A Regency Invitation to the House Party of the Season (7 page)

His lips were tracing the curve of her throat now, pausing above the line of her collarbone, brushing aside
the soft material of her peignoir so that he could touch his tongue to the slope of her shoulder. Cassie’s insides dissolved. Her legs trembled. She felt her nipples harden still further against the gossamer lightness of the nightdress. Then Peter’s hand came up to cup her breast and she slumped against the door in utter weakness.

‘I admit it,’ she whispered. ‘I admit anything that you like…’

She felt Peter smile against her skin as he bent his head to kiss her bare shoulder. ‘You are, as always, very honest, Miss Ward,’ he said. He moved away from her a little, keeping one arm about her to support her. ‘A pity you could not have waited a while longer before you capitulated,’ he said, a smile in his voice, ‘but there will be time enough for that.’

He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on the palm. ‘Goodnight, Miss Ward.’

Cassie shot out of the bedroom door with a mixture of relief and deep disappointment, and dashed up the stairs to regain the peace of her own bedchamber. Her body was humming. She rained down curses on her own head for the impetuosity that had delivered her to Peter Quinlan’s door and on Peter’s head for being able to arouse her with the slightest touch. Once again, sleep eluded her. As the clock struck one, and two and three, Cassie thumped her pillows and vowed that tomorrow she would sort the matter out for good. In that moment she promised herself that she would make Peter Quinlan ache for her as she ached for him. She would bring him to his knees.

By the time that morning arrived, Cassie’s resolution was strong, but she had not yet devised a plan to put it into action. Peter remained—not aloof, precisely, but
maddeningly imperturbable. It seemed that he considered himself quite in control of their courtship. Cassie resolved to throw him off his stride.

The morning was fine and it had become their practice to go riding together immediately after breakfast before joining the other guests for whatever activity was the order of the day. This morning they rode down the North Avenue and turned back to look at the house floating serenely amidst the wood with the golden ball on its cupola catching the sun. A herd of deer crossed their line of sight, paused, and disappeared into the woods.

‘Is Quinlan like this?’ Cassie asked as they slowed their horses to a dreamy walk and wandered through the woodland glades. The air was thick with sunlight and the smell of late, wild honeysuckle.

‘No,’ Peter said. She watched his reminiscent smile and realised how fond he was of his inheritance. ‘Quinlan is in Yorkshire. The countryside is much bleaker and more rugged than here, but it has a beauty all its own.’

‘Yorkshire!’ Cassie was startled. ‘I had not realised that your estates were in the north.’

‘I am afraid so.’ Peter smiled at her. ‘The first Lord Quinlan was a merchant who loaned a great deal of money to King Charles I. The King felt obliged to ennoble him, but did not want such a parvenu anywhere near his court so he gave him lands in Yorkshire instead.’

Cassie laughed. ‘But you have other estates elsewhere, do you not?’

‘In Devon and Kent, but Quinlan Court is our main seat.’ Peter glanced at her. ‘Attending to Quinlan requires a great deal of time away from London, I fear.’

‘What a pity,’ Cassie said, with a wicked sideways
smile at him. ‘That would not suit me at all. I am so
very
attached to the events of the Season, you know.’ She could tell from the look he gave her that he was not sure if she meant it.

‘Is that so?’ he said easily, after a moment. ‘Then I am wondering why have I never met you at any of those events…’

‘My chaperon only permits me to attend the most respectable of balls and parties,’ Cassie said. ‘It is unlikely that I should meet you there.’

‘How so?’

‘Because, as I mentioned to you at our very first meeting, you have something of a rake’s reputation, my lord. Although…’ Cassie put her head on one side and viewed him thoughtfully ‘…your attire is so modest that many ladies might mistakenly consider you quite harmless. Is that deliberate?’

‘It is the deliberate effect of poverty,’ Peter said, smiling, ‘nothing more.’

