Jess Michaels (7 page)

Before she could answer, he was gone, the door slamming behind him hard enough that the picture on the wall beside it shivered.

Frustration mounting, Cassandra caught the nearest thing at hand, her hairbrush, and hurtled it across the room. It bounced off the door with a loud bump and then skidded away in the opposite direction.

She sighed. There was no satisfaction in throwing things, or screaming, or doing anything else.

Until Nathan returned, there would be no satisfaction at all.

M
usic filled the room, dancers spun around him, women flirted with him with open intent…and yet Nathan could hardly attend to the ball. His mind was addled with thoughts of Cassandra, just as it had been for the two long days he had avoided her.

He told himself that he was pulling away from her because he wanted her to squirm, to wonder when and if he would return and what his demands would be when he did.

That was part of it, of course. But in reality, their last encounter had been so emotionally intense that he felt the thin wire of his control strain almost to the point of breaking. With Cassandra, that was a very dangerous thing. He needed a break to regroup.

And so he was here at a ball hosted by the Earl and Count
ess of Rothschild. Hating every moment of it. He had never been much for these events, even before he met Cassandra. He found most debutantes to be empty shells, and their mamas too clinging and demanding. The wine was never strong enough, the music too loud, and the crowds overpowering.

Tonight, though, those things were especially unbearable because this ball was hosted by a man who had intimate knowledge of Cassandra—as intimate as his own.

Nathan’s thoughts were interrupted by a female voice from behind him. “Lord Blackhearth, how good of you to come.”

Nathan turned and found himself face to face with his host and hostess. Lady Rothschild was as beautiful as all the
ton
raged that she was, with fair blond hair and the brightest, clearest blue eyes he had ever seen. She was draped in fine silk—a gown Nathan suddenly wondered if Cassandra had designed, with sparkling diamonds at her wrist, her ears, and around her neck.

It was well known that Rothschild doted on the woman, completely smitten with her since they wed. It certainly seemed to be so true, as Rothschild gave his wife a look of pure adoration before he focused his attention on Nathan.

“Yes, so good of you to join our party, Blackhearth,” he said with a friendly nod.

Nathan bit his lip hard and forced himself to hold out a hand to this man, this handsome man who had once had a flagrant reputation for womanizing and sin.

This man who had once had a short, torrid affair with Cassandra, and still frequented her shop, both for her gowns
for his wife and for her toys…God only knew who those were for.

Nathan wanted nothing more than to punch the other man square in the jaw…and yet he couldn’t. Rothschild was too powerful to make an enemy. Even if he wasn’t, Nathan didn’t want his sad obsession with Cassandra to become public knowledge.

“Thank you for inviting me,” he forced himself to say through clenched teeth. “Being back in London for such a short time, I fear I am woefully out of touch with Society. It is a great pleasure to have the chance to meet with old friends again.”

Rothschild smiled as he motioned for a servant with a tray of red wine. As he offered a glass to Nathan, he lifted his own in Nathan’s direction.

“And make new ones, I hope. I hear you and I have some similar interests.”

Nathan all but choked on his wine at the unexpected comment. Was Rothschild being so crass as to bring up Cassandra right here, in front of his supposedly beloved wife?

Nathan shot a glance to Lady Rothschild. The woman smiled at him, but it wasn’t the empty expression of a vapid lady who had no idea of her husband’s activities outside of their “happy” home.

“To what are you referring, my lord?” he asked, wary.

“You made some investments during your time in India, did you not?” Rothschild tilted his head. “Silks, spices, and the like? I, too, have some holdings there, but I’d like to increase my investments. I would greatly enjoy speaking to you about
the country, getting your opinion on new ventures there, as well as hearing about your experiences. My wife and I are always searching for new adventures.”

Miranda Hamon smiled up at her husband again, but this time Nathan sensed something unexpected in her expression. Passion. Desire. Deep and abiding love.

