairs beside the bed, but rather, boldly sat down on the bed itself. His weight caused the mattress to shift, and she felt her face flame. “Sir!”
“Yes, Miss Weatherstone!” He looked at her steadily, his brows raised.
Cassandra could not withstand what she interpreted as his condemnation. “I am sorry that I deceived you,” she blurted. “You must think me reprehensible.”
“While it is true that you deceived me, it was not for long. And I do not think that you are reprehensible. Outrageous, perhaps,” said Mr. Raven. He lifted one of her hands and brought it to his lips.
Much encouraged, Cassandra said shyly, “I suppose that Belle’s note confessing to our masquerade came as a great shock to you.”
“I knew that you were not Belle before ever her note arrived. Her hastily scribbled confession served merely to convince Sir Marcus of the truth of what I had already told him,” said Mr. Raven coolly.
Cassandra regarded him with astonishment. “But how did you know I was not Belle if you hadn’t already received my sister’s note?”
Mr. Raven smiled tenderly at her. He reached out to tuck a curl of hair behind her ear. “I didn’t know at first. But as time went on, I began to suspect that either my memory was completely at fault or there were indeed two different Belle Weatherstones. The latter did not seem possible, and so I had to question myself. You cannot imagine my relief to be confronted with the reality of your twin sister.”
“Then you realized the truth at the soiree,” said Cassandra.
“Let us say that I strongly suspected it. However, there were so many things that simply did not fit,” said Mr. Raven. “And of course, once I began listening to Miss Bidwell and Sir Marcus, I became more convinced than ever that I had not met my old playmate. They, too, had noticed little oddities about ‘Belle.’’
“Such as?” Cassandra snuggled closer against the pillows. She found that she was beginning to enjoy her tête-à-tête with Mr. Raven. There was something profoundly delightful in having the gentleman one loved sitting on the bed beside one, feeling his weight depressing the mattress.
“First of all, you did not know my childhood nickname. Of course, later at the soiree when Belle addressed me by that detested moniker, I had to consider the possibility of a switch in roles,” said Mr. Raven. “Sir Marcus and Miss Bidwell both mentioned their puzzlement at ‘Belle’s’ sudden interest in housewifery and stitching and reading of family histories. And then there was the instance when we stood together in the gallery and watched that magnificent thunderstorm.”
Cassandra frowned. “I don’t understand why that should have proven to be a clue to my true identity.”
“Belle has been terrified of thunder all of her life,” said Mr. Raven simply.
“I had no notion,” said Cassandra, shaking her head.
Her lips twitched, and she glanced at Mr. Raven through her lashes. “If I had, I might have thrown myself upon your bosom for comfort. That might have been more in character.”
“Yes,” agreed Mr. Raven reflectively, gazing back at her with a more intent look in his eyes. “Perhaps it is a pity that you did not know that particular idiosyncrasy of your sister’s.” He slowly leaned toward her.
Cassandra hastily put out her hand, intending to warn him away. Somehow, her hand became cradled in his as he gathered her up in the circle of his arms. Cassandra looked up at him, feeling a little breathless, and asked, “Philip, is this quite conventional?”
“Oh, no. Not at all.” He looked down with a smile. “I am going to kiss you, Cassandra.”
She felt a flutter in her breast. “Are you?” she breathed.
Without replying, he released her hand and tilted up her chin. His lips caught hers. Cassandra’s senses whirled, and she slipped her free hand around his neck.
When Mr. Raven had thoroughly kissed her, he said, “I know now, quite unmistakably, which Miss Weatherstone I’ve fallen in love with. Will you marry me, Cassandra?”
Cassandra came back to earth with a bump. For a few very pleasant moments she had forgotten. What a stupid little fool she was, she thought unhappily. She drew back against the band of his arms. “You’re already married, Philip.”
“I have the annulment papers in my pocket at this moment,” he whispered. “They came while you were ill.” He reached up with one hand to smooth her silky hair. Looking deep into her eyes, he said, “Cassandra, I’ve never asked this before of any woman. Will you marry me?”
Cassandra threw her arms around his neck and burst into happy tears. “Oh, yes, yes, yes!”
Mr. Raven caught her up tight and kissed her again, which did not shock her in the least.
The bedroom door was thrust open. “Cassandra! You will never guess what Grandfather has just said!”
Cassandra and Mr. Raven broke apart, turning as one toward the doorway. Cassandra felt herself blushing.
Upon sight of the couple, Belle stopped her rush into the bedroom. Her mouth rounded in amazement. “Oh, my goodness.”
Cassandra put her hands to her flaming cheeks. “We ... we are to be wed, Belle!”
“So I should hope!” exclaimed Belle. Her astonished expression altered. Putting her hands on her hips, she glared at Mr. Raven. “This is the outside of enough, Stubby! I have at last extracted Grandfather’s promise for a London Season, and now all Cassandra will think about is her wedding to you!”
“Has he really!” exclaimed Cassandra. “Oh, I am so happy for you, Belle!”
“I humbly apologize, Belle,” said Mr. Raven gravely, a tremor in his voice. He turned his head and smiled at Cassandra. He held out his hand, taking hers in his clasp. “Shall we go to Rome for our honeymoon?”
“Yes, let’s,” said Cassandra promptly. “I have read about the magnificence of Rome, and I have longed to see the classical ruins.”
“So have I,” said Mr. Raven, and lifted her hand to his lips. There was laughter in his eyes as he looked at her. “We shall take Sir Marcus’s history with us as a handy reference.”
“We would never have suited,” declared Belle. She sailed out of the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her.
About the Author
Gayle Buck doesn't ever want to stop writing. "I decided when I was in the fifth grade that I wanted to write stories that would make people laugh and cry. I haven't even scratched the surface yet," she admits with a grin.
A Kansas-bred Texan (and proud of it), Gayle says, "Let's just say that I like independence and survival in my characters and in my life." She has two sons that she is enormously proud of. They are both native-born Texans. "But I'm sure they have a few of those prairie pioneer genes, too."
Gayle has published 26 Regencies, an inspirational and a how-to book. She has some new book ideas; right now, she's not saying much about them. "But I'm going to have a whole lot of fun for the foreseeable future."
Gayle Buck has a degree in journalism and has written for every media known except film. She thinks about it for a minute. "Oh, yeah. That's goin' to change."
Publishing Information
Copyright © 2000 by Gayle Buck
Originally published by Signet (ISBN 0451200373)
Electronically published in 2010 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
http://www.RegencyReads.com
Electronic sales: ebooks@regencyreads.com
This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.