by Emma Wildes
Since she was just as culpable, Cassandra shook her head. “No, you were importunate, but you did not force me.”
Obviously that reassurance eased his discomfort at least a fraction, for he exhaled in visible relief. “I couldn’t believe I would ever do such a thing, drunk or sober. I told myself if you truly said no, I would have stopped.”
She sat silently and waited for the inevitable question, feeling the high color in her warm face. Her fingers were wound so tightly in her lap they ached. Outside, a brightly-colored bird had landed on the statue in the middle of the pond, the sudden trill of song adding an unreal dimension to their conversation.
“I am not trying to shift the responsibility for this debacle to you, Cassie, but why didn’t you stop me?” Despite his words, there was the faintest hint of accusation in his blue eyes. Still propped against the pillar, his tall lean body dappled by the late morning sunshine coming through the slatted blinds, he looked impossibly attractive, and about as distant as the moon. He was the man of her dreams, all masculine grace with that muscled form and power, sophisticated, good-looking, and confident.
The only trouble was, he obviously didn’t have the slightest notion she thought of him that way, nor did she think he would welcome the news that he had long been the subject of her romantic fantasies.
It had felt wonderful in his arms, to have the hot hard feel of his body over and inside her, the warm pressure of his mouth as it melded with hers…and she deeply resented the choice of the word “debacle” to describe what had happened between them. That was worse than the clinical description of “sexual intercourse”.
It was hard to believe this curt, grim-faced stranger was the same man who had been such a tender, passionate lover the night before. Cassandra said in an uneven voice, “I am sorry you think this is such a disaster, when you, of all people, should know it is not. By all accounts you frequently engage in sexual encounters with any number of women, and I assume you are not usually stricken and horrified the next day. I want nothing from you, Ross, so rest easy. I didn’t stop you because it felt…nice. Apparently even when you are foxed, all that previous practice has paid off. I am certainly not an expert, but I would say you were still quite competent.”
He looked so surprised by her defiant speech that it was a bit comical—if Cassandra had felt at all inclined to laughter—but she was much closer to tears. Ebony brows lifted and his mouth finally eased from a tight line to something resembling a faint, wry smile.
After a moment, Ross said quietly, “I am glad it was not an unpleasant experience for you, but you are wrong about one thing. I don’t know if it classifies as a disaster, but it certainly is going to change both our lives.”
Cassandra consciously loosened the death grip clasp of her aching fingers and blinked back the unwanted tears. “I do not see why it should. It isn’t anyone’s business but ours, and it is fine with me if this is the last conversation we have on the subject.”
“That may be how you feel, but it isn’t exactly practical. For one thing, I assume I…” He floundered for the right word, apparently at a loss as how to discuss the subject, and his cheeks flushed slightly. Finally, he said, “I assume I finished.”
She remembered only too well the sensation of his hot sexual discharge as his powerful body shook and his sex flexed inside her. She’d already blushed countless times, but if possible her cheeks felt even warmer. “Yes, you finished.”
“I thought so,” he muttered. “I guess we need to face the fact you could be pregnant.”
* * * *
The possibility that a child could have been conceived hadn’t yet occurred to her. Ross could see it in her expression and the slight widening of her lovely eyes. Cassandra sat on the seat, framed by golden sunlight that shone off her lustrous blond hair, her slender, but undeniably lush body tense. The pale rose of her gown was a dim shade compared to the bright spots staining her smooth cheeks. A shuddering breath shook her slim shoulders and she mumbled in an off-key voice, “It was only once. Well, it would have been twice, I guess, but you fell asleep.”
Jesus, that hardly made him feel better. Not only had he been unable to control his baser impulses, coerced her into his bed and taken her innocence, but apparently he hadn’t acquitted himself all that well either.
