And she had done it for money.
Chapter 22
He once suggested that there are people in the world who are connected to each other in their hearts and souls. I now believe that is true, and that we are inexplicably drawn to those people. Our souls recognize them the first moment we lay eyes on them, and the connection is both everlasting and indestructible, whether you are together or not.
—from the journal of
Cassandra Montrose,
Lady Colchester,
July 9,1874
By the time Vincent found Cassandra in a small Newbury inn, it was past midnight. He had spent the past hours traveling across the rain battered English countryside with a brief stop in London, brooding over the fact that she had left him, and in doing so, not only betrayed his trust, but was in breach of their contract as well, for she had taken their daughter away.
Exhausted, he climbed the stairs at the inn, knowing which room was hers thanks to an intoxicated innkeeper who was more interested in accepting a bribe than in protecting his guests’ privacy.
Pausing outside her door, Vincent struggled to make sense of the chaos in his mind and wrestled with both his anger and a crippling sense of relief that he had found her. She had not disappeared from his life completely without a trace.
He remembered his dream about finding MaryAnn in the woods, then turning her body over and seeing Cassandra’s lifeless face instead. The sense of loss he felt had been devastating. At least Cassandra was here. Alive. He could speak with her, ask her questions, try to understand...
After knocking, he heard movement from inside. At last the door opened and he found himself staring into Cassandra’s surprised eyes. She was holding the collar of her nightdress tight around her neck with a fist. The bandage was gone and her golden hair was gleaming, tousled and long about her shoulders. Her rosy lips were parted in dismay. “Vincent, what are you doing here?”
He focused on her face, his body tense with an alarming degree of desire. Evidently, no matter what occurred between them, he would always find her beautiful, especially when she was sleepy and waiflike, fresh out of bed.
“Vincent...” Her voice was a quiet whisper.
He strove to keep his head on straight. “Surprised to see me?”
She glanced uneasily over her shoulder into the dark room beyond. “Yes, but June is sleeping. She was tired and fussy from the journey, and I do not wish to wake her. And Miss Callahan is here,” she added, letting him know that she felt there must be some concern for propriety. As if it mattered at this point.
It certainly did not matter to Vincent. All he felt was a biting need to push past her and see June for himself—if only just to look at her sleeping, to make sure she was there in the flesh, safe and sound.
“Get dressed,” he said, “and meet me in the taproom.” Without giving Cassandra a chance to argue, he turned and went downstairs.
It was a quiet inn. Only a few patrons were seated at the bar. Vincent selected a low table in the corner with two upholstered wing chairs and ordered a tankard of ale. While he waited for Cassandra, he sipped it slowly and contemplated his displeasure.
A few minutes later he sensed her arrival in the taproom. He looked up from his frothy ale and rose to his feet, then waited for her to sit before he sat down again as well.
She looked pale. The bandage was gone but the whites of her eyes were stained with red, as if she had not slept. He suddenly felt a pang of concern for her well-being, but then recalled how he’d been forced to chase after her, not knowing whether he would ever find her. What would he have done then?
“You are in breach of contract,” he said in a low, cool voice.
Her pale cheeks flushed with color. “No, I am not.”
“Indeed you are. Tell me, was that all you wanted from the beginning? Money?”
“Of course not!” she retorted with obvious shock. “I wanted no such thing!”
“Then why did you leave without a single word to me about it?”
“I did leave word,” she insisted, her defensiveness almost palpable across the table. “I wrote you a note and left it on the pillow.”
He felt curious eyes upon them from the bar and realized that though she had just sat down ten seconds ago, they were already arguing heatedly about contracts and money and notes on pillows.
When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “All I know is that my father offered you a generous sum of money today in exchange for your leaving me, and that you accepted it.”
Her eyes flashed with fury. “I did not accept it. Who told you that? Letitia?”
He blinked at Cassandra, seeking to get his bearings and understand what was happening. “Father believed you took it. You left in the coach he provided.”
She frowned as she, too, tried to comprehend what had occurred. “You did not find my letter? As I said, I left it on my pillow. Did you not go back to my room?”
“I did. There was no letter.”
Cassandra scoffed. “Letitia must have found it and taken it. I assure you, I was not leaving you. I wrote to tell you where I would be, here in Newbury waiting to take up residence in Langley Hall, just as we planned.”
He gazed at her in disbelief. He had expected to come here and experience the complete annihilation of their affair. He had expected to meet a woman whose heart had turned cold, a woman who would tear up the contract in front of his face and tell him the time had come to move on.
She glowered at him. “Did you actually think I would disappear and take June away from you like that?”
He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, which were now throbbing with pain from the stress of the day. “It has not been easy for me to believe that my life could possibly turn out well. I have not had it happen before.”
“Well, neither have I,” she replied. “But I have learned a thing or two over the past month. I thought perhaps you might have, too.”
