by Pam Mingle
Adam met her eyes, but didn’t speak immediately. His gaze conveyed sympathy, and after a long pause, he finally said, “Someone shot him.”
Chapter Seven
Adam had dreaded telling Cass. She’d blanched when he said the Prime Minister had been shot, but remained standing and shook off her brother’s hand when he grasped her arm. Jack hovered directly behind her, in case it was too much for her. But she showed remarkable poise, continuing to ask questions, even if they consisted of only one word.
“When? Where?”
“In the lobby of Commons, earlier today. I’m afraid I don’t know specifics. I’ve sent someone out to see if any news sheets have been issued yet.”
“How did you hear?”
“One of the footmen brought the news.”
“I’ll pour tea,” Deborah said to Adam. “I think we could all use some.” Cass’s cousin walked over and offered her help.
“It’s a damned shame!” Frederick Cochran said. “Just when we were on the verge of some stability.” His already ruddy cheeks darkened. “Beg pardon, ladies.”
“Who did it?” Cass asked. “Who…shot him?”
“We don’t know that yet, Cass,” Jack answered.
“Some lunatic, to be sure,” Mrs. Morgan said, having sufficiently recovered herself enough to sit up and drink tea. “Oh, none of us is safe anymore, depend upon it! Mobs and riots at the slightest provocation, thieves prowling the streets, murderers—”
Good God, this kind of talk was the last thing they needed. Adam interrupted before things could get out of hand. “I beg you, ma’am, not to speculate. As yet the circumstances are unknown.” His eyes scanned the room. “Who was playing the pianoforte?”
Elizabeth Morgan stepped forward.
“Please, Miss Morgan, continue. I think we would all find it soothing.” He escorted her to the instrument and helped her find a suitable piece before returning to the others. Jack, he noticed, had convinced Cass to be seated. Adam considered whether to offer comfort, even though he had no idea if she would welcome it.
Deborah handed him a cup of tea. “I’m sorry, my dear. What a terrible turn of events.”
Adam nodded, then moved toward the couch on which Cass was seated. He’d been hoping the talk would turn to other subjects, but as he crossed the room, he realized he’d been foolish. This was too big an event, too far reaching, to be pushed aside so easily. As he was about to claim the spot next to Cass, Leonora suddenly appeared and, stepping directly in front of him, took the place for herself. Bowing politely, he grinned at Cassie, and thought he detected the barest hint of amusement in her eyes. He moved to one side, but stayed close enough to overhear the conversation.
“You cannot help feeling particularly affected by this, Miss Linford,” he heard Leonora say. “It must serve as a reminder of your own unfortunate ordeal.”
Only Leonora could refer to the public suicide of someone’s fiancé as an “unfortunate ordeal,” Adam thought. He sipped his tea and waited to hear what Cass would say, or indeed if she would be able to say anything.
“The loss of those we love is always devastating, Lady Leonora, as I’m certain you know, since you lost your husband so recently.”
Ah. Point to Cass.
“But your…unusual circumstance, so like this horrifying event.” Leonora’s voice dripped with false compassion. “Tell me, Miss Linford, what is it like to have a gun pointed at you? And to have your betrothed then turn the weapon and shoot himself, right there for all to see?”
Point to Leonora, the witch.
Cass got to her feet. “I never discuss the circumstances of Bentley’s death with anyone I am not close to, Lady Leonora. You, thank heaven, in no way qualify.”
Brava, Cassie.
She curtsied gracefully, with dignity, and walked right past him. Though she seemed unruffled, Adam could see the quiver of her pulse at her temple. She set her teacup down on a table and exited the room.
Leonora looked up at him. “I’m afraid I’ve upset her,” she said. “But really, all of town will be talking about it again.”
“Only those who are boorish and ill-mannered,” Adam said. To his satisfaction, a look of surprise registered on her face and her lips flattened into a hard line. He smiled, bowed slightly, and removed himself from her presence, lest he say something else ungentlemanly. Miss Morgan was dutifully playing; the others were huddled in groups conversing softly. No one seemed to need him at present, and after a prudent amount of time, he left the room in search of Cass.
