by Candace Camp
For a long moment, Cassandra simply stared at Lady Neville, unable to take in the sudden drop from giddy hope to cruel reality. She plopped down in a chair, her legs feeling as if they could no longer support her, and let out a small moan.
“My dear, are you all right?” Violet asked with concern. “Is the book so important?”
“Yes, it is,” her son answered crisply. He saw his mother’s look of puzzlement, and he went on, “You know, the Verreres are very scholarly, Mother. And this book…well, it’s part of the Verrere family history, also.”
“It is? Oh.” Violet looked only a little less confused.
Philip sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He walked across the room and back, stopping in front of Cassandra. He squatted down and took her hand in his, covering it with his other hand. He smiled up reassuringly into her face. “Don’t worry. We will get it back. A well-known book like that—it can’t have disappeared. There will be records. Mother…” He stood and turned back to Violet.
Violet, who with the older Lady Neville had been watching Philip’s actions with great interest, gazed up at him limpidly. “Yes, dear?”
“Was there a book dealer whom Father used?”
Violet looked blank, and Lady Neville let out a most unlady-like snort. “Don’t be absurd, Philip,” his grandmother told him bluntly. “My son Thomas could abide books no more than his father. He would not have traded with a book dealer often enough to have a particular one.”
“Then Staley must have handled the sale. It was a precious item.”
“I suppose so. If Staley were still alive, he might even remember it, but he’s been dead these many years.”
“There would be records, surely. His son still handles all our business, and I would think he’s bound to have a record of the sale somewhere. I shall write to him immediately.” Philip resumed his pacing. “Even if he does not, I am sure we will be able to find out something about the book. We shall go around and ask about it at all the book dealers in London, see if any one of them bought it.”
“Of course!” Cassandra surged to her feet, smiling. “Mr. Simons will help us. Why didn’t I think of it before? We shall go to London and see him. If he knows nothing about it, I am sure he can direct us to someone who deals in that sort of thing. When can we set out?”
“You are going to London?” Violet asked. “Just like that?”
Philip smiled at Cassandra. “Miss Verrere is a woman of action, Mother.”
“But, Philip, Miss Verrere, think…” Lady Neville looked shocked. “Surely you cannot mean that the two of you are going to London together?”
“Yes, of course,” Philip replied. “I am afraid that Miss Verrere would have my head if I insisted on going by myself.”
“I certainly would. I’m not about to let you have all the fun.”
“But it is impossible,” Lady Neville said firmly.
“Your grandmother is right,” Violet agreed. “The two of you cannot travel to London by yourselves. Or stay in Neville House without a chaperon. I suppose Miss Verrere could stay in an inn. There are a few where it is quite respectable for a single lady to stay by herself, but even so, there would still be the journey alone.”
“No,” Philip replied quickly, a little surprised at how much he disliked the idea of Cassandra residing under a different roof. “Of course she will stay at Neville House.” He sighed. “We will have to take a chaperon.”
He looked at his mother, but she quickly shook her head. “Oh, no, Philip, not I. I am not going to London. The season is in full swing, and the Haverlin girl is making her debut. I would have to give a party for her, and besides that, Cousin Amanda is there, and I would have to dance attendance on her. Besides,” she added triumphantly, “I cannot leave Haverly House. We have a number of guests.”
“Don’t look at me,” Lady Neville said, forestalling him even as he turned toward her. “I do not travel to London anymore. I am far too old.”
Philip ground his teeth. “Oh, all right, then I suppose we will have to take Cassandra’s aunt.”
Violet brightened appreciably. “Why, Philip, what a splendid idea! That would be just the thing.”
“Hmph. For you, maybe.” He thought about being stuck inside the carriage with the Moultons for the trip to London, and suddenly the trip seemed far less enjoyable. But one look at Cassandra’s shining face was enough to make him forget the annoyance. He would have done far more than that to have her look at him that way.