They had reached a small meadow encircled by trees, where the grass grew high and the bees buzzed in the clover. Peter swung down from the saddle and held his arms out to lift Cassie down. For one long, dizzying moment her body was held tight against his and then she was set on her feet.

‘So do
you
think me a rake?’ he continued. ‘You might have cause to believe it.’

‘Only if you think me a wanton,’ Cassie said thoughtfully. ‘You might have cause to believe that too.’

‘I would never believe that, Cassie.’ The ring of truth in Peter’s voice put sincerity past question. ‘In the inn you had sustained a fall and a blow to the head, not to mention the intoxicating effects of the landlady’s cordial.’

‘Next you will be telling me that I was not responsible for my own actions,’ Cassie said, smiling.

‘I suppose that you were not,’ Peter said. ‘That was why I did not want you to be constrained into marriage with me.’

‘Peter,’ Cassie said, putting a hand out to him. ‘I knew what I did.’ She paused. ‘I knew very well,’ she repeated softly.

They were both very still. The drone of the bees seemed loud in the silence. The rich, abundant smells of late summer filled the air and made Cassie feel quite light-headed. The sun was warm against her face. All her senses seemed to quicken. She wanted Peter to catch her to him and tumble her down in the long grasses. The blood beat swift and light in her veins.

Peter tore his gaze from hers and took a step away from her, and the moment was broken. ‘Perhaps we should return to the house, Miss Ward.’

‘In a little while,’ Cassie said. ‘There is something I wanted to ask you first, if I may.’

She seated herself on a broad oak log, spread her skirts demurely about her and looked up at him.

‘What would you do with my money if you had possession of it?’ she asked.

Peter’s face darkened. He made an involuntary gesture. ‘Another of your frank questions,’ he said ruefully.

‘You don’t like it, do you?’ Cassie said perceptively. She was watching his face. ‘You do not like the thought that you would be taking my money.’

‘No,’ Peter admitted, ‘I do not like it.’

He sat down beside her, plucked a blade of grass and turned it over thoughtfully between his fingers. The wind was light today, blowing from the west, warm on their
faces. Peter sat forward, rested his elbows on his knees and let his gaze linger on the hazy distant hills.

‘I would have to use some of your money to pay off my father’s debts,’ he said, his voice tight with feeling. ‘Papa’s health has deteriorated a great deal in the past few years and he has sometimes turned to drink for consolation.’ He broke off, the set of his mouth grim.

Cassie touched his sleeve in a quick compassionate gesture. ‘I am sorry. I did not know. Has it been difficult for you?’ She held her breath as she waited to see if they had achieved sufficient intimacy for him to give her an honest reply or whether he would turn her away with light words. When he answered her seriously, her heart leapt.

‘I do not know how to help him,’ Peter admitted, gripping her hand. ‘It is the most damnably frustrating thing. The servants do their best, of course. They are devoted to him, but…’ He shrugged. ‘All I seem able to do is watch and wait for matters to take their inevitable course.’

Cassie shifted closer to him along the seat and for a moment rested her head against his shoulder. It felt broad and comforting, but this time she was the one wanting to comfort him. ‘You must have been lonely, watching, trying to help…’

Peter turned his head and pressed a kiss against her hair. ‘I was. I am. It frustrates me past bearing.’

‘If you bring Quinlan back to prosperity, you will have done much to save your father’s legacy,’ Cassie said. ‘I know it is not the same, but it is something good that could come out of this.’

‘Yes,’ Peter said, ‘I would like to introduce some improvements to the Quinlan estates. They are in a shocking state of neglect. They need new farm buildings and
new agricultural methods, new crops, new herds…Once the farms are bringing in an income again I could reinvest the profits.’ He turned his head and gave Cassie a self-deprecating smile. ‘Have I spent all your fortune yet?’