…
How dare that woman speak to me about Bentley? Cass wandered the corridor in search of an empty room in which to hide until she could regain her composure. In spite of the fact that there were no witnesses to Bentley’s death besides herself, half the ton thought they’d seen it. In a moment, she saw light flickering from a partially open door. She stepped inside and inhaled the scent of old leather bindings, ink, and parchment. Adam’s library, no doubt. Perhaps he would not mind if she sought refuge here.
The only light was from a fire burning in the grate, but she could see well enough. Her eyes wandered around the room, taking in the enormous mahogany desk, which occupied most of one wall, and the fireplace opposite. The two leather chairs before the hearth looked perfect for reading. At the far end of the room, a window seat beckoned. The windows overlooked the back garden, though not much of it was visible tonight. In a very unladylike fashion, Cass arranged herself on the cushioned seat, scooting around so that her back was leaning against one wall. She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them.
Clearly, it had been unrealistic to expect the ton to take her back, and Leonora’s hurtful words proved it. There would always be the spiteful set, who found pleasure in hurting others. Why should she allow herself to be dragged through the muck again? She had a choice—no one was forcing her, except Jack, of course. If she were to tell him she preferred the life of a spinster, he would accept her decision. He wouldn’t like it, but he would accept it.
Even if society did decide to welcome her back to the fold, there was still her enormous burden of guilt over Bentley’s death. Would it ever go away? Her cousin was right—her place was at home with Philippa. Tears stung her eyes at the realization that her life would plod on as it was. She’d been a fool to think otherwise.
Cass sensed rather than heard the door opening and raised her head. Blast! Couldn’t she be left alone for five minutes? It was probably Jack or Cousin Louisa coming to make sure she was all right. With the back of her hand, she brushed away the tears brimming over her eyelids and tracing a path down her cheeks.
“Well done, Cassie. Excellent set-down.”
But no, it was Adam, making his way toward her.
Hastily, she swiveled and set her feet on the floor. “I imagine it flew right over her head.”
She started to rise, but he reached out a hand and gently touched her shoulder. “Don’t. Are you all right?” He looked down at her, his brow furrowed, and Cass’s heart surged, knowing he was worried about her.
“Thank you, yes. The news was a shock, that is all.”
“You’re lying. I can see you’ve been weeping.” His voice was soft, concerned.
Oh, no. His attentions were welcome, but she didn’t want him to see her crying. It seemed so weak. “Only a little.” She thought about the wisdom of confiding in Adam, drew a deep breath, and plunged in. She wanted to trust him. “For the first year, I thought about Bentley’s death every day. I no longer do so. But with the news about Perceval…the memory of that awful night came roaring back. The fear. The chaos afterward…it was like Bedlam. For a moment, when you told us about Perceval, I felt as though I could hear the gunshot, see the blood, all over again.”
“My dear Cass, don’t torment yourself.” He sat down next to her and reached for her hands, and she allowed him to take them. “I would never have said what I did upon meeting you again…seeing you for the first time after so long, had I known. It was u
nforgivable.”
“Oh, don’t speak of it. I was rude to you as well. Perhaps we both got what we deserved.”
“You will not let this drive you back into hiding, will you?”
Smiling regretfully, she said, “It was easy enough to withdraw from society once, and I can surely do it again, if I must.”
He tightened his grip on her hands. “No! You must not think of doing that.”
She was shocked at the vehemence with which he spoke. “Whyever not?”
His eyes gleamed in the firelight. “Because I do not wish you to. Is that a good enough reason?”
And just like that, something changed. Cass wasn’t sure what it was, but she felt a spark ignite in the air between them. Her senses heightened. Every breath felt charged. In the dim light, she couldn’t read his expression. Was he saying that he cared for her? That he would feel the loss if she weren’t present at balls and soirees and parties? Flustered, she stammered out a reply. “I—I suppose so. You are a future MP, and perhaps I will have to bend to your will.”
