Keeping secrets from this man was going to be difficult. She pushed out a lower lip. She disliked this intrusion into her personal life. “Is this protection, Zak, or are you spying on me?”
He answered without much hesitation. “There are persons in your circle of acquaintances we are interested in.”
“And how long will it go on?”
“Until I am sure you are safe.”
Cassie sighed. Her body glowed from his kisses. No doubt the strange event at Verry’s worked against any argument she might make for privacy. No matter how many men Zeno posted about the house, she’d never be entirely secure. Overset by conflicted feelings, she wondered exactly what his men had observed, or how much she might reveal to him.
He dipped his head to look her in the eyes. “I must insist that you curtail future outings. At the very least, pare them down to as few as possible. I do not wish to make you a prisoner in your home, but—”
Cassie slipped off his lap. “But you are, Zak.”
Her irritation, at the moment, could not be greater and yet there was a deep need, a fire in her belly, for this man beside her. Either because of, or in spite of her desire, a flush of anger washed through her. “I have a social engagement this evening that I must begin to prepare for.”
Zeno stared at her. With his hair tossed about and his shirt open, the resemblance to a pirate was unmistakable. “You remember Arthur and Amanda, Lord and Lady Walmer, from the ball?” He seemed shaken, nonplussed, vulnerable. Never had he looked more adorable to her than in this moment. She resisted the urge to throw her arms around him and never let go.
She swept a few errant wisps of hair back in place. “My brother-in-law tells me Amanda went to a great deal of trouble to wangle this invitation. Margaret Fayette—I should say, Lady Fitz-Walter—is having a soiree this evening. Gerald is coming for me.”
“Have a pleasant evening, Cassie.” In an instant, Zak the potential lover disappeared, and like an unexpected, chilly spring breeze, Detective Zeno Kennedy returned with his clipped, dispassionate voice and grim countenance. “I’d best take my leave. Since you refuse to cooperate with Scotland Yard, I must organize additional protection at the eleventh hour.”
He rose from the bench and nodded to her. The dogs trailed obsequiously alongside him, already sympathetic to his cause—the traitors. At the garden wall he patted them both on the head, descending to his haunches to give them a proper scratch and allow each pup a sloppy kiss along his cheek.
All at once, she felt perturbed by his sudden exit. But what nonsense! What did he expect from her? How dare he try to make her feel as if she must obey every request, every rule he set down? She forced herself to get up and walk toward the house.
“Call out the bloody Horse Guards, then.”
Zeno closed the gate. “At the very least, I made good on my promise to kiss you, Cassandra.”
CASSIE TURNED HER head side to side for kisses.
She had never cared for the way Margaret Fayette, Lady Fitz-Walter, effused over her. There was something disingenuous about the woman’s fawning, as if she was hiding a deep-seated envy so disturbing it had to be iced over with plenty of sweet frosting.
“Delighted to be here, Margaret. What beautiful flowers you have arranged for the evening—you must give me the name of your florist—just exquisite.”
Cassie turned away from the reception line to face a room full of obligatory socializing. After a number of “so-glad-to-see-yous” and “my-word-has-it-been-that-longs” she managed to regroup with her escort.
Ensconced in his circle of intimates, her brother-in-law gave a wave. “Cassie, over here.” Gerald turned to the only new man in the bunch. “St. Aldwyn, allow me to introduce my sister-in-law.” She offered her hand to the striking chestnut-haired man.
“Raphael Lewis. And you are Cassandra St. Cloud, the lovely young widow we bachelors are so excited about.” The man cocked his head at Gerald. “Don’t bother dissembling, Rosslyn.”
Gerald’s brotherly grin wasn’t the least bit comforting.
“You are new to town, Mr. Lewis?”
He nodded. “My family hails from the north. Queensferry, on the outskirts of Edinburgh.”
Cassie evaluated the handsome Mr. Lewis. Cheerful manner aside there was something capable, reassuring about him. “Well then, we are both newly returned to the social scene here in London. I confess I am quite out of practice with my chitchat.”