‘Twice over,’ Cassie said cheerfully. She wanted to kiss him, but she felt too shy to instigate the embrace. It was not a kiss prompted by desire but the need to offer comfort. Instead she gave his arm a squeeze and got to her feet, shaking out her skirts. ‘It sounds like a whole life’s work to me, Peter Quinlan.’

A life’s work to share…

She saw that he had read her thoughts. Their eyes met and the moment seemed to stretch out between them. The late summer sunshine spun a web of light between them. Peter got slowly to his feet.

Cassie went across to him and put one hand on his chest.

‘I do not ask for your undying love, Peter,’ she said softly, ‘only for your respect and regard. If you can prove to me that you care for me, then I will accept your proposal of marriage and we may rebuild Quinlan together.’

She looked at him for a long moment and saw all the conflict and doubt in his eyes, and beneath it a longing that took her breath away. She was not sure what that meant. Perhaps he did not really wish to marry her, but needed her money, and as an honourable man found this difficult to accept and act upon. She hoped not. She prayed that his doubts sprung from another cause and wished that she had the courage to ask him directly. She hesitated on the brink of it, but in the end realised that for once she did not wish to hear an honest answer, in case it was not to her liking.

Cassie frowned a little, feeling a sudden urge to cry. It had been a monumental decision for her to offer this to him and she was still not wholly certain why she had felt it right to do so now. She did not even know if she had done the right thing. She was acting purely on instinct again; an instinct that told her that there was something between herself and Peter that was strong enough to build a life upon.

Prove to me that you care for me…

Peter felt a rueful laugh break from him. He covered Cassie’s gloved hand with his. ‘Oh, Cassie…As usual you take my breath away.’

Cassie’s expression was earnest. She raised her fingers to his lips in a fleeting gesture, then turned and walked quickly back to where the horses were tethered.

Peter followed more slowly. He already cared deeply for Cassie, but suddenly that did not seem enough. He wanted her; in some deep, hidden part of him he could admit that he needed her desperately. But Miss Cassandra Ward, with her openness and devastating honesty, did not deserve the second-best of a man who merely cared for her. She deserved to be loved wholeheartedly, without artifice and to the exclusion of all else. And, unless he could give her that, then he should not be thinking of making her a declaration. If he wanted Cassie, he was going to have to prove he loved her and prove it to both of them.

Peter stopped. He watched Cassie as she gently stroked the nose of her grey mare and fed her carrots from a secret cache in her pocket. She talked softly to the horse as she did so. The sun was on her face and in her glorious golden-brown eyes.

She looked exactly what she was: warm, generous,
full of life and eminently lovable. Peter’s heart, which had been cold for a very long time, lifted just to look upon her. The tantalising prospect of a life lit by Cassie’s flame drew him on. If only he could show her that he loved her.

But how did one
prove
that love? It was not a matter of gifts or expensive baubles, particularly when one was an impoverished fortune hunter courting a woman who could buy you up seventeen times over. He could not merely tell her. Words were cheap and easily disbelieved. Somehow he had to find a way to demonstrate his feelings; prove to Cassie Ward that her price was above rubies. Only then could he make her a declaration from the heart.

P
eter was no closer to a solution by dinner that night. Throughout the long meal he sat and watched Cassie as though he could not take his eyes from her. If anyone had asked him what he had eaten, he could not have told them. He could not even explain how his happiness had come to be so bound up with Miss Cassandra Ward and in so short a time. All he knew was that in her company he felt complete and that, now she was found, he could not bear to lose her.

It was after dinner that night, when the rest of the party were taking tea and playing
vingt-et-un
, that Cassie and Peter took a stroll through the parterre and out on to the lawns. The suggestion, made by Cassie, had at first received a firm refusal from Lady Margaret. Looking at Cassie’s indignant little form and Lady Margaret’s self-satisfied smile, Peter knew that the chaperon was being deliberately obstructive and that Cassie felt frustrated by her obduracy. As Peter had Anthony Lyndhurst’s permission to woo Cassie, some kind of latitude might be permitted, but it seemed that Lady Margaret intended to allow none.