There would be plenty of chances to prove his skill and stamina in the bedroom to her, a sardonic little voice in his head reminded him, though her delicate beauty was compelling even in this unfortunate situation. He hadn’t intended on marrying any time soon, but the matter was out of his hands now.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “It only takes once, I’m afraid.”
She blinked, a flutter of long dark lashes over the hazel depths of her eyes. “My cousin has been married for years and just recently found out she is expecting. She said they had to try many times for her to get with child.”
With an inward curse at the tendency of the English upper class to keep their young women as ignorant as possible over how their own bodies work, Ross fought the urge to grit his teeth. “Some women are apparently more fertile than others. When a man finds sexual gratification deep inside a woman, he releases his seed. It may take, or it may not, but since we did nothing to prevent conception, we need to accept and prepare for the possibility of a coming child.” He added curtly, “Your lost virginity, also, cannot be replaced.”
She stiffened further, something he didn’t think possible since she was already so upright her spine must be aching. “Are you planning on telling everyone? Otherwise, I can’t see how my lack of virginity matters much.”
“Even you can’t be that naïve. Your husband would expect to be the first.”
Cassandra gave him an offended look that made him feel every bit as cynical and jaded as he sounded. “I’m sorry I am not as experienced as you are, my lord. Perhaps I am naïve, but will you apologize to your wife when you go to her bed on your wedding night for not being a virgin?”
“I don’t know. Will you require it of me?”
The instant she actually registered what he said, Ross saw her soft lips part, a small shake of denial brushing a few errant gold curls against her slender neck. “I am sure you cannot be serious.”
“I am sure we have no choice. My main dilemma is how to tell Timothy what transpired without having him go for my throat.”
Cassandra looked unflatteringly aghast. “We can’t get married!”
He’d had the same reaction when he realized what had happened, but the truth was, what was done was done. “We can and will, though rest assured I am no more enthusiastic about this than you are.”
His abrupt authoritative tone was the result of a good-sized headache and a guilty conscience, but it was not the best approach and his choice of words was unfortunate. Ross saw the first slide of a tear run down her cheek in a wet glistening trail, and an almost ghostly pallor replaced her previous blushes. Since the current situation was completely beyond the realm of his experience, Ross simply stood and felt both dismay and helplessness. The last thing he had intended was to compound the wrong he had already done to Cassandra, and there she was, obviously distraught and upset. He was used enough to the theatrical tears some women used, tears designed to manipulate and coerce. Her distress, however, was genuine and the trembling of her slender shoulders made him feel like an utter callous idiot. Not usually a despoiler of innocent young ladies, dealing with this current crisis was obviously not his forte. He had no idea how to comfort her, because what he had said was the complete truth. She was ruined, he was the guilty-as-hell culprit, and they had to marry.
Maybe comfort wasn’t his area of expertise, but he knew all about seduction. He’d proven that.
Crossing the few paces to sink down next to his weeping future bride, he gently lifted and settled her slim, shaking body on his lap. Smoothing the dampness away from her delicate cheekbones with his fingers, he whispered against her temple, “Please don’t cry. You are sorely wounding my pride, you
know, for I was under the impression all these years that you liked me.”
Eyes of deep green flecked with gold shimmered and she swallowed. “I do. It isn’t that, Ross, and you know it.”
Her soft bottom nestled enticingly against his groin as he cradled her closer. He said persuasively, “We’re both just a little off balance right now, I think. Tears won’t help, Cassie.”
“Stop trying to make me feel better with that particular cajoling tone.” She said the words with conviction, but didn’t try to move away from his embrace, resting willingly against his chest. “I’m not a child.”
“No indeed,” he agreed dryly, the pliant weight of her full firm breasts just inches away. “That seemed to come to my attention last night.”
She laughed a little, a small despairing hiccup through the tears. “You obviously don’t want to marry me. That’s the problem.”
