Cassandra continued her banter as if she spoke to a long time friend, “Now, I desire to be slightly wicked.”
“I do not think the adverb signifies, dear lady. One cannot be somewhat bad, wicked or—enceinte. It’s all or nothing.” His tone was aristocratic and he became bemused by her.
“That is an excellent analogy, sir.”
His quizzical glance pierced her topaz depths. Cassandra’s wistful sigh invited decadent thoughts—he envisioned her body beneath him in his large four-poster bed.
“Tell me, Althorn, do you give lessons in non-conformity and salaciousness from afar?”
“Indeed, I could, Lady Cassandra, but the best instruction is learned intimately as you experience the warmth of my lips upon your blushed cheek.” His grin reflected the vision of her in his arms, molten against his body as he taught her ways of sexual nonconformity—and, oh, yes, wild wickedness. He excelled at that. It might not have been what she had in mind, but it would be a good place to start. It wasn’t from afar that he contemplated.
The fall of his breeches tightened as his pulse coursed in large measure throughout his loins. Cassandra could trouble him, and since when did he shy away from such an attractive difficulty? Oh, yes, he surmised, she could become a significant diversion.
“My dear Cassandra, what am I to do with you? Your suggestions are promiscuous, and yet there is a touch of innocence about them. Perhaps curiosity is a better term.” He withdrew his watch fob and glanced at the time.
“Althorn, do you have an appointment?”
Her question was to be expected. “Yes, I’m to meet with the King in a few hours. His Majesty is used to indulgence and expects instant gratification of his wishes.”
“I take it you are used to his royal presence?” She held the brim of her bonnet with two fingers.
“If he summons me, I make myself available. He is my sovereign. In actuality, he is a gentleman with exquisite tastes in architecture—and women.”
“So I have heard. His wish is everyone’s command. In one way, he cost me a husband. In another, he saved me from a miserable man. I’m not on his invitation lists,” she said in likeable banter as she touched the vine that grew along the latticed wall.
“He has a fine interest for the opposite sex. I would enjoy the opportunity to take you to one of his balls. Would you like to go with me? His fetes are the talk of the ton—as I think you would be.”
“I’m not sure it would be an experience to which I could relate, just a new face or curiosity to be explored—and perhaps used?”
“Perish the thought. I would never allow that.” He moved his hand upward and adjusted his cravat, but what he desired was to caress her face with the back side of his knuckles as a prelude to a lesson. “Now where was I? Oh, yes, you spoke of wickedness, my lady. May I suggest it’s not always what it seems and there are consequences to our actions? I’m amused that you continue to speak what is on your mind.”
“Yes. I grew up with brothers. I strived hard to be heard. They were a rough sort, but devoted, and now desire to protect me from my ruinous engagement to that scoundrel. They don’t believe I’m happy about it. After the initial shock, I thank God everyday for His providence.” She plucked a cerise flower from the vine, inhaled the scent, and leaned back against the column. “The fragrance is delightful.”
“As are you.” His gaze bespoke of seduction prominent on his mind.” He held her stare with rigid attention. “Your eyes beguile me.”
“So I am told, Althorn. It has been said, but not with such beauty and eloquence. Everything about you is lyrical.”
“I have been called many things, but never has such a word entered the lexicon.” He stood in front of her, one hand rested against the rippled column, his back to the ocean, with a blue sky that framed him.
She blinked from the undulated sunlight on the waves. “I shall not keep you further, duke. You were kind to me that night. If I continue to speak with you on the veranda—” Before she could finish, her brother walked toward them.
The duke removed his hand and turned to the earl.
“Ah, Cassandra, I wondered where you were.”
In order to respect her, he allowed himself to deviate from ducal protocol, this once. “Allow me to re-introduce myself,” the duke spoke in a silken tone, offered his card to the earl who read it and slipped it in his pocket.
“My sister didn’t tell me she was reacquainted with you,” her brother stated.