“A bit like riding a horse after one has taken a bad fall.” Mr. Lewis smiled. “A musicale, a soiree or two, and you’ll have your seat back.”
Her eyes flashed upward. “And without the sore bum, what luck.” The laugh from Mr. Lewis was genuine and she returned a smile.
“As usual, you underestimate your charm, Cassandra. Nary a soul here who isn’t enthralled to see you again.” A shiver rolled down her spine as Lord Delamere moved in beside her. A quartet of musicians struck up a waltz. “Before you are deluged with requests, shall we?” With his hand on her elbow he turned her about.
“I’d prefer not.”
He leaned in close. “And if I promise to behave myself?”
They were in a section of hall that had been cleared for dancing. If she cut him now, in front of everyone, there would be talk. If she agreed to a dance there would be still be talk, but if she followed their waltz by dancing with several other eligible men, including the rather dashing Mr. Lewis, her turn about the room with Lord Delamere would soon be forgotten.
She bit her lip. “Very well, one dance, then.”
His arm slid around her waist as he led her off into smooth turns. Carefully following his lead, she hoped to stare over his shoulder for the duration.
“Relax in my arms.”
“Rather difficult to do, my lord.”
More silence and circling. “Will you ever forgive me, Cassandra?”
A blur of painful memories surfaced and she lost her footing. He caught her up and turned her so deftly, no one saw the clumsy stumble.
She dared to look at him. “Thank you.”
He smiled at her. Dear lord, he was a strikingly attractive man. Those green eyes with dazzling copper specks seemed kinder than usual tonight. Symmetrical facial features and a lovely strong jawline, which recently sported a Vandyke beard. Ladies of the ton regularly whispered about him, especially when he showed interest in a new woman.
“You haven’t answered my question.”
Cassie sighed. “It is Christian to forgive, my lord, but difficult to forget.”
“You used to call me Andrew.” They were dancing close now. Gossiping close. Cassie pushed away, but he held on tight.
She looked away. “That was a very long time ago.”
Mercifully, the music ended. She nodded a bow to the man and quickly exited the dance floor. Dashing past several clusters of guests, she glanced behind her. No dark lord in pursuit. She made her way toward the ladies’ retiring room, but found a quiet corridor hung with some rather splendid paintings. Snapping out her fan, she took a stroll in the gallery to calm herself.
“I once glimpsed a fairy swimming in the pond at Muirfield.” He moved up close behind her. “It was a warm summer’s eve, quite late as I recall. I was just riding home from a hunt and caught a glimpse of a naked wood nymph. She was so lovely I watched in breathless awe as she splashed in her pool. Drops of glistening water ran from round, high-pointed breasts down a sweet belly to a hint of curls edging above the water’s surface.”
Furious, she spun around to face him. “You spied on me?”
“And just days later, is it any wonder I lost all control? Seeing you in your come-out gown? Virginal white, I believe. Knowing what kind of body—”
She slapped him hard across the face and turned away. Catching her by the arm, he yanked. She tried to push back, but he clasped both wrists together behind her back. He held her with one hand as the other moved up the front of her dress. He arched her body against his. She was exposed, vulnerable, her
breasts near bursting from the top of her gown.
“I will scream.”
The timbre of his voice grew harsh. “I think not, Cassandra. Do you really wish to call attention to such impropriety? The beautiful young widow St. Cloud, just weeks out of mourning, caught with Lord Delamere in a scandalous state of dishabille.”
Her eyes glistened with angry unshed tears. “Please, do not do this.”
“Just a taste, my dear.” He skimmed fingers along the edge of her décolleté, and found a nipple. “Look at me.”
Her breath was shallow, rapid. Her heartbeat even more so. She reluctantly complied with his demand and met his gaze. Her mind whirled with the recollection of a few terrifying minutes between them years ago. It was happening all over again, only this time her brothers weren’t there to rescue her.
Or Zak. Why hadn’t she cried off this party and spent the evening with the one man she truly wanted?
Delamere’s voice bit through her thoughts. “You are no longer a virgin, dowager Lady Rosslyn. Do you miss the marriage bed? I would be more than delighted to offer my services.”