“I did,” he tried to tell her, still squeezing his forehead. “But then you disappeared.”
She sat for a long time saying nothing, then leaned forward and covered his hand with hers on the table. “I did not disappear,” she gently assured him. “You simply did not find my letter. If you had, you would not have spent the whole day chasing after me and giving yourself a headache.”
The server approached the table. Cassandra leaned back and asked for wine. When they were alone again, Vincent wet his lips. “What did the letter say?”
She sat in silence, just looking at him, then at last began to explain. “I wrote to tell you that I now believe you were right that day in the library at Langley Hall, when you suggested there could be true fidelity of the heart without a written contract or a certificate of marriage. I have decided that I will not spend another minute resisting what is in my heart. I want to be with you, and I shall be brave. My worst fear was that you would break my heart one day, that I would have to share you with other women, but now I am willing to face that possibility. I do not need the contract between us to bind you to me forever. All I need is to love you, to give you my love. The passion we have between us, as we are, is enough, for however long it lasts.”
He stared at her closely across the table. “However long it lasts?” A deep pang of hurt and disappointment pulsed inside his chest. “I believe, Cassandra, that this is the first time since you came back into my life that you have ever truly sounded like a mistress.”
Cassandra’s wine arrived and was set down in front of her, but she could not move her hands to touch it.
“Perhaps I sound like a mistress,” she told him with a cool air, “because that is what I am. Though I must say, you have never made me feel ashamed of it. Not until now.”
He inhaled deeply. “That is because in my eyes you were always above that. And you have become much more than that.”
She paused. “Well,
that, sir, is news to me.”
“I want you to be more,” he said.
She shifted uneasily. “What are you saying? How can I possibly be more, unless you want to make me your wife. But that cannot be.”
“Why not?”
“Because you have told me a dozen times—Letitia is your perfect match. She will allow you to keep your freedom. And also, your father would never accept me. You would lose your inheritance. You would be letting down your brothers.”
“First of all, let us be clear. Letitia is not my perfect match. She was once, I suppose, when I was a different man, but she is no longer.”
“She is no longer what? Your perfect match?”
“Correct. But she is also no longer my fiancée. We have parted ways.”
Cassandra stared at Vincent, afraid to believe what he was saying. Or rather, what she thought he was saying.
“Even without Letitia as your fiancée,” she said, “I cannot be your wife. I could not bear to cause a rift between you and your brothers, nor do I wish for you to lose your inheritance. If that happened, you would resent me. Maybe not now, but one day in the future.”
Vincent sat back and folded his arms. “So, you want to continue with our contractual arrangement? Is that it? You would be comfortable as my mistress for as long as it lasts, while I choose another woman to be my wife? While I share a bed with her? Have children with her? And of course, the way you describe it, I would leave you eventually for another mistress. That would all be acceptable to you?”
Cassandra wet her lips and tried to hide the fact that she was shaken by the mere mention of him having children with another woman. “I wouldn’t like it.”
His eyes were dark and determined as he leaned forward again. “What if I told you I don’t care what my father says or what my brothers think? Or society for that matter.”
“Then I would tell you that you are not thinking rationally because you are blinded by lust.”
“Lust?” he angrily retorted. “Do you still think that’s what this is about?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do I feel this more deeply than you?” he asked. “Tell me if that is the case, because if you are not willing to fight for what has become more than just lust between us, I will be grossly disappointed. Especially because all you’ve ever done before now is fight against it.”
She looked down at her glass of wine and finally picked it up to take a sip. Her hands were shaking. “I have been fighting against it because I was afraid I would end up with a broken heart. I still fear that, because there are so many forces against us.”
“I have fears, too,” he said. “I always will, but it doesn’t mean I will not fight against those forces that stand between us. I already have, Cassandra. I have told Letitia that I will not marry her, that she can drag me through the papers and the courts and all the mud in England if she is so inclined. It will not make a bloody difference to me. I will never be her husband.”
Cassandra looked at him cautiously. “What about your father? Your brothers?”
“I believe I might have found a way around my father’s demands. With Charlotte’s help, and that maid...what is her name? Iris?”
“Iris? She has become involved in this? How could she possibly be of help?”
“She led Charlotte to some evidence hidden in one of the fireplaces that helped my father stop romanticizing the first duchess—the one who looked like Letitia. It turns out she was a bit of a shrew.”
Cassandra was having a difficult time believing all of this. “Does that mean your father’s affection for Letitia has diminished?”
“It seems so. He might even be blaming her for the curse, if I have luck on my side. For once.”
Cassandra placed both hands flat on the table. “Does he know about me?”
“He knows you are my mistress, and that I love you.”
She couldn’t seem to move. All she could do was fumble frantically in her mind with those words he had just said to her. I love you.