He chuckled softly, certain she was unaware of the double entendre. “I like the sound of that.”
“Wretch,” she countered. “Just like a man.”
He got to his feet, and still clutching onto one of her hands, he drew her slowly up. “And you, Cassie, are quite an irresistible woman.”
She felt his breath skimming her face and knew he was going to kiss her. She should stop him. That is what a lady who observed the proprieties would do. But she simply could not, because she’d been longing for Adam’s kiss her whole life. Instead, Cass lifted her face and closed her eyes, waiting. No one had ever called her irresistible before, after all. What if this was her only chance? The only time she would ever—
His lips touched hers, and she couldn’t keep a moan from slipping out. With one strong hand, he cupped the back of her head, pulling her closer and skimming his tongue across the seam of her lips. She swayed against him, and he put his arms around her. Opening her mouth to him seemed natural. Cass had never been held or kissed like this before. It felt delicious. It felt wonderful. She wanted it to go on and on. Her body pressed against his, tingling and alive, her insides burning. If it had been possible to move closer to him, she would have. She wanted to feel every bit of his muscled body aligned with hers. She’d left her arms at her sides, but now moved them slowly up and around his neck.
His lips grazed her cheek, her jaw line, and moved down her neck, dropping sweet kisses as he went. Weaving one of her curls through his fingers, he whispered, “This hair. This beautiful hair,” then brought it to his lips and kissed it. His mouth returned to her skin, moving downward, still feathering kisses. His hands lightly brushed her breasts through the thin fabric of her gown and chemise, but this time she stifled her moan. And then rational thought took over, and she reluctantly withdrew her arms.
Adam raised his head. More gently this time, he kissed her lips, stroking the side of her face with his thumb. As he drew away, he murmured, “Sweetest Cassie.”
Suddenly, she felt embarrassed. What must he think of her, kissing him with such abandon? Offering herself to him? Not feeling capable of speech, she simply waited for him to say something.
Adam reached out and touched her hair. “Turn around and let me see your gown in back.”
Not what she’d hoped he would say, but obediently, she spun round, and gasped when his hands smoothed away wrinkles, all of which seemed to be conveniently located on her derriere, and made a few other adjustments here and there. Obviously, he’d had practice at this.
“You look…perfect. I’ll return to the drawing room first. Wait here for a few minutes.”
Cass nodded, reaching out to make a minor alteration to his neck cloth. He captured her hand and kissed her palm, then strode toward the door. She could hardly bear the thought of his leaving her.
“Adam,” she said softly, before he opened the door. “Thank you for watching over me.”
“I’m at your service any time, Cassie. But I hardly think you needed me.”
But I do need you. She felt intoxicated, bewildered by the overpowering attraction she felt for Adam. She’d experienced nothing like it before, although dancing with him had come close. Cass plunked back down onto the window seat. In an abrupt reversal of her earlier feelings, she decided she could take her place in society, provided Adam was there. Although she hadn’t taken into account how he would feel about her if he knew the whole truth about the circumstances surrounding Bentley’s horrific death. There were things even Jack did not know.
Shortly after Cass re-entered the drawing room, the party broke up, even though the hour was still early. Carriages were called for, and wraps retrieved. In a time of crisis, it was only natural for people to want to be at home, waiting for news and staying close to family. There was no further opportunity for Cass to speak privately with Adam, although he lightly kissed her fingers when they bid each other good night.
…
After Deborah retired, Adam sent his butler to bed, deciding to close up himself. He prowled from room to room, making sure candles were snuffed, and fires banked. Finally, he reached the library, where less than an hour ago he’d almost lost his head with Cass.