The duke noted the term reacquainted, and assumed she’d told him of the incident with Viscount Fox. Cassandra stepped forward. “Brent, I’m sure you remember the Duke of Althorn? We met at the Shackleford ball two weeks ago.”
It was obvious there were no secrets between them as sister and brother. So she had told them the unvarnished truth. Lady Cassandra directed a wrinkled brow to her brother and nodded to the duke. “Thank you, for everything. I believe my children seek me.” She walked away and up the spiral steps with such grace and charm. Entranced with how she swayed her hips, he could not withdraw his interest from her. She had the motion of a nymph he would very much like to seduce.
“Children?” he asked her brother. Had she been married before? Was she a widow? Or was the gossip correct?
“My children,” Montgomery offered. “They are my ward, Alicia, and my son and heir, Alfred. My wife died two years ago and I’ve remarried. Cassandra has assisted me in their upbringing. Of course, we have a governess, but it’s Cassandra they love as a mother. My ward is considered a daughter to me. She is eight, and my son is four. In actuality, I have legal guardianship, but Alicia belongs to Cassandra.”
“I understand. Lady Cassandra speaks often of the children. You are pleased with her caretaker skills?”
“I would have it no other way.” Montgomery spoke in an affable tone. “My sister loves the fact she is reunited with me.”
“Were you separated long?” His curiosity was piqued.
“More years than I care to remember. She was a young girl when we lost our parents. I was too unsettled and in the university. She has so many talents, I wouldn’t know where to start,” he said.
Gordon Althorn knew where he would start. It would be to instruct her in the joys and delights of wickedness. Just the thought of those long legs wrapped about him caused an arousal. He smiled and stepped off the veranda to head to his own villa where his turgid manhood would cause no notice.
Chapter Four
The duke stared at the sun-dappled ocean from his balcony residence as the evening hour approached. The ever-present restlessness was his companion. He took deep breaths, prepared to harness his energy and put it to work for him.
His beloved dog Clayo lay at his side. He knelt to pet her head. She was one of his prized possessions; there could never be a doubt of the indisputable fact. The animal gave him a lick on his hand. His gentle creature with the name of a temptress Egyptian Queen was dedicated in her affection for him.
Althorn was to attend the festive ball of the evening hosted by the Duke and Duchess of Ravensmere at their seaside villa. Perhaps he would run into Lady Cassandra again. He ate a small meal, left instructions for his majordomo, and had his valet attend him. His toilette took some time and the end result flattered in black formal attire with his midnight blue waistcoat of super fine cloth. From the top of his head to the tip of his highly polished boots, he was his own man fashion-wise. The duke cared not for powdered wigs since he found them difficult to wear, liked the freedom of his own hair pulled back with not a strand out of place—a habit he acquired in his younger days in the hells of London’s society where he gamed.
Gordon Althorn was his own man in other ways too. Women sought him out as he did them. Comparisons to anyone else could bring out his dark side. Many of the wives of important gentlemen hoped he would bestow his now-celebrated favors on them. He was cautious, yet once or twice he succumbed to their seductive pleasures. It was the danger that lured him, not necessarily the woman. Yet, there were others who co
uld resist him totally. The Duchess of Ravensmere was such a lady, but he truly liked her and her husband, the duke and envied their besotted relationship. To have that kind of love with a kindred soul was the exception, and not the rule. Would he ever find such a person of his own?
His carriage arrived at Ravensmere’s where he departed and waited in the receiving line. The Duchess gave him an irrepressible smile, “Althorn, we are happy to greet you.”
He kissed her gloved hand and held it a moment too long.
“Still naughty, I see.” She pulled away.
He addressed his host, the Duke of Ravensmere, “I just wanted to see if anything had changed. She continues to ignore me.”
“She will continue to do so, Althorn, if I have anything to say about it.” They laughed jovially and he moved on.