He tilted his head, positioning his mouth over hers. “You will kiss me now.”
She struggled against his caress as his beard scratched her cheek. “I much prefer kissing Zeno Kennedy.”
His head snapped back. “This involvement with Detective Kennedy. Is it something serious, Cassie, or are you just being neighborly?”
“Any attachment I may or may not have with Mr. Kennedy is none of your business.”
His eyes turned the darkest pigment color in her palette, terre verte. “The other evening in Stanfield’s library—” He pressed closer. She leaned away.
“Cassie, are you all right?” Her brother-in-law pushed the door open wide.
“Ah, there you are, Gerald.”
Delamere groaned and released her.
“I’ve a beastly headache, I’m afraid.” Her gaze never left his lordship as she backed away. “Gerald, would you mind terribly if I asked you to see me home early?”
Delamere nodded a bow. “’Til we meet again, Cassandra.”
She stepped through the door Gerald held open, but did not speak until they were well away from the portrait gallery. “All that business about wangling an invitation.” Cassie whirled around. “Honestly, Gerald, did he put you up to this?”
“I—” His chest deflated. “I believe Andrew is sincerely contrite, Cassie. And so very taken with you.” The pink flush up his neck told her everything she needed to know.
Her heart continued to thump wildly inside her chest. “How could you?” She stepped ahead of her brother-in-law and wound her way through clusters of laughter and a blur of vibrant gowns. Her gaze landed on the only gentleman in the room she could trust. A complete stranger. “Awfully forward of me, Mr. Lewis, but might I have the loan of your carriage?”
The princely gentleman raised both brows. “I am at your service, madam.” He nodded a bow and exited the ballroom.
“Cassie, do take my town coach—if you must leave,” Gerald whined.
Cassie swiveled, eyes cool, narrowed. She could barely contain her fury at his betrayal. “You have proven yourself untrustworthy for the last time.” She collected her evening wrap, made a hurried improbable apology, and fled the party. Standing under the portico, she took in a gulp of cool night air. An unlikely smile tipped the ends of her mouth. She didn’t give a flying fig what Margaret Fayette thought of her excuse.
A shiny black brougham pulled into the crescent-shaped drive. Modest, but well appointed. Something vaguely familiar about it. The door swung open. “Your chariot has arrived, Mrs. St. Cloud.”
“Please call me Cassandra or Cassie.” She nestled into a corner of the carriage and returned Mr. Lewis’s gaze.
“I shall call you Cassandra after the goddess you are.”
She pulled her evening shawl tighter. “I suppose you’re wondering what all that was about?”
The man’s eyes flashed to one side and back to her. “Do you wish to talk about it?”
Cassie shook her head, and then raised a brow. “I’d rather learn something about you, Mr. Lewis.”
He settled into the leather bench opposite. “Second in line to the St. Aldwyn Earldom. There is an estate in Queensferry and a residence in Edinburgh and London.”
“You are staying here in Mayfair, then?”
He shook his head. “A bachelor flat on Sydney Street, Chelsea. I am disowned, Cassandra.”
She raised a brow. “So you do have a story to tell, Mr. Lewis.”
“I will confess all if you will call me Raphael, or Rafe.”
“Then I will call you Raphael after the angel you are.”
A low smile surfaced. “Mother doesn’t think so. She stopped speaking to me several years ago.”
Cassie laughed. “I almost envy you, Mr. Lewis. There are times when I’d rather not have to listen to my mother’s commentary.”
HAVING EATEN A hearty supper of cottage pie and fillets of cod, Zeno moved upstairs to the library and poured himself a brandy. Settling into a comfortable leather chair near the hearth, he stretched his legs across an upholstered ottoman and opened his latest foray into contemporary fiction. Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island. A secret pleasure, no doubt, but wonderful escape for the imagination.
The creative mind required regular exercise and plenty of adventure. Brief flights of fantasy, Zeno believed, rested the faculties and allowed the brain to expand its capacity to make intriguing connections.
He spent several hours pleasantly engrossed in the novel, when he became aware of a carriage slowing outside the residence. He checked his watch: quarter to midnight. Cassie must have decided to make it an early evening. He got up to do a bit of neighborly nosing about.