At the drinks trolley, he poured himself a finger of brandy and lowered his tall form onto one of the chairs in front of the fire, sipping slowly. He stretched his long legs out in front of him. What had possessed him to kiss her? It wasn’t just the kiss, it was the undeniable fact that his desire to possess her had nearly consumed him. His need had been stirred by something else, though. She’d been so brave, speaking of her fiancé’s death, then insisting she was prepared to become a pariah once again. But her tears revealed her underlying vulnerability, which was the one thing in Cassie he couldn’t bear to see. Since their childhood, Adam had wanted to protect her from harm. The fact that Perceval’s assassination could dredge up the old gossip about Cass infuriated him. Why couldn’t people let it go?
It pleased him that he’d seen evidence of desire in her expressive eyes and felt it in her body as it hungered against his. Christ, it had been all he could do to stop himself. He hadn’t expected Cass to respond so passionately. The extent of his need had been quite obvious, and she seemed more than willing to match it with her own.
But a gentleman couldn’t trifle with a lady he did not intend to wed. Especially one who also happened to be the sister of his closest friend. That was the simple truth. There were plenty of other women around for that. Lord, he needed a mistress. He’d never kept one, because he’d either been at war or traveling. This did not seem the most opportune time, however, unless he could find himself a rich widow willing to play political hostess and pour money into his cause. That brought an image of Leonora to his mind and he shuddered with revulsion.
But Cassie. What was he to do about her? He wanted her, plain and simple. But she was Jack’s sister, and still a virgin, he suspected. Though her enthusiasm was quite surprising and definitely arousing, it was apparent she had much to learn. Ah, but he’d love to teach her.
Abruptly, he sat up, pulling his feet in and setting them on the floor with a resounding thump. Out of the question. Adam had never seriously considered marriage. Was he not his father’s son? He might end up like the man, a degenerate. So debauched, Deborah had had to leave him, taking her younger son with her. What if he’d somehow inherited a proclivity for the same kind of lewd and depraved behavior? Maybe it revealed itself as one grew older. He’d never subject any woman to what his mother had endured before making the final break with his father, and he probably didn’t know the half of what Deborah had suffered.
And then there was the war. The horror of it had changed him. War in the abstract was most people’s experience; the real thing was something else again. While it had hardened his body, it had also put lines in his face and a whole litany of surreal memories in his mind, of men moaning in death, crying out for their wives or mothers, and not a damn thing he coul
d do except hold their hands and promise to write to their loved ones. The agonies the men had endured before death claimed them haunted his dreams. He didn’t know if he could share his wartime experience with anyone, even Cass. Ending the war, if he gained a seat in Commons, was his most passionate cause.
Should he ask Deborah not to invite her to the house party? There was really no good reason for her to be included, other than the fact that she was Jack’s sister. Being thrown together with her for a week would be bad. Very bad. But Jesus, he wanted her there.
He was definitely going to tell his mother that under no circumstances should she invite Leonora, even if she had already extended a verbal invitation. He would no longer receive that woman into his home. Her cruelty to Cass was unforgivable, and he didn’t give a damn for her good opinion. Or her money.
Adam drained his glass and poured himself another, a short one this time. He drank and ruminated. What was Cassie thinking? Was she in her bed, dreaming about him? He snorted. For Christ’s sake, these were the thoughts of a lovesick mooncalf. After a few more swallows, he reached for his candle and made his way to his bedchamber, trying to summon the strength to put all thoughts of her out of his mind.
…
At half eleven the following morning, Adam summoned Deborah to the library to confer about the house party. After a general discussion of pastimes and outings the group might undertake, Deborah said, “And a ball. We must host a ball at the end of the week!”
Adam groaned. “I suppose you won’t hear any arguments against that idea?”
“My mind is quite made up, dear. The ladies will expect it. Talking about their gowns and jewelry and hair makes for lively discussion all week.”
“And the men will tolerate it.” Adam smiled. “Very well, have your ball.” He hesitated before broaching a more difficult subject. “Mother, I don’t want you to invite Lady Leonora.”
