His voice came out hoarse and low when he finally spoke. “Miss Agatha Daventry. Lady Matilda Parham. Mrs. Viola Cathorn. Miss Janet Pleasance. Lady Lily Kirby. Lady Olivia Gibbs.”
Cassandra blinked, each name falling into her gut with the weight of a stone boulder. “Those … those are all of …”
“Bertram’s other victims,” he said with a nod. “Yes. Lady Gibbs’ involvement isn’t public knowledge, but knowing what I do about Hartmoor’s vendetta against Bertram, it was not difficult to puzzle out. Her child bears a striking resemblance to the Fairchild family, so it was not difficult for me to make the connection.”
Her jaw dropped, and shock stunned her into silence. While the trial had been long and public, creating one of London’s greatest scandals, it had been months since Bertam’s execution. Not only did he remember the victims, he had paid close enough attention to figure out the secret of Lady Olivia’s ordeal. She had been the only one of Bertram’s known victims to remove herself from the trial and opt not to testify. Her daughter had needed protecting, and the other women had been glad to do their part in keeping the truth of her parentage a secret.
“I know their names,” he continued when she remained silent. “I cannot forget who they are, or the things Bertram did to them. I think of them often, in fact, and have suffered no end of guilt over my own part in all of this. Do you think I am not ashamed at having been friends with that blackguard without ever knowing who he truly was? I have not forgiven myself for it, and I may never be able to. I care, Cass. I care about them, I care about you.”
It was happening again. Something inside her was crumbling, falling to pieces against his words. She wrapped her arms around herself and held tight, refusing to allow his words to affect her or change her course. She had begun this, and she must finish it. Those other women had stood with her, and together they had destroyed their mutual tormentor. But what of the others? What of the maids who served as easy pickings for men with salacious intent? What of Lady Downing, who had died because of her? There was nothing left for her now—only the solace of her own actions, the peace that came from doing what she could to put the Bertrams of the world in their place.
Turning away from him, she found her gown draped over the back of a chair, her undergarments piled upon the seat. She began dressing, stepping into her petticoats and tying them at her waist, before reaching for her stays.
“I am done with you,” she declared, avoiding his gaze. “Do not return to Easton Park.”
“So, that is it?” he demanded, crossing the room toward her. “I tell you that I care about you, and that is enough for you to toss me aside?”
No, she thought. It isn’t that you care about me, but that I cannot return the sentiment.
Aloud, she said, “Softer emotions were never a part of our arrangement. It is clear to me that this has gone on long enough.”
“What is clear to me is that you are afraid.”
She froze in the middle of tying her garter, glancing up to find him watching her, arms folded across his chest.
“Afraid of what? You?”
“Yes, of me … of this thing happening between us.”
She finished off the garter and broke his gaze, plucking her slippers off the floor. She’d pulled on her gown but it remained open in the back with no one to assist her in closing it.
“There is nothing—”
“Denying it does not make it untrue,” he interjected. “Damn it, Cass, I am trying to—”
“To what?” she spat, straightening once she had her slippers on. “Love me?”
He raked both hands through his hair and let out a growl of frustration. “Yes!”
“Don’t. I don’t want your love … not when you don’t even know what love is. For God’s sake, you cannot even see that what you felt for Daphne wasn’t love. How am I supposed to believe that you could possibly love me? Hell, you do not even know me.”
“I want to. I’ve been trying to. But, how can I when you will not let me?”
“Because if you truly knew me, you could never love me. It is over, Robert. Perhaps someday you will find a woman who appeals to your need to rescue and coddle her. I can assure you, I am not what you want.”
She gave him her back, sweeping her bedraggled hair over one shoulder to expose the opening of her gown. A long silence dragged out between them, and for a moment she wondered if he meant to let her traipse about with her gown falling off. But, eventually he approached, closing her gown with swift, deft movements.
“Wait here,” he said once he was done.
She turned to find him disappearing into the dressing room. He returned holding a pair of shoes and wearing a banyan, his shirt still hanging open. The mark upon his chest peeked out at her, a sign of her possession, her passion.
There would be no more of that now, but it was for the best. She could not tell him that it wasn’t his fault—he'd simply put all his hopes in the wrong person. She was not a woman who could love or be loved. There was room for only pain, anger, and vengeance inside of her, and in the end she would have destroyed him.
No, not him … he seemed more resilient then she’d first assumed. She was the one who’d be destroyed if she let him in. There were parts of her she’d never let anyone see or touch, and Robert had consistently pushed against her boundaries. She could not allow him to go any further.
“At least let me see you out of the house,” he said.
Without waiting for her to answer he swept toward the door, the hem of his open banyan flaring out behind him. She followed in silence, waiting for him to determine that the corridor remained empty before he led her out. They encountered no one as they moved through the servant’s passage, the majority of the staff about their duties for the day.
Before long they reached the same door they’d entered last night, stepping out into the sunny morning. The air still held a bit of a chill, but it felt good as she breathed it in, letting the cold flood her throat and chest. Robert turned to face her with the sun at his back, its rays turning his hair to white gold. His expression was set in stone— mouth tight, jaw clenched, eyes mournful. It seemed as if a hundred years had passed between last night and now. It stretched like a crevice between them, growing by the second.