‘I think,’ Sarah Mardon intervened gently, ‘that dear
Cassie and Lord Quinlan might be permitted to take a small walk within the parterre, Margaret. I am sure we may trust to Lord Quinlan’s honour to behave as a gentleman should.’

Peter thought that Lady Margaret looked fleetingly bored at the concept of men behaving in gentlemanly fashion. ‘Just as you wish, Sarah,’ she conceded gracefully. ‘I am only Miss Ward’s chaperon, after all.’

There was a slightly awkward silence. Sarah Mardon looked irritated but determined and Cassie even more so. She grabbed Peter’s hand and pulled him out into the corridor that led to the garden door. The sun had set and the last pink streaks lit the western sky as they went down the garden steps.

‘I was meaning to ask you,’ Cassie said hesitantly, after they had gone a little way in silence. ‘You never drink very much, do you, Peter? I was watching you at dinner. You are very abstemious. Is that because of your experience with your father?’

Once again her perception silenced him. For years he had been prey to the dread that one day he would find his drinking slipping beyond his control, that one glass of brandy would imperceptibly become a bottle, two bottles, three…That the Quinlan estates, whose very survival depended on him dragging them out of neglect before it was too late, might be lost forever.

‘I suppose that it is something that is always in my mind,’ he admitted.

Cassie did not say anything, but she drew closer to him so that their bodies touched, and her presence was comforting and conveyed all the things she did not put into words.

They walked on beneath the huge harvest moon. They reached the end of the parterre and wandered beneath
the elm trees down the western avenue. Neither of them spoke, but the silence was happy. The moonlight fell on the leaves and dappled the grass beneath their feet.

‘I sometimes wish that I had a brother or sister, you know,’ Cassie said, tucking her arm companionably through Peter’s as they wove their way between the trees. ‘Then I see the way that William and John strike sparks off each other and think that it might not be comfortable at all.’

‘The atmosphere at dinner was certainly very strained,’ Peter agreed. He had felt awkward as an outsider in such an unhappy family gathering. ‘Have they quarrelled?’

‘Over money, I expect,’ Cassie said, sighing. ‘William racks up the most tremendous debts and John is so upright and reliable it is enough to give him apoplexy!’

‘There were seldom two brothers more dissimilar,’ Peter commented. He had huge respect for the Earl of Mardon and significantly less for William Lyndhurst-Flint.

‘It is doubly unfortunate since Anthony is considering whether to make William his heir,’ Cassie said, brow wrinkling. ‘He does not expect to remarry or have children of his own and I think he has a kindness for William since they were both younger sons without prospects.’

‘Yet surely he must see his weaknesses?’ Peter asked.

‘I think he is not blind to them. But Anthony sees that William needs the money more than John does, or I do, or Marcus…’

‘Marcus Sinclair?’

‘Yes, do you know him? He is another of my cousins.’

‘We have met,’ Peter said. He smiled. ‘Sinclair is a good man.’

‘I thought that he would be here for the house party,’ Cassie said thoughtfully. ‘I cannot think what has happened to him.’

‘Did Lyndhurst invite no other guests?’ Peter asked.

‘Only Ned Devereaux,’ Cassie said, laughing. ‘He is a very rude young man. He does nothing but drink and gamble. He disappeared without even saying goodbye.’

‘Not a candidate for your hand in marriage, then,’ Peter said. He was resigned by now to the intense possessiveness that such a thought aroused in him.

Cassie shot him a look. ‘Would that concern you, Peter? I dare say he wishes for a rich wife, but I fear that I am not she.’

Peter smiled, drawing her gently around to face him. ‘I am glad to hear it. I am jealous of any man who comes within ten yards of you, Cassandra Ward. They had better keep their distance.’

Cassie’s smile was serene in the moonlight. ‘How fierce you sound! And what would happen if they did come near me? After all, Lord Anstey danced with me after dinner at Watchstone Hall two nights past.’