Another dreary event presented itself. Should he survey the female attendance? There was a lady he considered as a candidate for his mistress, but he wasn’t sufficiently intrigued to make an offer. Mistresses could be quite expensive. They fascinated at first with the novelty of a new woman. Until boredom set in and his interest waned, usually within six months. Then, of course, there was the settlement. Some men just walked away and left the former love to fend for herself money-wise, but he wasn’t that kind of man. It could become an expensive endeavor. Better to take his time and be sure of the woman’s long-term appeal. The problem was, he didn’t know who he wanted—or how badly he desired her—and for how long?
Althorn chose a solitary moment to assess the life he led. More than perusal, he was imbued with a spirit of anxiety. It was time to put his past behind him and address the future. To do that, he would need a wife and heir. If his sainted mother could hear his thoughts, she would thank God. He was tired of games, and women who were of the demi-monde and much too free with their propriety.
He longed for a woman of substance. Someone he could talk to and to whom he would share his heart. Someone who would understand him and help him put the demons to rest. They were many, and only a good woman would do. Were there any honest women still unattached? Or were they all ninny debutantes?
His gaze wandered yet again to Lady Cassandra in conversation with the Duchess of Ravensmere as they exchanged warm smiles. Never had he seen two more beautiful women, but it was Cassandra who caught his attention. Dressed in a spiced gold dress with a low décolleté that could send him to prison for his thoughts. She was vibrant, sensual, and sexual all in one package. Her turned-up nose attracted him like no other. Her hair was piled high on her head and the back was coiled into braids at her nape. He wondered how long that flaxen hair really was, and pictured the tresses as they rippled over pert breasts.
Such sinful thoughts.
Such wicked sinful thoughts.
Such delightfully sinful thoughts.
Did she not say she wanted to be wicked one time in her life? It didn’t have to be vicarious. She could choose otherwise. The thought more than appealed—it conjured visions of his fingers releasing her hair of the pins as he arranged her tresses over her naked body. He exhaled in deep breaths.
Althorn strode to them with his confident air. “I must confess to see the radiance of both of you is more than my poor heart can bear.” He bowed low and his sandalwood scent filled the air.
The duchess gave Cassandra a knowledgeable glance. “Althorn, flatterer. Have you met my cousin, Lady Cassandra Montgomery?”
Her smile could torch a lighthouse. Did it run in the family? “Yes, we have an acquaintance, but I didn’t know she was a relation.” He recovered quickly from a momentary surprise.
“Yes, your Grace, we are as close as sisters. Are we not, Cassandra?” There was obvious affection as well as mischief in their demeanor as they shared smiles at each other and then back to him.
“Samantha is not only my cousin, your Grace, she’s my dearest friend.”
Cassandra bowed slightly to him, intrigued with this erstwhile gentleman who seemed to be thrown in her path in every way. Cassandra sighed. He was a rather munificent specimen of manhood. His massive chest, the impeccable shirt and cravat edged in lace around the throat, were graced by a rather large diamond. There was no comparison to the small diamond of her engagement ring, which she’d sold to a jeweler for a pittance. He emanated male magnetism, the molten power of his strong presence sent shivers rippling along her spine. She wanted to know what was behind the mind of a man who could charm the skirts off a nun. Such magnificence as he demonstrated an ease in the comfort of his sense of self. Sex appeal flowed from his every pore. Why did he have such an effect on her?
The duchess addressed the duke, “I see some late arrivals. Althorn, will you escort Lady Cassandra to the ballroom? I don’t want to leave her here unattended.”
“It would be my pleasure.” He offered his arm.
The duchess left.
“You have a beautiful cousin.”
Cassandra appreciated his amiability in conversation much aware of the warm glow that coursed through her veins. He evoked new and raw sensations. No man had ever made her feel this way. In careful concentration, she ignored the warmth within her body in stark reaction to his utter maleness. Damn those penny romance novels.
She shooed away heavy thoughts and held his arm tightly, the way a woman tenses when she enters a darkened passage afraid of what could be encountered.