“I don’t suppose you want me to escort you the rest of the way,” he said, inclining his head toward the path leading into the woods, the one she would follow home.
“No,” she replied. “I will be fine on my own.”
He scoffed. “I am certain you will. Take care of yourself, Cass.”
“Good-bye, Robert.”
As she turned to walk away, it took every ounce of her will not to look back. His gaze followed her, hot on her back until she’d been swallowed up by the trees.
THE FOLLOWING DAY, Robert walked through the woods in the direction of Easton Park with Cassandra’s cloak draped over one arm. While she’d told him to stay away—and he had every intention of honoring her wishes—he hadn’t wanted her to go without the garment. It had remained in the care of servants overnight, and because everyone thought she’d left after her outburst in the drawing room, he’d been tasked with returning it.
“Your father is exhausted after last evening, but he was most insistent that you bring back word of Lady Cassandra’s welfare,” his mother had told him over breakfast.
He’d sat across from her while poking at his food, his stomach tied up in too many knots for him to eat. He hadn’t wanted to speak of the woman who’d cast him aside after ripping him to shreds with nothing more than her words. However, it seemed all his mother wished to talk about following the dinner party, so he’d had to suffer in silence.
“I am glad you convinced me to invite her,” she said between bites of coddled eggs. “While I cannot confess to being fond of the chit, she held her own quite well I suppose. We certainly set a good example for our neighbors, so she should have an easier time of it now.”
He couldn’t help scoffing aloud at that,
rolling his eyes as he reached for the cup of coffee beside his plate. Cassandra, having any easy time of it? That woman wanted nothing of the sort. She’d fight the entire world if she could, lashing out with tooth and claw at anything that got to close to her.
“Whatever could be so funny?” she asked, noting the sardonic smile upon his face.
“Nothing,” he’d said, wiping all traces of emotion from his face. “I am certain you are right.”
The baroness had given him a curious gaze, but carried on. “Your father seems taken with her. I cannot imagine why. Such a surly creature.”
Surly, stubborn, and beautiful, his Cassandra. And yes, she was his whether she wanted to be or not. She could deny it all she wished, but he knew he wasn’t alone in his feelings. Things had begun to change between them, and while Robert had been ready to embrace it, Cassandra seemed intent upon running from it.
Which left him in a bit of a conundrum at present—torn between the urge to go chasing after her, and the need to protect himself from anymore heartbreak. As painful as it had been to watch Daphne choose Hartmoor over him, the agony of trying and failing to win Cassandra felt even worse. She’d latched on to some deep-seated part of him, and he’d clung right back, coming alive with her in a way he never had with anyone else.
At this point, he could cut his losses and walk away free and clear. She had pushed him away, and he could choose to honor that and stay away. Or, he could fight his way through his defenses, burst through the fissures in her walls and break them open completely.
Running a hand over his tired face, he’d found he lacked the strength to make a decision yet. She’d turned him inside out this morning.
God help him, the cruelty only made him want her more. She’d been absolutely right about him … he craved the pain of it as much as the pleasure.
“I will go return the cloak to her now,” he’d announced, rising from the table after polishing off his coffee.
His mother had frowned, her gaze falling to his plate. “But, you’ve hardly touched your breakfast.”
“I am not hungry.”
She was on her feet in an instant, rushing around the table and reaching up to place a hand over his forehead. “Are you ill? I ought to send for Dr. Dormer.”
His exhaustion further exacerbated the annoyance rising within him.
“I am not ill, I just do not want to eat,” he’d said, pushing her hand away.
Wringing her hands, she had looked him over from head to toe, her gaze telling him she did not believe a word of it. “Lack of appetite can be a sign of any number of illnesses. You could be—”
“Damn it, Mother, sometimes not eating only means I am not hungry!” he snapped.
She flinched as if he’d struck her, eyes going wide and chin trembling. Wonderful. He could now count her as second among the women who’d grown cross with him in the span of a few hours. Turning to leave, he decided the long walk to Easton Park would help clear his head. By the time he returned, he hoped his mood would have improved. But, considering Cassandra would not be happy to see him when he arrived, he doubted it.
“At least put on a greatcoat,” she’d called after him.
“I don’t need a coat!” he’d replied as he thundered through the dining room doors and out into the corridor.
It wasn’t like him to brush off her concerns, but then, he hadn’t felt at all like himself the past few weeks. Cassandra had gotten under his skin, forcing parts of him aside to make room for something else. That thing had no tolerance for the baroness’ constant meddling and worries.
Now he approached Easton Park with every intention of leaving the cloak in the care of a servant before returning home. Inside him, conflict roiled over whether he wished to lay eyes upon her.
Passing the pond, he avoided looking at it for fear of reliving the night he’d come here to find her plunging into the depths. It would only make him want to tear the door of her cottage off its hinges and go barreling through the house in search of her. Once he’d found her, he would take her into his arms whether she fought him or not. He’d kiss her senseless and refuse to let go until she gave in.