Peter’s hands tightened on her shoulders. ‘He will not do so again.’

Cassie paused. There was a small silence between them. ‘Are you making me a declaration, Lord Quinlan?’ she enquired.

‘No,’ Peter said. ‘Not until I can
prove
to you that I care for you, Miss Ward.’

And then she was in his arms and he was kissing her as he had dreamed of kissing her all week. Cassie pressed closer to him, tousling his hair with her fingers and pressing little kisses over his face until he turned his head and claimed her mouth with his own again, hungrily, demanding satisfaction. She felt deliciously soft
and yielding against his hardness. A picture came into his mind of her, wanton and ruffled as she had been in the inn at Lynd, her buttons undone, her gown sliding off one shoulder. He could not help himself. He coaxed the bodice of her dress down and raised one hand to cup her breast.

Cassie caught his shoulders, arching against him. He pushed her gently backward until she came up against the broad trunk of one of the lime trees. Her head fell back and he tangled one fist in her thick chestnut hair to draw it aside and expose the slender line of her throat. He doubted that she understood the effect that she had on him, but the truth was that she made him burn with her smooth skin and her silky hair and those sweet, sweet breasts…

Peter bent his head and took one nipple in his mouth, flicking it lightly with his tongue, sucking and biting gently. Cassie trembled. She put her hands back, feeling the rough bark of the tree trunk against her palms, her nails scoring the wood as the sensations uncoiled within her. For a long, dizzying interval she gave herself up to the pleasure of intimacies she had never even imagined, and then the cool evening breeze ruffled along her naked skin and she shivered convulsively until Peter drew her close against the hardness of his body and she shivered again with latent desire and turned her face to his again for another kiss.

They clung together with the discovered passion of two people who had once thought that they might be making a marriage of convenience, but found that they had a deep need for one another.

‘You bring me to my knees, Cassie,’ Peter said, when finally he paused for long enough to draw breath.

To his surprise Cassie laughed, a delighted and spontaneous giggle. ‘Oh, good,’ she said. ‘That was exactly what I had planned.’

Peter stayed outside for a little after Cassie had gone back into the house. Leaving aside the impropriety of them both appearing together, looking as though they had been exploring each other rather than the gardens, there were purely practical reasons why he needed some time to recover before anyone saw him.

The wind was rising in the woods now and there was the threat of thunder in the air. Peter walked slowly through the parterre and made his way back on to the terrace, pausing for one final look out across the moonlit gardens.

A voice spoke close by. ‘…saw them together in the gardens just now. I may as well kiss that fortune goodbye…’

It was a man’s voice, but Peter was not sure which member of the house party was speaking, nor where he was. At first he thought that he was not alone on the terrace, but then realised that the conversation was taking place above his head, in a first-floor bedroom whose window was open and whose occupants no doubt did not realise how their voices carried on the night air.

‘I have a plan.’ This was a woman now. ‘If it does not serve, then I fear that you are on your own, my dear, but until then do not repine. The money may yet be yours.’

Peter felt a cold shiver trickle down his spine like a shard of ice. Those light, cool tones surely belonged to Lady Margaret Burnside. Peter had never felt that Lady Margaret had Cassie’s interests close to her heart and now he was certain that it was Cassie’s fortune that she was referring to.

He missed the next few words but then there was a peal of laughter from above and Lady Margaret’s voice again.

‘My dear William, I think not! I explored all your secrets years ago and I have other interests now. Someone a deal more exciting than you, my dear…’

Peter turned on his heel and strode back indoors. He had no wish to eavesdrop of Lady Margaret’s amorous secrets. He was not surprised to discover that she and William Lyndhurst-Flint were old lovers. They seemed to have a great deal in common.

