Seducing an Angel (34 page)

They all looked inquiringly at her.

“There will be no
wedding
,” she said.

None of them spoke. The duchess clasped her hands to her bosom.

“I like your brother,” Cassandra said. “He is probably the kindest, most decent man I have ever known. He is undoubtedly the
most handsome. He is also very … well,
attractive
. I believe he finds me attractive too. Indeed, I know he does. That kiss resulted from our mutual attraction, nothing else. It was unpardonably indiscreet—on both our parts. The Earl of Merton behaved with great presence of mind and gallantry when he saw we had an audience. He announced our betrothal. But it is something neither of us wants, and we cannot allow the whole of the rest of our lives to be dictated by one foolishly impulsive kiss, though he, of course, feels obliged to protect my reputation. I cannot humiliate him by refusing to have the betrothal announced and celebrated, and so I have agreed to remain betrothed until the Season ends. Then I will put a quiet end to it. Your brother’s reputation will suffer scarcely a dent, I do assure you. Indeed, everyone is sure to be very relieved for him. Yourselves included.”

His sisters exchanged glances.

“Bravo, Cassandra,” Vanessa said.

“It is so
good
of you,” Katherine said, “to be frank with us.”

“Now,” Margaret said briskly, “we have to decide whether to let Stephen know that we know. Will he be annoyed with you for telling us, Cassandra?”

“Probably,” Cassandra said. “I am sure he considers our betrothal real, and I believe he hopes to make me change my mind. He does not, of course, really
want
to be married to me. But he is unfailingly gallant.”

“And also,” Vanessa said dryly, “incurably in love. That has been very obvious to us for a few days. And he openly admitted to me just a day or two ago that he really
likes
you, Cassandra. That, when there is emphasis upon the word, is an enormously significant admission for a
man
to make. I do believe that the male lips and tongue were formed in such a way that it is virtually impossible for them to utter the word
love
, especially in combination with those other two words on either side of it—
I
and
you
.”

“And so,” Margaret said, “we must disagree with you, Cassandra.
It would seem altogether probable to us that Stephen really does wish to marry you.”

Cassandra could think of no answer to make.

“We will say nothing to Stephen of what you have told us, then,” Katherine said, looking from one to the other of her sisters for confirmation. “And perhaps we will never need to. We must warn you, Cassandra, that his happiness is very dear to our hearts, and if his happiness can be achieved only through having you for a bride, then we will do all in our power to see that there is a wedding for us to plan.”

“But you cannot
possibly
want me for him,” Cassandra said, spreading one hand over her bosom. “I am twenty-eight years old, I was married for nine years, my husband died under sufficiently mysterious circumstances that I stand accused of his murder in public opinion, and Lord Merton and I have known each other for little longer than a week.”

She counted the points off on the fingers of her free hand.

“You need to know something about us, Cassandra,” Margaret said with a sigh. “Perhaps it is due to the fact that we were not born and bred as aristocrats and have therefore found it impossible to
think
like aristocrats even if we have almost perfected the behavior most of the time. However it is, we all contracted marriages that were potentially disastrous, and we have all somehow made them work. More than that, we have all made them into love matches. Why should Stephen be any different from us? Why should we warn him against the potential disasters of allying himself with you when the potential for happiness is there too?”

“We have learned to trust love,” Katherine said with a smile. “We are eternal optimists. I will tell you
my
story one of these days. It will raise the hair on the nape of your neck.”

“If we do not leave here soon,” Vanessa said, “we will be having coffee and cakes for
luncheon
instead of for midmorning refreshments.”

“I will go and fetch my hat,” Cassandra said.

She was not sure, as she climbed the stairs, whether her decision to tell Stephen’s sisters the truth had freed her of complications or merely entangled her in more.

He had told Vanessa, even before last evening, that he
liked
her.

She smiled—and felt the ache of tears in the back of her throat.

William was on his hands and knees in the upstairs hallway, mending a loose floorboard that had been squeaking ever since she moved in.

After leaving the House of Lords, Stephen made his way homeward rather than toward White’s Club as he usually did. He had much on his mind.

White’s would be an uncomfortable place for him anyway today, after last evening. He would be the victim of some merciless teasing if he went there. The House had been bad enough, though no one there had made any open remarks. He had intercepted several knowing smirks, though.

Every gentleman’s worst nightmare was that he would somehow be trapped by a small, inadvertent indiscretion at a public entertainment into an unwanted leg shackle.

His own indiscretion had hardly been a small one. And hardly inadvertent.

Good Lord!

But was his leg shackle unwanted?

He had fallen in love with Cassandra. He had lain awake last night trying to force his mind into total honesty, trying to strip away the layers of guilt and gentlemanly honor and wishful thinking that clouded it so that he might know the truth of his feelings. Not that the truth mattered one iota now. Cassandra must be persuaded into agreeing to marry him.

But the truth had stared him unwaveringly in the eye no matter how much artifice he had stripped away.

