In the Garden of Seduction (5 page)

What should he have done ten years ago when
he had discovered the truth? His wife had just died and he feared
losing his child. And even if he knew about Lord Whittingham’s
attempt to find her, he no doubt believed Cassandra would be taken
from the only life she had ever known and he would never see her
again.

Reaching the foyer, she turned toward the
kitchen, but a light under the doorway to the library caught her
eye. Who was about at this hour? It was really not a question, for
she knew who it must be.

Cassandra knocked. “Papa? Are you in here?”
The door was not latched and so, pushing it open, she entered the
room.

Quintin James sat in a wingback chair facing
the fireplace. His body was concealed from view except for his left
arm which lay on the armrest, a brandy glass held loosely in his
fingers. He did not move but his voice drifted in a hoarse whisper
across the room.

“Come in, lass.”

Cassandra tiptoed to his side and kneeled
down beside him. She reached for the glass and gently eased it from
his grasp. He did not resist instead turning on her bleary eyes
full of sorrow.

“I’m drunk,” he croaked, stating the
obvious. “I didna’ mean to, but I couldna’ help myself.”

The slight brogue he had spent so many years
erasing from his speech had slipped back with the alcohol. It was a
sign of his vulnerability, and it pained her terribly.

“I know,” she consoled him in a broken
whisper. Placing her face against his shoulder, she patted his
arm.

“I should not be allowing you to make this
sacrifice for me,” he said, “and then I worry that you will
consider it no sacrifice at all. Can you forgive me for being
selfish?”

How did she address that? Either way would
make him feel awful. Truthfully, this trip was more than a
sacrifice, but telling him that would not make him feel any better.
She settled for answering the question he had asked.

“You’re not selfish, dear, just a worried
father.”

“I am your father, am I not?”

“Always and forever,” she said fiercely,
gritting her teeth with the intensity of her feelings.

He laid his head against the back of the
chair and closed his eyes as though her words had offered him some
comfort. “I feel to blame for what has happened. I should have been
able to protect you from this. Though I’m at a loss to know what I
could have done.”

Cassandra felt the old familiar catch in her
throat. “I don’t blame you, Papa. You’ve been hurt by this just as
I have.”

“I’ve let your mother down.”

She much suspected that sentiment was at the
heart of his pain. “How can that be? I loved her dearly, but she
did not leave you with an easy task.”

“When she gave me the box,” he paused and
cleared his throat, “she made me promise to protect you. It was not
a difficult promise to make.” His nose had turned a suspicious
pink, although she doubted it was from the brandy.

“Had you heard of Lord Whittingham before
that time?” she asked him.

“No, but when I realized he existed I made a
point of finding out as much as I could.” He grinned then. “I may
not have the power of an earl, but I do have ways of discovering
what I need to know. And I have a great deal more money than he
does.” He seemed to take considerable satisfaction from the
thought.

“Were you aware he was searching for me?”
That was a tricky question, and she knew it.

He sobered but did not immediately answer
her. “I’ll not lie to you, sweetheart,” he said at last. “I was
informed of his search. But what would you have had me do? You were
fourteen. Your mother had just died, at least the woman you thought
of as your mother. I admit I had everything to lose. But I swear it
was you I was protecting.”

“Oh, Papa, I wasn’t being critical. At any
rate, now lawfully I’m an adult. I mean, what can they make me
do?”

He gave her a level stare. “You are leaving
in seven days for the Whittingham estate, are you not?”

Cassandra felt a chill of misgiving. “I’m
curious,” she said. “That’s not so hard to understand, is it?” But
she avoided looking at him.

“I know Lord Whittingham has a purpose for
you,” he said in a hard voice. “I don’t understand what it is yet
but, mark my words, he will try to force you to do his
bidding.”

“How can you be so certain?” She was
becoming genuinely alarmed.

“Cassandra, lass, I’ve had dealings with the
aristocracy since I first went into trade. Their whole lives are
devoted to the generation to come. Attention to the bloodlines is
critical. The earl doesn’t think of you in terms of a lost
granddaughter. You are a possession found which belongs to his
family. He has aspirations—don’t doubt it.”