That was accurate enough he couldn’t argue. It wasn’t her personally, it was just he didn’t feel he was ready to marry anyone. Also, if he had to acknowledge the truth, she was right, he doubted he would ever choose someone like her even when it was the right time. Cassandra was bright and beautiful, but she was also a quiet introvert who spent hours every day reading or playing the piano, and she avoided social situations as much as possible. He, on the other hand, loved to travel, and when he was in England he spent almost all his time in London, enjoying the whirl of fashionable society.
Two people simply couldn’t be more opposite.
Debacle was definitely the right word to describe the situation.
The only redeeming thing about it was that Cassandra felt very soft and feminine in his arms, and his senses registered the hauntingly familiar scent of lilacs drifting from her smooth skin. Ross murmured with what he hoped was diplomatic persuasion, “Want is a relative term, Cassie. Few men actively want to get married. Our desires are a bit more base, I’m afraid.”
Like at this very moment. Despite everything, he was getting hard from just simply holding her gently against him. His cock stiffened uncomfortably in the confinement of his fitted breeches. It was amazing, but the truth. The details of the night before were certainly hazy, but his body reacted with remarkable swiftness to her scent and closeness. Her mouth, he couldn’t help but notice, was soft and enticing, and though he preferred urbane ladies with experience and his same level of detachment, there was no doubt Cassandra was deliciously tempting.
She was entirely too much of an ingénue, he reminded himself, but there was no denying her novel allure. It was all the more compelling somehow for being entirely natural and uncontrived.
“It seemed very simple last night,” she said, looking into his eyes, her lips trembling and fresh tears gathering on her long lashes. “I didn’t try and trap you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
He felt a little trapped, but by his own stupid lustful urges, not her. She simply wasn’t sophisticated enough to trap him. He wasn’t a wealthy, titled man unwed at twenty-nine without having dodged a few calculated attempts already. Drunk or not, he wouldn’t have bedded her if she had tried to entice him to do it.
Still holding her, Ross somehow couldn’t take his gaze from her mouth. “Don’t worry, I remember enough to realize it was my idea.”
“You seem so angry.”
“It is directed at myself, mostly. I am sorry if I sounded harsh.”
“What happened is my fault, too, I guess.” The words were said on a small sob, the reluctant confession making him smile slightly despite their dilemma.
“Perhaps,” he agreed, remembering her acquiescence even with his foggy recollection of the night before. “But your fault in the eyes of the world would be only minimal. In the eyes of your family, I would guess not at all.” He spoke the truth, but only abstractly, since what he wanted irrationally more than anything at the moment, was to kiss her. She felt warm, luscious and female, and if he was going to have to marry her anyway…he might as well wrest from the current situation a little pleasure.
“Cassie?” Lightly, he touched her chin. Tilting her face upward with subtle pressure, he saw her eyes widen slightly.
His mouth lowered to hers. He could feel her surprise in the jerk of her muscles, and then Cassandra went still, her lashes drifting down as she sighed lightly into his kiss. Soft lips parted beneath his in invitation, and he accepted, deepening the kiss persuasively, his tongue sliding inside to taste her sweet warmth.
“Do you mind telling me what the devil is going on?”
The interruption of an outraged male voice was like being dashed with cold water. Ross tore his mouth from hers and looked up to see Timothy Rollins standing in the doorway of the gazebo, his expression a mixture of stunned incredulity and growing anger.
Under his breath, Ross muttered, “Bloody hell.”
Chapter 3
Since he had wakened with what felt like an elephant sitting on his head, Timothy Rollins was pretty certain he wouldn’t want another drink for a decade. However, some moments just called for a brandy and this was one of them. Dashing gold liquid into a glass, he lifted it to his mouth, took a sip, and shuddered as the beverage slid down his throat and hit his queasy stomach. He turned around. “Are you trying to tell me you’re in love with my sister?”
Ross was never particularly easy to read, and especially in this bizarre situation. His friend looked bland. “I am sure you’ve noticed she’s turned into a very lovely woman.”
