A False Proposal

by Pam Mingle

  Atherton said, “Justice was swift. He’ll never shoot anyone else.”

  “Rather too swift,” Jack said. “Good God, the man was hanged less than a week after the crime.”

  “Not much time to mount a defense,” Adam said.

  Hugh chimed in. “He murdered the Prime Minister. Countless witnesses saw him do it.”

  “Nevertheless,” Cass said, “I agree with Jack and Mr. Grey. Everybody is entitled to a fair trial. How could that have happened in the brief interval between the assassination and the trial?” She looked up to see her cousin’s incensed gaze fastened on her. Louisa disapproved of Cass expressing her opinions too freely. She clamped her mouth shut, and opened it only after the beef course was served. From then on, she sneaked furtive glances toward Adam and company. She couldn’t help noticing that Eleanor Broxton barely spoke a word, although it seemed both Adam and Jenny were trying to draw her out.

  The ladies withdrew while the men drank their port, smoked cheroots, and discussed politics, no doubt. Cass found a seat by herself in a secluded nook. She half-listened to Elizabeth Morgan playing Mozart on the pianoforte. Perhaps Cousin Louisa had been right, and Cass never should have come here. After Adam had kissed her at the dinner party, she’d expected more attention from him, much as it pained her to admit. Yesterday, after he’d teased her and practically demanded a kiss—and she’d shown herself to be so willing—he’d unaccountably changed his mind. And probably, with his mother’s help, made sure she was treated like the nonentity she was, both at dinner last night and tonight. Yet at times she had felt his watchful eyes on her. She was…not hurt, exactly, but certainly disheartened.

  “Miss Linford?” A timid voice interrupted Cass’s woolgathering.

  “Miss Broxton, do be seated. And please call me Cass.”

  “Thank you. I’m Eleanor.” She smiled shyly. “I-I feel a little out of place. I don’t know anyone, you see.”

  “Indeed. I have been in your situation and felt the same. But you’ll soon make friends and you won’t feel so odd.”

  “I’m not sure why I was invited,” she confessed, her blue eyes widening.

  “Oh?”

  “I might have an idea, though.”

  “And what is your idea, if you don’t mind confiding in me?”

  “I think my father wishes me to marry one of the Grey brothers.”

  “You don’t say,” Cass said, feigning surprise. “Has your papa made his feelings on the subject known?”

  “No, he’s only hinted. And Mama won’t discuss it with me.”

  “And what do you think of the idea?” Cass asked, knowing she shouldn’t be quizzing this naïve girl, but unable to stop.

  “The older one scares me. He’s rather frightening, don’t you think?”

  “Hugh? I wouldn’t call him frightening. Some say he is a rake.”

  “I like Adam,” Eleanor said, blushing. “The younger Mr. Grey, that is. He’s handsome and seems kind. But I feel dim-witted in his presence. Tongue-tied. I never know what to say.”

  “Allow me to give you a bit of advice, then. Ask questions. Men love to talk about themselves, and you need only listen attentively and make comments or ask for clarification now and then. Adam has a keen interest in politics, so that is a safe subject.”

  “But I know nothing about politics! You are well able to join in the men’s discussions. I envy that.”

  “Ask him about standing for a seat in the House of Commons. He likes to talk about that above all.” As soon as the words were out, Cass felt a twinge of guilt. Maybe she’d gone too far. But Adam’s plan was no secret, so where was the harm?

  “You seem to know him well.”

  Cass smiled. “He and my brother have been friends for years. I’ve known him since we were children, but I’ve only seen him a few times since his return from the Continent.”

  Just then, the men entered the room. Adam, the last one in, paused in the doorway as though looking for someone. Probably Miss Broxton. “Do you not think him handsome?” Eleanor asked, her gaze fixed on Adam.

  Cass couldn’t resist. “Oh, very,” she said. “One of the handsomest men I have ever known. It will be a lucky woman indeed who weds him.” She saw Adam walking toward them and flew up from her chair.

  “Ladies,” he said.

  “Mr. Grey, please take my place,” Cass said. “I must speak to Jenny about something.”