“Then I’ll have to disappoint him because
I’m not staying any longer than I have to.”

“Child, I do not want you to go into this
situation blinded by your ignorance.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you wondered why he is willing not to
pursue charges against me?” When she nodded, he continued. “He
knows you love me. It is the one thing he has to keep you in check.
He will be ruthless in wielding that power. His lordship does not
expect you ever to come back here.”

She felt a momentary shiver of fear.
“Why?”

“Aside from his sense of what is right?” He
shrugged. “He wishes to punish me for having the gall to interfere
with the interests of a peer of the realm. He is outraged and no
explanation will appease him.”

“How do you know this, Papa?”

“Mr. Peters gave me a letter from him.
Basically, Lord Whittingham has warned me off.”

“Has he threatened you?” She gasped the
question.

Her father hesitated for so long she thought
he did not intend to answer her. He sighed. “It’s not my intention
to send you to your grandfather so hostile that you can’t
communicate with him at all. Let us say, he indicated there will be
repercussions if I meddle.”

“If he does anything to hurt you, I swear I
will do all I can to thwart him.” Her nostrils flared with
indignation.

“Ah, my darling girl, don’t you see?” He
chuckled, clearly delighted by the turn in the conversation. “His
power over you has a thorn in it, and don’t think he doesn’t know
it. For the very hold he has on you is the same hold you have on
him. You do nothing then he does nothing, but it also works the
other way around. There’s a perverse form of justice at work here,
and I’m damned glad of it.”

She smiled back at him. “I rather like it,
also.”

He turned serious. “You just stand up for
yourself, lass, do you hear? Don’t worry about me. If I didn’t
believe you would be the one who would be hurt most, I’d go up
against him no matter what the cost. I’m not afraid of him.”

“Of course, you’re not!”

That also explained why her father had not
rashly jumped into the conflict. She had wondered at his restraint,
but if he were worried about the effect on her he would be
cautious.

“You know,” he began slowly, “I realized I
would lose you one day. A beautiful young woman, it’s a miracle you
are not married already. But I expected you to bring my
grandchildren to see me. And if I didn’t hate my son-in-law, I’d
have welcomed him as well.”

“Papa!” she cried on a watery sniff, torn
between laughter and a need to weep. “Those things shall happen
yet, you’ll see. We must not give up yet.”

“No, we mustn’t do that,” he said
softly.

But there was no conviction in his words,
and Cassandra feared the one thing her father must not give up he
had already relinquished.

He took her hand and squeezed it, closing
his eyes as he did. Within moments he slept.

Cassandra did not leave immediately, needing
the comfort of his company, the reassuring knowledge that he loved
her. His breathing was deep and regular now, yet she sensed his
inner turmoil even in slumber. She leaned over and placed a light
kiss on his brow as she rose to her feet.

At the door Cassandra turned and looked
back, seeking out the tortured soul who slept in the chair.

A messenger had been sent to this house
today with the intention of severing a bond, a bond strengthened by
more than twenty years of love and devotion. Did Lord Whittingham
believe he could wipe away those years and demand her loyalty
simply because he said so?

Cassandra squared her shoulders grimly. That
wasn’t going to happen. Not now. Not
ever
.

*****

“Come, Simon, you’ll enjoy yourself. This is
the biggest thing to happen to the countryside in years.”

“If I had known beforehand, Harry, I could
have stayed in London and been bored by parties far more exciting
than this one. Country balls are notorious for being dull.” Simon
leaned back in his chair and lifted his legs to the ottoman at his
feet, ankles crossed.

“It won’t be as bad as all that. I’m sorry
you were found out, but once your visit was discovered Whittingham
sent an invitation over immediately. You needn’t feel obliged to
attend, though, if it really is something you’d rather not do. I
can make your apologies.”