The nearby streetlamp flickered softly, diffused by a drift of fog. Zeno squinted through the atmosphere. His heart pumped extra blood through his veins at the recognition of his brougham and driver. He ticked off a number of irregularities, the most obvious being that the lady had left her flat on the arm of her brother-in-law this evening and returned early with an undercover Yard man. Last minute, he had loaned Raphael Lewis his carriage for the evening and asked him to keep an eye out. Quint jumped down from the top of the coach and opened the door for Cassandra St. Cloud to exit, accompanied by Rafe.
In top hat and tuxedo, Rafe was born for the role he played tonight. He was a brave agent and an excellent undercover operative, but his noble upbringing meant that he could move among the haut ton unremarked. Zeno’s jaw clenched. Cassie’s musical laughter drifted up from the street. Perhaps nothing too dreadful had occurred. The click of her door lock echoed up through his windows. Rafe paused by the coach door and lit a thin cigar, letting the lucifer burn down before shaking it out.
Zeno tossed on a jacket and made his way quietly through his garden to the mews. A trace of glowing red ash helped him locate the detective. “What happened?”
“Couldn’t get much out of her without risking my cover.” Rafe leaned nonchalantly against the brick wall of the carriage house. “She reluctantly agreed to a waltz with Delamere. Their dance appeared tense. Afterward, she retreated in the direction of the ladies’ lounge. When Delamere dropped out of sight, I became concerned. I approached the brother-in-law, told him Mrs. St. Cloud had asked for him.” Rafe exhaled a pale gray stream of smoke. “Dutifully, Gerald trots off. A few minutes later both St. Clouds make their way through the ballroom. Cassandra has a few choice words with her brother-in-law, turns to me and asks for the loan of my carriage.”
“What do you think went on?”
“I suspect something uncouth happened between her and Delamere.”
“Could she have been threatened?” The question escaped between clenched teeth.
“Possibly.” His partner studied him. “She’s fine now. Whatever transpired between them is done.” He dropped the stogie and ground it out.
Zeno exhaled. “Thank you, Rafe.”<
br />
“Pleasant duty, Zak.” Rafe turned up his coat lapels and headed out of the mews. “She’s plucky. I like her.”
A frown firmly in place, Zeno called after his partner. “Why do you think she asked for your escort?”
Rafe swung around. “Obviously, I’m trustworthy.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “And I’m charming.” His chuckle echoed down the alley.
Zeno’s gaze followed Rafe out of the mews. Torn between desperately wanting to hold Cassandra in his arms and turning her over his knee, he sucked in a deep breath and exhaled. The woman was having an effect on him. How unbelievably disturbing.
Chapter Twelve
Zeno emerged from the Underground station at Sloane Square and headed for Lyall Street. Earlier in the day, he had sent an unusual proposal to Cassandra St. Cloud by wire. She had replied an hour later with an invitation to tea.
A young housemaid escorted him to the second-floor studio. At the top of the stairs, he opened the door onto a most provocative world.
“Good afternoon, Zak.” Cassie, wearing a paint- splattered apron with her shirtsleeves rolled up, peered over a large easel. Another young woman sat in repose on a chaise placed on a platform that raised the scene to near eye level. Her classically shaped body was nude with the exception of black wool stockings rolled part way up her thighs. Zeno could not help but note her rounded hips, narrow waist and small, plump, high-set breasts.
The simplicity of the tableau enchanted him. A scene of everyday toilet. A young lady dressing in her boudoir. Or was she undressing? Her attention appeared fixed on an adjustment to a garter. From what he could see, Cassie painted a rather erotic aspect of the pose. The girl’s torso angled slightly away, her legs parted somewhat, with just a hint of her female triangle.
Aroused, and a bit dazed by the intimacy of the setting, he cleared his throat. “Shall I wait in the sitting room for you?”
“Nonsense, Zeno, please take a seat here beside me. I won’t be but a few more minutes.” She lifted her gaze above the canvas. “Do you mind, Sally?”
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