Nathan snapped his gaze away. When they looked at each other like that, it made him feel like an intruding outsider to their happiness.

“Of course, Rothschild, I would be happy to discuss my travels with you.”

That was a lie. Nathan didn’t really want to talk about India with this man, but he nodded his head regardless. At least the other man
wasn’t
blatantly pointing out their shared lover, as he had originally believed.

But then, when he considered the topic rationally, there was no reason for the earl to know that Nathan also shared an interest in Cassandra. The two of them hadn’t made their relationship so public before she threw him aside. Thank God for that.

Nathan looked around the room absently, hoping to find a way to politely escape this conversation. It was very difficult to look the other man in the eye when he knew Rothschild had been intimate with Cassandra. All he could think about was the distasteful picture of the two of them tangled in an embrace, of Cassandra moaning and coming the same way she had done for him a few days before.

“How long did you live in India, my lord?” Lady Rothschild
asked. “You are the talk of London, but no one speaks of the interesting facts like why you left Society and how long you explored the world.”

Nathan shot another glance her way. There was a laughing sparkle in her eyes that was almost impossible not to return, and an intelligence that actually put him to mind of Cassandra, though the women couldn’t have been more different in appearance. Miranda Hamon was all slender, willowy loveliness, while Cassandra was curvy and delicious. Yet both were sharp, attractive women who exuded confidence. Seeing Miranda Hamon made Nathan wonder just what kind of woman Cassandra would have become had she not refused him. What kind of Countess?

He shook the thought away with determination.

“The talk of London?” he forced a smile. “Surely you exaggerate.”

The woman laughed, and she seemed to glow from within. “Most certainly I do not, and I think you know it full well. You are a novelty, a prodigal son returned to the fold and
they
cannot get enough of you.”

Nathan shrugged one shoulder. She was right, of course, and that played perfectly into his plans. He would find a wife before the Season was out. By that time, he was certain his anger and desire for Cassandra would be purged and he could get on with things—like creating heirs and spares, and preparing for the inevitable time when his father would be gone and he’d become a powerful Marquis.

“I would be remiss if I did not offer to introduce you to a
few of our eligible female guests and their chaperones,” Lady Rothschild continued, with a wave of her hand around the room. “Is there any woman in particular who strikes your fancy?”

Nathan glanced around him. He had been carefully considering the women in attendance since his arrival. Certainly, there were plenty of beautiful women to pick amongst in every corner of the crowded room, from the experienced widows who sent him blatant looks of invitation to the sweetest innocents who still believed in fairytale princes. If he wished it, tonight he could find a lover, a mistress, or even a wife if he turned in the correct direction.

And yet there wasn’t one woman in the room who caught his eye or kept his attention as much as the redheaded seamstress he was blackmailing.

What a sickness this desire was.

“I am afraid I do not know any of the young ladies well enough yet to choose one over another,” he stammered finally, as Miranda Hamon tilted her head in unspoken question when he was silent too long. “Which lady would
you
chose for me?”

“Oh, the power, sir!” Rothschild laughed, as he sipped his drink. “You do not know what you are saying when you give my wife carte blanche with your future.”

Lady Rothschild laughed at his teasing as she released her husband’s arm. “Ethan is correct, though he is dastardly to point it out. You put far too much faith in my ability to match you when we have just met and I know nothing of your pursuits, or personality, or interests. But I
could
introduce you
to Miss Rebecca Ward. She is a favorite of all the gentlemen this Season. She and her mother are standing there with Mr. Stephan Undercliffe.”

Nathan stiffened at the mention of the other man’s name. Great God, Undercliffe was another of Cassandra’s former lovers. Was the party filled with men who had spent nights tangled with her sweet body? Did they all belong to some kind of sick club in which he was now eligible for membership?

The very idea turned his stomach, even as he followed with his gaze the direction Miranda had indicated with one slender hand. Two women stood with a dark-haired man, but he hardly noticed them. He was too focused on Undercliffe.