  “But—” He looked flustered. Good. Served him right. He wanted Broxton’s seat, and it seemed the daughter came with it. They’d make a grand match.

  Cass felt only a little guilty as she wandered off to find Jenny. The Broxton girl was sweet. On the whole, if she wanted to marry Adam, Cass felt she’d given her good advice.

  …

  Adam was having the devil of a time extricating himself from the clutches of Miss Broxton. It seemed she had an endless supply of questions to ask him, and when he answered, she fixed a wide-eyed stare on him, interrupting him now and then to make a comment or ask yet another question. So far they’d covered his plan to stand for Commons (had her father told her?) and moved on to his childhood in Surrey, his European tour, and now the health and well-being of every member of his family. At least she hadn’t brought up his military service. Yet.

  Under the circumstances, he should be welcoming the opportunity to engage her. And aside from impressing her father, she deserved his kindness. She was young, a guest in his home, and a virtual stranger to all. The problem was…he could not get a word in, even if he’d truly wanted to. When he tried, she spoke over him with another query.

  Discreetly, he glanced over at Cassie, who was huddled with Jenny and Jack. A couple of times, he caught her slanting a look at him and Miss Broxton. Both times, he took note of her amused expression before darting her eyes away. Adam strongly suspected she’d somehow engineered his tête-à-tête with the younger girl. Why the hell else had she jumped up as if someone had shouted “Fire!” when he’d strolled over? Cassie was up to something, he was sure of it. And now all he wanted to do was make his escape from Eleanor Broxton and her tiresome questions.

  Atherton saved the day. After he joined them, Adam bowed and excused himself. To his dismay, Cass was no longer talking to her brother and his fiancée. She had disappeared. Deuce take it! He whirled around in time to see her exit the drawing room. After a discreet pause, he left the room and caught sight of her nearing the end of the passage. He followed cautiously, not wanting her to know he was on her trail. After a few more minutes, it became obvious she was heading for the conservatory. Adam slipped in after her.

  The scent of exotic flowers and citrus fruits wafted through the air, which would make it more difficult to locate Cassie by the delicate rose fragrance that always alerted him to her presence. She must bathe in some kind of rose water. God, don’t think about Cass in her bath. To Adam, she smelled like a rose garden at dawn. Not that he frequented rose gardens at that ungodly hour, but still, that’s what her scent reminded him of. The conservatory was in semi-darkness, and he paused to get his bearings. The swish of her skirt told him she was headed toward the open doors leading to the terrace and garden, and the moonlight streaming in guided him. He sneaked up behind her and grabbed her arm.

  She let out a shriek. “Adam! You scared me to death.”

  “My pardon. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “How did you find me?” She frowned at his hand clutching her arm until he let go.

  “I followed you,” he said, crossing his arms. “I haven’t had an opportunity to talk to you all day. And I was tired of entertaining Miss Broxton.”

  She made a choking noise he thought disguised a laugh. “You have no business following me around. What—why did you? Follow me, that is?”

  God help him, he knew he shouldn’t, but he took a step toward her. “Because I wanted to do this.”

  Adam coaxed her into his arms. It wasn’t hard, because Cass seemingly had no intention of resisting; she folded herself
against him with an audible sigh. Slowly, he lowered his head until his lips brushed her face, lightly caressing her forehead and cheeks, her welcoming mouth. He let go of her with one hand and gently rearranged strands of her hair so that he could kiss the shell of her ear. When a soft moan broke from her, Adam claimed her lips in an aching kiss, and he felt her go limp in his embrace.

  He should stop this madness right now, before things got completely out of hand. But it seemed as though he’d been restraining himself for far too long. Primal urge and instinct were controlling him now, and his intense, nearly overwhelming desire for Cass. So instead of stopping, he lowered his head and kissed the rise of her breasts pushing up from her gown. She had entwined her fingers in his hair, and Adam interpreted that as indicative of her own need. He stepped back a little and tugged at her bodice. If he could lower it enough to free her from the confines of her corset, only her chemise would lie between him and her bare skin.