He could hear Mardon and Lyndhurst chatting over a glass of brandy behind the closed doors of the library, but he had no inclination to join them, preferring the solitude of his room and time to think about Cassie. He went slowly up the broad oak stairs. On the first-floor landing he saw Cassie’s maid deep in conversation with Timms, Anthony’s valet. Timms had been the Major’s batman during the wars and Peter knew him from that time. He raised a hand in greeting and went into his bedroom.

As soon as he was over the threshold he stopped dead. Something was wrong. His soldier’s instinct for danger, dormant for several years, sprang to life. He closed the door quietly behind him and stood listening. Someone was waiting for him in the room.

‘Good evening, my lord.’

There was the rustle of silk from the bed and he turned to see Lady Margaret Burnside uncoil herself with sinuous elegance and slither off the bed to stand before him. She was wearing a clinging gown of jade gauze that seemed to outline and accentuate every last curve of her figure. She must have come directly from William Lyndhurst-Flint’s room.

Peter looked at her. There was a triumphant knowledge in her eyes as she confronted him, the knowledge of a woman who was completely confident of her own attractions. Her tongue came out and licked slowly over her lower lip.

‘I am finding this house party confoundedly boring,’ she drawled, drawing close to Peter, ‘and I thought that if you were also finding the entertainment tame, my lord, we might amuse one another…’

She moved so close that her breasts were brushing against his chest. Peter could smell the overpowering scent of violets emanating from her body. It did not mask the feral scent beneath. Even less appealing was the smell of alcohol on her breath. He took a step back. He was not shocked or even particularly surprised to find her here. He had met plenty of women like Lady Margaret Burnside, women who were lascivious and amoral, but seldom had he met one who could conceal that corruption beneath so faultlessly respectable a façade. The only emotion that he felt as he looked at her was a species of anger that Lyndhurst and Mardon had not realised the truth and thought that this woman was good enough to chaperon their cousin.

‘I doubt that we share the same taste in entertainment, madam,’ he said coldly. ‘And whatever you are looking for, I assure you, you will not find it here.’

He saw her eyes narrow with calculation and a shade of resentment. It appeared that she was not accustomed to rejection. She trailed her fingers down his shirtfront. Peter’s skin crawled. He raised his hand and brushed her questing fingers aside.

‘Are you certain you cannot help me?’ Lady Margaret’s voice had sunk to a throaty purr. ‘You will find me a deal more exciting than your innocent little
bride.’ She paused. ‘And she need never know. It could be our secret.’

Peter moved away. The memory of Cassie’s touch, the sweet taste of her and the scent of her hair still filled his senses. Her warmth and generosity filled his heart. He felt nothing but repulsion for her chaperon.

‘You mistake, madam,’ he said. ‘I find Miss Ward entirely delightful and I have no desire to have any secrets from her.’

‘I am sure you find the prospect of her money delightful,’ Lady Margaret agreed drily. ‘However, a man with a rake’s reputation surely needs more than a milksop maid to keep him satisfied.’

Peter’s lips thinned. ‘I am not sure how much plainer I may be without giving offence, madam. You must forgive me if I am too blunt. I am not interested in your offer. Kindly leave my room.’

Lady Margaret paused a moment. Her eyes had narrowed like those of an angry cat. If she had had a tail, she would have been swishing it.

‘Very well, my lord,’ she said, ‘but a word about secrets…’ She placed a hand on his arm and it was all Peter could do not to shake her off violently. ‘There are some matters that are best kept from your future wife. If you were to tell her about this evening, for example, then I would feel obliged to claim that it was
you
who attempted to seduce
me
. Your situation with Miss Ward is all too fragile, is it not, and I am certain you would not wish to see all that delicious fortune disappear over the horizon…’

She gave him another razor-sharp smile and slipped out of the room.

Peter sat down on the edge of his bed. He was taken aback to find his blood buzzing with anger. That such a
cold-hearted, amoral woman was Cassie’s closest female companion seemed outrageous to him. Lady Margaret’s utter lack of loyalty and scruple appalled him and her cold, calculated attempts at seduction disgusted him.