So, this was Cassandra’s former lover. Well, she never chose an unattractive one, that was certain. Undercliffe was very tall, with a wicked smile that spoke volumes about his character even before Nathan had spoken a word to him.

“What do you think?”

Nathan shook his head. Lady Rothschild wasn’t asking his opinion of Undercliffe, but of the young lady with whom the bastard was conversing. Finally, he forced his attention to the girl. She was a very pretty young lady at that, and yet still Nathan felt no interest stir in his belly at all.

“Perhaps it is too soon to think about pursuit,” he said, trying to be polite. There was no reason to be rude to Lady Rothschild, even if he could scarce stand the sight of her husband and wanted to run screaming from her ballroom like a madman. “I have just returned, after all.”

The Countess stared at him for a long moment, but then
she smiled slightly. “Very well. If you change your mind, do let me know.”

“My dear, I think the gentleman may already have a lady in his sights,” Rothschild interrupted with a chuckle. “Do you not recognize the wild expression in his eyes?”

Nathan stiffened. Well, that was just about enough coming from this man. He had no intention of discussing his current female pursuits with Rothschild.

“Thank you again for your kindness, my lord, my lady. I am afraid that I must cry off early. Good evening.”

Then he turned on his heel and stalked away.

After he was out of earshot, Miranda turned to Ethan with a small smile. “What in the world did you do to him, my love?”

Her husband’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“He could hardly look at you. Perhaps you did something wretched to him before I reformed you.” She looked at him, all innocence, though she knew what such a comment would incite.

Ethan caught her around the waist and drew her closer, close enough that she felt the insistent pressure of his desire against her belly. “Who says I’m reformed?”

She shut her eyes with a tiny groan. “I don’t think anyone is in the orangery.”

And they slipped from the crowd and never thought of Nathan Manning again.

The night outside was inky dark, the clouds too heavy to let the moon pierce through. Cassandra rested her chin in her palm as she stared with unseeing eyes out her window. She hardly noticed when the parlor door opened beside her until her best friend spoke and startled her from her troubling, distracting reverie.

“I’m glad to see you are taking a break,” Elinor said, as she entered the room bearing a tray with tea and a towering mound of Cassandra’s favorite biscuits. “You have been so odd the last few days.”

Cassandra forced a tight smile and stared at the cookies that now tempted her from the small table beside her chair. Apparently, she was not hiding her troubled mood as well as she had hoped. Not only had Elinor noticed her distraction, but the cook was clearly concerned for her, too. She only baked the chocolate wonders when Cassandra was sick or sad.

If her friends and servants could see her heart so clearly, that probably meant that Nathan recognized how much their “reunion” troubled her, too. And that meant he had the upper hand in every way.

Perfect.

She snatched a pastry from the tray and ate half of it in one big bite. Elinor tilted her head and looked at her with an expression laced with real concern before she took a place on the settee beside her.

“Do you want to talk to me about whatever is troubling you? We have always been honest with each other and helped one another when we could. You seem like you need that now more than ever.” Elinor covered Cassandra’s hand gently. “Is it
your work? Are you too overwhelmed? I can try to manage your schedule differently and give you more time away. Perhaps you could go to Bath and enjoy the waters for a few days.”

Cassandra let her eyes flutter shut. The idea of running away, hiding out, and pampering herself was tempting. She couldn’t help but picture herself lounging in the warm springs of Bath…except an unbidden image of Nathan intruded, even in her fantasy. Entering the water, opening her legs, filling her with more heat and steam than the hottest tub…

With a shiver, she shook her head and tried to forget the erotic image. “No, if I have troubles, they have nothing to do with my work.”

In fact, her occupation was the only thing keeping her sane at present. When she sewed or designed gowns, she was able to quiet the memories of Nathan’s touch, if only temporarily. The worries she felt about how long his quest for vengeance would last, the fear that if she let herself, she could easily remember what it was like to care for the man, despite all her reasons to maintain distance, faded just a little.