She pushed her glass of wine to the side so she would not spill it. “I am a fallen woman, Vincent. I have birthed your child out of wedlock. I have been your mistress. Surely I am not worthy of—”
“You are the most worthy person I have ever met in my life, Cassandra.”
One of the taproom patrons dropped a mug of ale on the floor just then, and it smashed to pieces. Cassandra jumped.
“Let us leave here.” Vincent rose to his feet and held out his hand. “The rain has stopped, and it is a beautiful night, fresh and sweet-smelling. Come and walk with me?”
Half in a daze, Cassandra placed her hand in his. He escorted her outside onto the empty street, where the air was moist and crickets were chirping in the damp, green grass.
“Which way should we go?” he asked, looking east and west, up and down the street.
“This way,” she suggested, turning toward the quiet edge of town and wondering if she was dreaming.
Her arm was linked through his, but he soon slid his hand down and took hold of hers. They walked for a while in silence, stepping around puddles, and the notion that there was hope—that he could love her and be devoted to her—was enough to make Cassandra stop in her tracks, close her eyes and say frenzied prayers of gratitude.
Vincent stopped, too, and faced her. “I want to kiss you.”
A light gasp floated past her lips as his mouth touched hers in the darkness, warm and soft, engaging and erotic. His tongue moved with exquisite intimacy, and she was quite sure he was the most amazing kisser in the world.
She moaned softly, sensually, and when he drew back, she spoke with her eyes still closed. “You always make my knees go weak.”
“Always?”
“Yes. The first moment I saw you, I melted. I was enraptured. You were the handsomest man I had ever seen. I could not keep my eyes off you. I fell instantly in love. Or lust, whatever it was.”
“Is it lust now?” he asked. “Or is there something more?”
Cassandra opened her eyes. Vincent was so beautiful, looking down at her intently, she could not bear it.
“But wait,” he said. “Before you answer, I must say something to you. You must know this, Cassandra. If you are mine, if we are together, there will never be any other women. I will be yours and no one else’s. I will be faithful to you until the day I die, and I will be devoted to both you and June. You are all I will ever want.”
Cassandra was overcome suddenly by the need to touch him. Laying her palm on his cheek briefly, she glanced down at his hand at his side and took hold of it, stroked it with her thumb, but even that was not enough. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold his body close to hers, to feel the beat of his heart against her breast.
“It is so much more, Vincent, my love. I could never be without you.”
She melted anew at the light in his eyes when he gave her the devastating smile that always charmed her and aroused her deepest passions.
“Will you be my wife?” he asked. “Please say yes, because I want you forever as my mate, my friend, and my lover.”
Even now she was afraid to believe that she could have him for her own, that she could have everything she’d ever wanted—love, passion, devotion. With the most incredible man she’d ever known.
“Your father,” she said anxiously. “Will he accept me?”
“Will it matter?”
She looked at Vincent for a long moment. “No, I suppose not, if you are certain it is what you want. But what of the scandal? June will always be illegitimate. We may never be accepted back into society.”
“We will go our own way for a while,” he said. “Together—you, me, and June. We will travel, and spend our time in the country, and eventually, I believe that people will forget. If all else fails, when Devon is duke, it will be a new beginning for all of us. N
o one would dare to stand against him, and he has given me his word that he will support us.”
“You have reconciled with him, then?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, Vincent, I am so pleased to hear it. You are brothers again.”
“And friends.”
Warmth flooded her heart.
“But even if June was never accepted in the highest circles,” he said, “what would it matter? When the time comes for her to marry, I want her to choose a husband for love, not for duty or position. She can marry the butcher for all I care, as long as he is a good man and treats her well. No matter what, she will always have her family behind her.”
“That sounds quite fine, Vincent. More than fine.”
He smiled again, then dropped to one knee on the wet street. “Forgive me. I am not doing this properly.”
He bowed his head and paused for a moment. Cassandra reached down and almost touched his dark wavy hair but drew her hand back when he looked up.
“Cassandra Montrose, you are the greatest love of my life,” he said. “You have made me feel whole when I never knew it was possible to feel that way. All the missing pieces of my heart and my life came together inside of me when I met you. I do not ever wish to be without you. Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
The whole world seemed to burst wide open inside her heart as she looked down at him, and then suddenly she was laughing, throwing her head back as tears spilled from her eyes. “Yes!”
Before she could comprehend anything more, Vincent was on his feet and his lips were upon hers, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her to him. Joy flooded through her as she rose up on her toes and threw her arms about his neck. The next thing she knew, she was kissing his cheek and telling him that she loved him with all her heart.
It was the happiest moment of her life. He was hers. She was his. She had never dreamed it could truly be possible, that she could be his wife, and yet it was real. He was here. He had followed her across the country to claim her as his own, and now June would be able to call him Father.
The Mistress Diaries (Love at Pembroke Palace Book 2) Page 23