“I’ve always admired my cousin and her husband. Theirs is a marriage made in heaven, although it almost didn’t happen. He was seriously injured by an assassin. We do believe it was the power of her love that brought him back from the brink of death. It was the power of his love for her that made him come back.”
“The duchess and her husband have always fascinated me,” he commented. “They’re so in love it makes me feel I’ve missed some grand passion.”
His wicked smile suggested a lot of things. “Would you like to have a grand passion with me? No commitment. Just for as long as it lasts.”
“No. One doesn’t ask someone if they’d like to have a grand passion. It begs for more descriptive words, sentiments and actions. It’s not as if you request the company of a woman to ride with you in your carriage along the Serpentine. You ask for scandalous behavior. Some women are simply not capable of such conduct.”
He smirked. “And you know this how?” His smile locked to her gaze.
“Penny novels—I’ve read many of them.”
“I see.”
“Certainly the men’s words were more provocative than the ones you just uttered. I’m not the kind of woman to acquiesce to such fallacies.”
“How old were you when you acquired these romances?” His curiosity had been engaged.
“It was when I was sent off to school after the death of my parents. I was twelve, almost thirteen.” She lowered her gaze at the slight curl of his smile. “And why I learned the French language. French novels are quite risqué. Although, I do confess, there were things I didn’t understand.” Her cheeks burned.
“Perhaps one day I can help you interpret them?”
She fluttered the fan to cool her face.
“When did you graduate?” His fingers played with the pearl buttons of her glove.
“I stayed after graduation and taught classes year round. I also taught manners and decorum to the younger girls.” She tilted her head in his direction. “I do believe you attempt to humor me. Some people do things. Others read about them. The sensation is the same.”
Now, he guffawed at her statement. “Cassandra, I will challenge you to prove that remark sooner than you think. To experience the taste of a fine aged cognac is not the same as reading how the brew master aged the liqueur.” He laughed again, but contained his mirth. “You are quite an amusement.”
She allowed no such humor on her face. “I’m not here for your amusement,” she stated, again she used her fan in defense.
Althorn spoke as he gently took her fan to peruse the design. “You use your fan like a machete and it disturbs my hair.” He
laughed. “I can see you are a true romantic.” He paused and fingered the heirloom. “This is an antique fan, I presume, from the craftsmanship?”
“Yes, it was my mother’s. She and I had a fondness for pink roses.”
“One could say your cheeks complement the hand painted ones.”
“Don’t make fun of me, Althorn. It’s difficult for me to control a blush.” Her lashes lowered. “I believe you do like to embarrass me. I beg you to stop.”
“Beg?” he repeated with parted lips. “In what way?”
Lord he made the word sound like a lover’s call.
He reached for her gloved hand again and held it much too long for propriety. “I will change the subject if it pleases you.”
Her glance traveled to his emboldened, invitational mouth.
“Still the conformist? Then, don’t flirt with me. I believe you scheme. Tell me, do you dream about me at night?” His laugh was salacious with intent.
She lowered her lashes, her cheeks hot. “Your Grace, how unkind. I attempt at wickedness. How else will I find a fiancé at this late date? Won’t you let me experiment with the greatest rogue in England?” She then told him a bold-faced lie, “I do not dream of you. I sleep long and well.”
“Alone and unencumbered by the presence of a man, I would wager.”
“Your Grace, do not speak to me in such a manner. It is untoward.”
“I urge caution, my dimpled darling. I have been known to scorch.”
He charmed. He excited. He posed a danger. True, he enflamed her all over, under, up, and down. It could be a novelty to know someone dangerous, but more than anything, she needed security and a confidant. How could anyone confide in an affirmed rake? Was it remotely possible she could trust him? Interestingly, the only man she might consult would be a known scoundrel and womanizer.
Did the vision of his lips on her earlobe, hot breaths on the nape of her neck, and his hands cupping her face cause the turmoil in her stomach and lower? Why the attraction to such a knave? Because he isn’t what I expected, but everything I dreamed of in private—a lover.
My Divinely Decadent Duke Page 3