It was true. Like the proverbial duckling to a swan, Cassandra had transformed from a thin, shy child with eyes that seemed too big for her face to a surprisingly striking woman with voluptuous curves accented by her natural slenderness, and a delicate blond beauty. Men suddenly noticed her. Tim knew that, and it was hard to know how to feel about it. Protective, that was for certain, and he would be especially wary of someone like Ross, whose reputation when it came to the opposite sex wasn’t exactly angelic.
He should know. Often enough, they had spent their evenings in similar pursuits, which included bedding willing women of every variety, from Ton beauties to tavern wenches. Sexual conquest was little more than a casual game, and they both played it well. Timothy took another swallow. “You know plenty of lovely women. I’ve certainly never heard you mention marriage.”
“It’s an honorable and sincere offer.”
“Which I find damned surprising. You haven’t seen each other in months…nearly a year, since you’ve been out of the country. Do you truly expect me to believe you took one look at her this morning and decided you wanted to marry her?”
Sprawled in a chair a few feet away, Ross shifted a little, his only outward sign of discomfort. He didn’t look worse for wear from the previous evening revels, which was surprising since they had both been damned drunk. Dressed immaculately, he was instead composed, cool, and unnaturally somber. “I’m almost thirty and she is a marriageable young woman, completely suitable. Maybe my travels impressed on me the need to settle down and start a family. I also need to sire an heir, you know that.”
“That’s shit,” Timothy muttered inelegantly. “This is me. I know you, dammit. Last night you didn’t say one word about this sudden and mysterious urge to fill your nursery.”
“Let’s just say the urge was apparently there, I just didn’t realize it.”
More bewildered than ever, Timothy just stared at his friend.
“What the hell does that mean?”
Finally a crack in that cool poise showed and Ross shoved himself to his feet, pacing across the room. He stopped by the window to stare outside for a moment before he turned and ran a hand through his hair. “Is it me personally that makes you object to my offer? If so, that’s damned odd, for if anyone had asked me before this conversation, I’d have told them we were as close as brothers.”
“We are,” Timothy said, “which is why I know there’s something else going on. And I don’t precisely object if this is what Cassandra wants, but forgive me for taking issue with the fact that it wa
s obvious she’d been crying just before I arrived at the gazebo.”
“You might have also noticed we were kissing each other.”
He certainly had, and couldn’t quite remember ever feeling so startled in his life. Whatever he’d expected when he heard Ross and Cassandra had gone for a stroll in the gardens, it wasn’t to find them in each other’s arms.
“I noticed,” he said grimly, taking another swallow of brandy. “It was rather hard to miss with her sitting on your lap. That didn’t look like a particularly chaste kiss to me either, Ross, and Cassandra has led a pretty sheltered life. You’re lucky I didn’t shove my fist down your throat, which was my first impulse.”
“Go ahead, no doubt I deserve it.”
Not at all sure how to interpret that remark, Timothy felt frustrated irritation rise, remembering Cassandra’s tear-stained face. Not to mention the way she’d hurried off to her room right after he’d caught them. “If all you did was propose, why was she crying?”
Ross looked at him, his mouth tight. “I don’t think I was diplomatic enough when I explained to Cassandra that we are obliged to get married. When you walked in on us, I was trying to repair the situation.”
The emphasis on the word “obliged” had an unmistakable connotation. Seated in the chair behind his desk, Timothy was utterly speechless for a moment before he sputtered, “You aren’t telling me what I think you’re telling me.”
“She’s very beautiful, Tim, and I apparently still have considerable powers of persuasion even when intoxicated. Do you think I would ever normally touch her?”
“Jesus! You fucked my sister?” Outrage didn’t even begin to describe the sense of betrayal.
Dark brows rose, but Ross merely said in a cool voice, “You might try to not shout it out for the world to hear. If you’ll notice, the windows are open. Cassandra, also, probably would not like your choice of words. Women don’t think of it that way.”