* * *
AUNT ARDIS’S DELIGHT at being the guest of Sir Philip Neville in London at the height of the season knew no bounds. They were all forced to listen to her effusive thanks and sly hints that Sir Philip’s affections for “a certain young lady” were the reason for the invitation. Violet smiled vaguely and murmured something noncommittal. In truth, she found herself agreeing with the Moulton woman, though, of course, she was not foolish enough to believe that it was Joanna who had caught Philip’s interest.
Lady Neville seemed to have arrived at the same conclusion, for she surprised her daughter-in-law by saying in a low voice as they walked together up the stairs later that evening, “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there are wedding bells in the future for Philip. Odd that it should be a Verrere, though.”
“She seems a very nice girl.”
“Intelligent. Philip has always had a strange bent in that direction himself.” She frowned a little as she considered this oddity in her otherwise perfect grandson. “No money, of course. The Verreres never did have two pennies to rub together. My father-in-law must be spinning in his grave at the idea. No money and a Verrere to boot. But she does dress up well.”
“That will be nice. The shopping for a trousseau, I mean.” Violet brightened at the thought of several lengthy visits to fashionable modistes and millinery shops.
Lady Neville nodded. “I do hope that we shan’t have the frightful Moulton woman staying with us all the time.”
The woman in question was at this moment bending Cassandra’s ear in the drawing room, enlarging on her theme of Sir Philip’s infatuation with Joanna. Cassandra noticed with irritation that Joanna was preening under her mother’s words. She wondered how the two of them could be so blind to Philip’s obvious avoidance of Joanna’s company. He had bolted to the library as soon as his mother and grandmother had decided to retire to their bedrooms.
“Aunt Ardis,” she said at last, interrupting her aunt’s flow of chatter, unable to endure any more, “are you quite sure that Sir Philip is interested in Joanna?”
Her aunt looked shocked. “But of course. Why else would he have invited us to London?”
She could hardly tell her that Philip had been forced to bring them as chaperons in order that she herself could go. Aunt Ardis would probably refuse to go just to spite her. Cassandra took another tack. “Has he actually spoken to you about his regard for Joanna?”
“No,” the woman admitted, then added with a simper, “but it is too early for that. You are not as familiar as Joanna and I with the signs of a smitten male. Sir Philip exhibits them.”
“He does?”
“Oh, yes. Did you not see the way he picked up Joanna’s fan this evening?”
“She dropped it right in front of him. He could scarcely do anything else.”
“And he spends every evening by her side.”
“How can he help it?” Cassandra snapped. “Joanna attaches herself to him like a limpet the moment he walks in the door.”
“You’re jealous!” Joanna cried. “You have developed a tendre for him, haven’t you? I can tell. It wounds your pride that he prefers me. Look at how he sat by me tonight.”
“You sat by him,” Cassandra corrected. “You were on the sofa when he came in, and you changed to the blue chair next to him.”
Joanna glared at her.
“I hope you don’t think that he has any interest in you, just because you spend all day closed up in the library working on that silly family history. No man is interested in a woman who knows so much about books.”
Cassandra pressed her lips together. She would not allow her irritating cousin to goad her into saying anything she would regret later. It was obvious that there was no hope of making her aunt and cousin see reality. They seemed determined to go galloping headlong toward the disappointment that awaited them.
“There is little point in continuing this,” she said tersely. “I believe I shall go up to bed, also.”
She left the room, ignoring Joanna’s triumphant smirk at having vanquished the enemy. She started toward the stairs, but paused at the bottom of them. It wasn’t late yet, and she really was not sleepy. She was too keyed up at the thought of going to London and finding the Queen’s Book. A moonlit walk around the garden sounded quite pleasant, and perhaps it would help her to sleep. So Cassandra turned left instead, walking to the conservatory and through it to the rose garden.