  In the moonlight streaming through the glass walls, Adam could see the outline of Cass’s breasts. Indeed, the lawn of her chemise clung to her form and only served to enhance his view. At that moment he wanted to consume her, but he knew he must go slowly with her. With the utmost tenderness, he held a breast in each hand, gently kneading and rubbing his thumbs over the tips in the center. Cass leaned into him, so that her breasts pushed more fully into his palms. She glanced down, curious, and when she lifted her head, he kissed her again, fiercely, hungrily. Her breath was ragged.

  He’d been afraid she might be embarrassed, but he’d misread her. She was eager. He couldn’t get enough of the softness of her lips, of her sweetly exploring tongue, of the smoothness of the inside of her mouth. Lowering his hands until he was grasping the soft flesh of her bottom, he pulled her tightly against his aroused flesh, still kissing her.

  Finally, breathless, he released her and stepped back. Her eyes were luminous, an inner light shining through. She looked like a mythological being, a goddess. Aphrodite. He should not be doing this; he had no right. And then she launched herself back into his arms, and he laughed deep in his throat. “You like this, then.”

  “It’s rather obvious, isn’t it?” Pause. “You’re not laughing at me, are you?”

  “Never,” Adam whispered. “It was an expression of pleasure.” His lips found the silk of her mouth once again, while his hand inevitably found its way back to her breasts. “There are so many things I want to do—”

  Wait. Had she spoken?

  Cass jerked away from him. “Adam! Someone’s coming. I hear voices.”

  The devil! She was right; he heard them, too. She was already struggling to tuck herself back into her corset. He helped her pull her stays and gown up. If it weren’t so dark, Adam knew he’d see pink flaring on her cheeks.

  “What should we do?” Cass asked, sounding desperate. The voices were coming closer. He feared the door would burst open any second.

  “Outside,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her in his wake. They raced out onto the terrace, down the steps, and into the garden. After rounding the corner of the house, they stopped, breathless, and Adam led her into the shadows under a grove of trees. “That was close,” he said softly.

  “If we’d been caught…” Cass said.

  “There would have been hell to pay,” Adam finished for her. “Your brother would have forced me to marry you.”

  Bloody hell. That was an insensitive thing to say. He’d blundered badly and he’d pay for it. How could he have gotten so carried away after vowing to keep his distance from her? He’d risked her reputation and no doubt hurt her with such a callous remark.

  This wouldn’t—couldn’t—happen again. He couldn’t marry Cass, or any other woman. So what the hell did he think he was doing?

  …

  Cass was glad it was dark enough that Adam couldn’t see her face clearly. Not well enough to detect the hurt she knew must be reflected in her eyes. He sounded as if marriage to her would be the worst thing ever to befall a man. It was the way he’d said it, the emphasis he’d placed on certain key words. Forced me to marry you.

  But not for the world did she want him to know how she felt. “What a disaster that would be!” she said, faking a laugh that came out squeaky and high pitched. Suddenly, Cass shivered. In those few words Adam had spoken, her aloneness was defined. Stars spilled into the night sky, their brilliance seeming to mock her sudden despair. Oh, Adam, why couldn’t we be happy together?

  Jack had Jenny. Adam had his pick of the myriad eligible young ladies and widows, like Eleanor Broxton and Leonora, who continually sought him out. With Cass he was merely dallying, because he knew her and assumed she would jump at the chance for some attention from him. It was a safe assumption. She’d practically thrown herself at him before, and flinging all caution to the wind, had done so again.

  And whom did she have? Cousin Louisa. Yes, her cousin would always be there. They would provide companionship for one another as each grew old. In fact, since Louisa was so much older than Cass, she pictured herself nursing the woman through bouts of illness and infirmity— Stop this right now, Cassandra Helen Linford. You’re being mawkish. Oh, why had she been so determined to attend this gathering? She had been happier, or at least more at peace, living in the country by herself. She hadn’t really recovered from Bentley’s death and the blame she’d heaped upon herself for his suicide. Perhaps she never would.