Christ, she was driving him out of his mind even when they didn’t stand face to face.
Striding up to the front door, he made use of the knocker and stood back. A moment later, a footman appeared.
“Good morning. Is Lady Cassandra at home?”
“I apologize, but my lady is not here.”
He frowned, wondering where she could have gone so soon after leaving Briarwell. Only a few hours had passed, which meant she had already decided to leave Suffolk from the moment they parted ways. Or, had she instructed her servants to tell him that should he arrive on her doorstep?
“I see,” he replied, holding up the cloak. “I came to return this … she accidentally left it behind after the party last night. Will you ensure she knows I brought it back?”
The man accepted the cloak, giving Robert a knowing look. He, along with the rest of the household, must know that their lady had been gone the entire evening, not returning until morning. He wondered how many of them knew or suspected she’d spent the night in his bed.
“Thank you,” he replied.
Going back the way he’d come, he released a low, long sigh. He could not determine if he was more relieved, or disappointed.
He paused on the path, glancing toward the small stable where a man and a young boy worked to groom a black Arabian. Within the open doors of the structure he spotted Cassandra’s carriage. A carriage she ought to have taken if she had really departed for London.
It was none of his affair, and she’d made it clear his interference would no longer be tolerated. Yet, as he stood there wondering where she was, a premonition niggled down his spine. Something did not feel right about any of this. The grievous state she’d been in last night had meant something, just as her sudden disappearance did. Try as he might, he couldn’t brush it off as being none of his business.
Before he could change his mind, he set off toward the stable, determination quickening his strides.
The man glanced up as he approached, while the boy went on chattering about some thing or another while he brushed the Arabian’s tail.
“Somethin’ I can do for you, sir?”
Robert’s gaze flitted to the carriage again. Had she really gone to London, or was she hiding from him inside the cottage? He had to know.
“I came looking for Lady Cassandra, only to be informed she has departed for Town. After the events of last night, I am concerned about her. She was … not well.”
The man stood up straighter, casting a glance at the stable boy. “Leon, go into the kitchen and ask Mrs. Ingram if you can have a bite to eat. I’ll come get you when I need you again.”
The boy silently obeyed, throwing his brush into a bucket of grooming tools before dashing off toward the house. The man then turned back to Robert, leveling a suspicious glare at him.
“You the one that sent me home without m’lady last night?”
So, this man was Cassandra’s driver, then. Strange, that he was here when she was supposedly in London.
“That’s right,” he replied. “She was most distraught, and I did not feel right letting her leave alone.”
The man approached, shoulders squared. “And just what did you do to her?”
Robert shook his head. “No, it was nothing like that. The dinner party was going quite well until one of our guests mentioned that Lady Downing had died in a tragic accident. She did not take the news well.”
The driver started, eyes going wide as he stared at Robert in disbelief. What was it about Lady Downing that threw Cassandra and her driver into a panic?
“Lady Downin’, you say?” the driver asked, his voice gone hoarse.
“Yes, that’s right. I thought perhaps they were friends, because Lady Cassandra was near inconsolable about it. I just want to know that she is all right. She still seemed … not herself this morning.”
In truth, she’d seemed more herself than ever—brusque and cold.
But, the abrupt change overnight had confounded him.
Running both hands through a messy mop of overgrown hair, the driver uttered a vicious string of oaths. Seeming to remember who he was standing before, he flushed.
“Forgive me, sir. I … I didn't know about Lady Downin’. This does explain things.”
His heartbeat sped up, his palms breaking out into a sweat as he realized he’d been right to worry. “Explains what? Please, you have to tell me something … anything that might shed some light on what is happening. I’m worried about her.”
The driver’s eyes darted and he seemed to think over his words before speaking. “M’lady left this mornin’, right after returnin’ from
Briarwell. She seemed in a hurry, didn’t even want me to drive her.”
Robert frowned. “She rode to London alone on horseback?”
The driver nodded, his breath leaving him in a heavy sigh. “I thought to go after her, but she … bloody hell, what could she be thinkin’?”
The frazzled thread of his patience snapped as his worry increased to panic. He took the driver by his lapels and drew him closer, nostrils flaring as he fought to get a handle on his emotions and failed. Despite not knowing exactly what was going on, he had a feeling Cassandra was in some sort of danger and this driver knew something about it.
“You need to tell me where she’s gone and what she is up to,” he demanded. “If she’s in trouble, I need to go after her.”
The man shrugged out of his hold, chin jutting out in a defiant manner. “It’s not for me to say. M’lady has sworn me to secrecy.”
“Goddamn it, your lady needs your help!” he railed, hands clenching into fists. “At least give me something. You must know where she’ll go once she’s in London. I cannot stand back and allow some ill fate to befall her.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, the driver inspected Robert with a critical eye. He seemed to try to determine whether Robert’s concern was sincere, and what good might come of revealing Cassandra’s secrets.
The Damsel: A Villain Duology Sequel Page 20