She strolled along, thinking of all the things she would have liked to say to Joanna and had not. Some deep feminine instinct longed to throw it in her cousin’s face that it was she Philip was interested in, not her beautiful cousin. But gradually, the soft evening breeze and the sweet scent of the roses worked to banish the tumult inside her, and her thoughts turned instead to the more pleasant prospect of finding the book they sought.
When she reached the steps leading down to the lower garden and lawn, she stopped, gazing across the moon-washed landscape toward the distant summerhouse, sitting on the edge of a small, man-made pond.
“Have you been inside it?”
Cassandra jumped and whirled to find Philip standing behind her, smiling. “You scared me! How do you manage to sneak up on a person like that?”
“One of my few talents. I took the shortcut across the grass so I could intercept you. I was looking out the library window and saw you walking.”
“Yes. I hoped a stroll might calm me. I can’t stop thinking about going to London.”
“Mmm. I am afraid that that will have to wait for a couple of days.”
“What? Why?”
“My estate manager came to see me again tonight. He has been badgering me to look into some problems ever since we returned, but I have been putting him off. He is very insistent that I do something before I leave again.”
“Oh.”
“I am sorry. I shall get through it as quickly as I can. But I feel guilty. I should have stopped in to see him several days ago. I just—didn’t want to take the time.”
Cassandra smiled. “I understand. I can hardly expect you to spend all your time on me and my concerns.”
“They are my concerns, as well,” he reminded her. “Besides, I find spending time with you much more enjoyable.”
They stood for a moment looking at each other. Cassandra felt a little weak in the knees, and she knew that it was not a smart idea to be out here with Philip in the garden, the moon lighting everything romantically and the air heady with the perfume of the roses.
“I—I should go back in.”
“I should, too.”
Yet neither of them moved.
“You are so beautiful,” Philip said softly.
Cassandra smiled shakily. “I fear the moon must have affected your reason. I have never been considered more than passable.”
“Passable!” He reached up and brushed his thumb lightly across her forehead. “You have a high, smooth brow.” He drew a finger down the straight line of her nose. “A patrician nose.” He brought up his other hand and traced her brows and cheekbones. “The loveliest, most intelligent, laughing eyes I have ever seen. How could this be accounted merely passable?”
Cassandra could scarcely breathe, the light touch of his fingers on her face affected her so. “You are a minority, sir.”
“Indeed?” He arched a brow sardonically. “Ah, but I am arrogant enough to believe that my opinion is the only one that matters.”
Cassandra’s lips curved up into a smile.
“And your mouth…” he said huskily, continuing his inventory. Cupping her face in his hands, he traced the line of her lips with his thumbs. Heat stirred in her abdomen at his touch. His eyes darkened with desire.
“You have the most kissable lips.” He bent and touched his lips to hers, matching his words with action. It was the merest whisper of a kiss, a breath, no more, yet fire flared inside Cassandra.
She went up on her tiptoes, her arms curling around his neck, and pressed her lips more firmly against his. Philip let out a groan, and his arms wrapped around her like iron, pulling her up and into him as he kissed her thoroughly.
Heat surged through them like a wild spark igniting dry timber, consuming all thoughts of caution or temperance. They strained together, their bodies aching for the union their mouths shared. Cassandra’s fingers twined through Philip’s hair. His hands stroked up and down her back and pressed her hips hard against his swelling manhood, rubbing her against him.
Finally he broke their kiss and stared down into her face. Every thought in his brain, every fiber in his body, was focused on making love to Cassandra. It took every shred of reason left in him to keep from pulling her down to the ground right there and taking her. He glanced around and his gaze fell on the gazebo at the end of the lower garden beside the pond.