“I suppose I can muddle through for one
evening.” Simon drew in his breath and exhaled heavily as he
brought the glass of brandy he nursed to his lips. He took a swig
and swallowed.

A week ago he had accepted an invitation
from his good friend Harry Stiles to vacation at Harry’s estate in
the country for the month of July. Seemed the thing to do, he’d
thought at the time, since most of the ton had abandoned the city
during the worst of the summer heat, anyway.

And Simon was at loose ends. An odd
restlessness plagued him lately, and he had felt if he left London
maybe he might leave that unpleasant feeling behind. Another party
filled with empty smiles and insincere gestures seemed
pointless.

“I think you might find this ball more
interesting than most,” Harry said.

“How so?” In the interest of friendship, the
marquess tried to keep the boredom out of his voice.

“Seems Lord Whittingham has found a
granddaughter who’s been missing for more than twenty-four years.
This is to be her introduction to society. Bit long in the tooth
for a debutante, but I’ve heard she’s a real beauty.”

“Where has she been?”

“Information is as scarce as hairs on a
frog. No one knows much, and those who do aren’t saying. Lord
Whittingham has outdone himself putting this thing together,
though. It’s an event, you mark my words.”

“He’s hoping to find her a husband, is that
it?”

Harry looked amused. “Not to worry, dear
boy, there will be plenty of gentlemen who will be more than
pleased to take on the earl’s granddaughter and the dowry that
comes with her. But you may change your mind.”

“What do you mean?” Simon lowered his brows
at his host in suspicion.

“I mean,” Harry said, his attitude turning
sly, “she’s a redhead.”

“Is there no one unaware of my
predilections?” Simon asked in disgust.

Harry’s wide grin transformed his homely
features. “We all have them, my friend. Just so happens the guest
of honor satisfies one of yours. Now come on, admit it. It does add
a little anticipation to the evening, does it not?”

The marquess could not help himself. A loud
guffaw escaped him. “Put that way, Harry, I believe it does.”

*****

Cassandra liked parties—well, loved parties
would be more accurate. Only exhaustion or illness could keep her
from enjoying one of those festive occasions. Therefore, she
couldn’t understand her total lack of enthusiasm for the coming
evening’s entertainment.

Grandfather had declared tonight to be her
introduction to local society. He had not bothered to ask if she
wanted this introduction. Instead, he’d made the arrangements
without consulting her, and Cassandra burned with resentment.

She wasn’t ready for this moment, and she
had tried more than once to make him understand. However, it seemed
she might as well try to get her point across to the marble statue
gracing the entry hall in this lovely old mansion. Cassandra took a
turn around her bedchamber then plopped down on a small overstuffed
chair by the fireplace, surveying her surroundings.

She hated it here.

Not that this place lacked elegance, she
thought. Decorated with a sense of excellent taste, her room along
with the rest of the house, boasted a well-bred refinement that
seemed to be the exclusive territory of old, confident money.
Ostentation was not a necessity, but rather something to be
avoided. If her grandfather had not been single-mindedly
rearranging her entire life, she might have found some pleasure in
her visit.

Her arrival two weeks before had been a
horrifying experience. Even now she hated to admit just how
intimidated she had felt. Nothing could have prepared her for the
scene that greeted her when the carriage she shared with Mr. Peters
pulled onto the drive of her grandfather’s imposing country
estate.

All the employees in the house, from the
lowest scullery maid to the exalted steward, stood on the driveway,
ramrod straight, pressed and groomed, like a regiment of
disciplined soldiers. An army of servants, she had thought as she
descended the coach. Panicked, she had wanted to lift her skirts,
dash across the yard and disappear into the countryside.

Mr. Peters stayed beside her, and she clung
to him, nervous fingers digging into his arm until she had feared
hurting him. “Steady now,” he had whispered in her ear. And she was
pathetically grateful for his kindness even as she was embarrassed
by her show of weakness.

Her grandfather stood at the front of the
line, a striking figure with a shock of white hair and blue eyes so
light, they were nearly transparent. He came toward her, the
intensity of his stare triumphant.