  Her hair. She must see to it. Cass did what she could without a mirror, in the dark. She felt Adam’s eyes on her, but refused to look at him. She’d meant to steal some time for herself, and instead she’d allowed Adam, who didn’t even seem to care about her, to…to take liberties with her person. She was furious with herself for her lack of self-control. For letting her guard down.

  Without even glancing at Adam, she said, “I’m going in.”

  He reached for her. “Wait! It’s too soon.”

  But she did not turn around. Let him stew. What did it matter if somebody saw her? She would hardly be compromised if she were caught strolling by herself. When she reached the house, she entered through the front door and made her way to her chamber. Agnes helped her undress, and she slipped into bed. Before extinguishing the candle on the night table, Cass vowed to give Adam a wide berth for the rest of the week.

  Chapter Twelve

  Cass was standing before Adam wearing only her chemise. He ripped it off of her, top to bottom, so that she was completely naked. Then his wicked fingers began to massage her breasts. She gasped with pleasure, feeling heated and damp at her center. One thought rang in her ears. Kiss me. Kiss me. But she couldn’t quite see him, not the real man. Only some faceless figure she sensed was Adam. She waited, breathless, for his caress.

  “Morning, ma’am.”

  Who was intruding? Barging into her room while she and Adam were…Oh, no. She’d been dreaming, a most pleasurable dream from which she’d rather not have awakened. Agnes bustled toward the windows and began opening drapes. “Would you like breakfast in your chamber? Or I can help you bathe and dress, if you’d rather take your meal with the other guests.”

  “What?” Cass said, voice trembling, still lost in the dream.

  “Sorry, ma’am. I’ll come back in a bit.”

  Cass pulled herself up. “No, no, Agnes, it’s all right. I wasn’t quite awake when you entered. I shall eat in my room,” she said. “Tea and toast, please.” At least that would give her time to compose herself.

  Furious with Adam after what had transpired last night, Cass couldn’t believe she’d dreamed of him so vividly, and in such an alarmingly erotic way. She realized he had disturbed her dreams more than once, she’d jerk awake, hot and sweaty, and, she was ashamed to admit, aroused. It was best to break her fast in her chamber. That way she could avoid seeing him for the present.

  When Cass did venture downstairs, she noticed that Adam wasn’t with the others in the main drawing room. For a man who was hosting a house party, he seemed to be extraordinarily unc
oncerned about his guests, who were discussing an afternoon jaunt. Indifferent to the plans, Cass opened a Fanny Burney novel, but was unable to concentrate. Eventually, the other ladies began penning letters, embroidering, or reading; the men departed to play billiards or cards until it was time for their planned outing. Cass hadn’t seen Jack either, and when Jenny sat down next to her, she asked where he was.

  “He’s with Adam, I think. In the library.”

  Cass drew back, surprised. “Is he? Whatever could they be discussing for so long?”

  “Can’t you guess?”

  Cass laughed. “Of course. The election. I should have known.”

  …

  Adam sat behind his desk fiddling with a quill, shaping the nib with a penknife, while he and Jack talked, rather randomly, about his election to Commons. Jack had pulled down a volume of maps and was examining one page, running his finger around coastlines and borders, pausing every so often to give a location a decisive tap. Adam knew he and Jenny were taking a wedding trip to Italy.

  “I assume you sent the letter about me to Sir William?” Adam asked.

  His friend looked up and smiled. “Of course. I assured him of your many unparalleled qualities, reminded him of your roots here in Surrey, and let him know that you had my support.”

  “And?”

  Jack had picked up a magnifying glass and was bent over, studying, from what Adam could see, the Amalfi Coast. “Got a polite note back saying he’d consider you and requesting the honor of your esteemed self at his home.” He dropped the glass and looked up. “You’d better arrange it.”

  “Of course. I’ll ride over sometime in the next few days.” He threw down the penknife and scowled. His father’s dealings with Sir William would complicate everything. Adam had been operating under the false assumption that the two men were old friends. Now he knew they were anything but. And when he paid his call, would Broxton mention his demand that Adam court his daughter? Even if he hinted at it, it would be damned uncomfortable. Maybe he should be the one to mention it, get it out of the way, but there was nothing he could say that wouldn’t amount to falsehoods. Damnation.