“Come.” He wrapped his hand around her wrist and started down the steps toward it, pulling Cassandra along with him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CASSANDRA KNEW THAT she should protest, hold back—at least hesitate. But she did not. The desire that ran wild in Philip was thrumming through her, as well, and she had no interest in being responsible or proper. The past few days of working with him, being close to him almost every minute of every day had kept the flames of her desire high. She knew that the iron control Philip had maintained around her had been a sign of his respect for her, an indication of how little he was like the rumors she had heard of him. She was pleased that he had felt that way and exhibited such behavior, but she could not really say that she had enjoyed it. Every accidental touch of their fingers, every glance, had reminded her of the delightful passion that his kisses had awakened in her, and she wanted to feel that passion again.
They rushed down the garden path and across the wooden walkway to the gazebo, which sat a few feet out into the pond. Philip turned and pulled her to him, kissing her passionately. Her senses were all sizzlingly alive, and the taste and heat of him mingled with the faint sounds of the water lapping around the piers of the gazebo and the night birds calling, and with the caress of the breeze on her overheated skin.
His fingers went to the buttons of her dress, undoing them as they kissed. He parted from her only long enough to peel down the bodice, exposing her chest, covered only by a thin white chemise. Slowly, almost reverently, Philip slipped down the straps of the chemise until they dangled loosely around her elbows. He tugged at the ties of the ribbon threaded through the neck, undoing the bow, and the material sagged open. Hooking his fingers in the top of the undergarment, he dragged it down over her breasts, brushing her sensitive nipples with the backs of his fingers.
Her lush breasts were exposed to his gaze, her nipples large and dark, pebbling with desire. He gazed at her for a long moment, his breath coming faster in his throat. Then he cupped her breasts in his hands, gently squeezing, and stroked his thumbs across the hard buds. They tightened eagerly as desire darted straight down through her and blossomed into heat between her legs.
“I’ve wanted this for weeks. Since I first met you.” His voice was low and roughened by desire. As he talked, he continued to caress her nipples, watching their response with delight. “The past few days have been sheer hell, wanting you and trying so damn hard not to kis
s you, touch you. Cassandra, you don’t know what you do to me.”
“I know what you do to me,” she replied, reaching out and beginning methodically on the buttons of his shirt, as he had with her. He drew in his breath and moved closer to give her free access.
His eyes drifted closed as she unbuttoned his shirt, his face stark with hunger. He stiffened when she slid her hands beneath the material, spreading them flat on his chest. Cassandra moved her hands apart, shoving the two sides of the shirt away, caressing his heated skin. The hair of his chest was prickly beneath her palms, his flesh smooth and hard. She found the flat buds of his nipples, and he let out a soft groan. She explored his chest thoroughly, caressing the ridges of bone and muscle, twining through the hairs, and gently tweaking the flat masculine nipples until his chest was rising and falling in rapid pants.
He tore off his shirt and threw it to the floor, then pulled her against him for a long, thorough kiss. Her breasts were flattened against his chest, the eager buds pressing titillatingly into his flesh, and the hard ridge of his desire pulsed against her abdomen. It seemed as if she were melting into a throbbing, aching mass of desire. She wanted to feel him against her, naked, all the way up and down. She wanted to feel him inside her.
The thought startled her, but she knew that that was exactly what the raw, hot, liquefying sensation between her legs meant—she ached to have him in her. She pulled away from Philip, and he gaped at her blankly for a moment before he realized that she was unbuttoning her skirt. He watched hungrily as she slipped out of her skirt and began to work on her voluminous petticoats.
Philip began to remove the rest of his clothes, an easier task than Cassandra’s, all the while watching as she revealed more and more of her shapely hips and legs. Finally, with a grunt of frustration, she shoved down the cotton pantalets that were her last garment, and they joined the frothy pool of petticoats at her feet.
Cassandra glanced up at him for the first time then, embarrassment at her nakedness mingling with an unexpected pride and pleasure at having him look at her this way. The reality of his own nakedness was a jolt. He looked so powerful and male that it was almost frightening, yet at the same time the sight of his naked body started an intense heat in the very center of her. Her heart knocked against her ribs as she stood there, watching him and waiting.