He
was
in love with her.

But did it naturally follow that he also wanted to marry her? Did he want to marry
anyone
this early in his life?

Those questions, of course, did not need to be agonized over. He had been caught in a rather deep embrace with her, and marry her he must. Especially given the precarious nature of her reputation.

He was going to have a quick luncheon, he decided as he approached Merton House. Then he was going back out. He needed to talk to William Belmont. The truth of
that
debacle had been wonderful to hear last night, but Stephen was not at all sure that blurting out the truth for the whole world to hear was the right thing to do.

Paget had committed suicide while in a drunken rage.

His body would quite possibly be exhumed from the churchyard and reburied in unconsecrated ground.

And Cassandra was his widow.

She would be embroiled in a newly unsavory sensation.

If
Belmont’s story was believed, that was. The chances were that most people would still believe the old axe murderer story. It was more salacious. The new story would merely revive a scandal that was becoming old news. Most people probably did not
really
believe it and were growing bored with thinking it.

Perhaps Belmont could be persuaded merely to reinforce the official verdict on the death, which was that it had been accidental. He could claim quite truthfully that he had been there and had seen what happened. His word would carry some weight—except among those who were determined to believe the worst. He was the late Paget’s son, after all.

And there was Cassandra to see after luncheon. He would take her out somewhere if the sun made up its mind to shine. He would
begin his campaign of persuasion. He would use all the charm he could muster to persuade her to fall in love with him.

Actually, he could hardly wait to see her again.

He bounded up the steps to the front door and knocked lightly rather than produce his own key. He tossed his hat to the footman who opened it and grinned at his butler, who was just emerging from the nether regions of the house.

“There is no need to fall into a panic, Paulson,” he said. “A luncheon of cold meats and bread and butter will be more than sufficient. Can it be on the table within the next half hour?”

But Paulson had something to tell him.

“Lady Sheringford and the Duchess of Moreland and Baroness Montford are here, my lord,” he said. “They are in the ballroom, I believe. They
did
say that they would not stay for luncheon, but they have been here longer than an hour and have doubtless forgotten how late it is. I have taken it upon myself to have a cold repast set out for them. I will add a place for you, my lord. All will be ready in ten minutes.”

His sisters? In the
ballroom
?

It did not take any great intellectual effort to guess the reason why. They were taking charge before he could even ask them to. They were planning his betrothal ball.

“Thank you, Paulson,” he said as he turned to the staircase.

He took the stairs two at a time.

Should he
tell
them? he wondered. About the betrothal being a mock one, as far as Cass was concerned, that was? He would not, he decided before he reached the top of the stairs. It was an irrelevant point. By the end of the Season the betrothal was going to be real on both their parts. They were going to marry during the summer. At Warren Hall, he hoped, though he would be quite agreeable to St. George’s here in town if that was what she wanted when the time came.

He found his sisters standing in the middle of the ballroom, their
heads tipped back to regard the chandeliers overhead. There were three of the latter, it being a large and magnificent room, though it had not been much used in his time. A single gentleman did not have a great deal of opportunity to host lavish entertainments in his own home.

His betrothal ball would be an exception. He looked forward to it with some enthusiasm.

Stephen stood in the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back.

“I have counted seventy candle holders in this chandelier. There will be an equal number in the one at the other end. The middle one is larger. It must hold a hundred candles or more. That is at least two hundred and fifty candles in all, not counting the wall sconces. It will be an
impossible
extravagance. The candles alone will cost a fortune.”

The voice was coming from the orchestra dais at the far end of the room. Stephen had not noticed her before she spoke up.

Cassandra.

Her head was tipped back too.

As if Paulson and the housekeeper would not know how many candles would be needed to light the ballroom—without having to count holders and give themselves a crick in the neck into the bargain.

“I was about to send for the reserves when I heard my house had been invaded,” Stephen said, raising his voice. “But it would be a pointless exercise, I can see. You have taken possession until after the betrothal ball, I suppose?”

“Unless
you
want to plan it all on your own, Stephen,” Margaret said as he walked farther into the room.

He grinned as he kissed her on the cheek and turned to do likewise for his other two sisters.

“Perhaps,” he said, “I ought to call out the reserves after all to make sure none of you escape before the day.”

Cassandra was approaching along the ballroom floor, looking slightly pink in the cheeks.

He went to meet her and twined an arm about her waist before dipping his head to kiss her briefly on the lips. It was a heady sensation, seeing her like this in his own home.

“My love,” he said.

“Stephen,” she said as he turned her so that they were facing his sisters.

They all wore identical smug expressions.

“We went out for coffee and cakes,” Cassandra said. “I was congratulated by at least a score of people, Stephen, though the notice has not even appeared in the papers yet. It was all quite dizzying. And gratifying,” she added as if as an afterthought.

“It is a good thing, then,” he said, “that we meant what we said when we announced our betrothal at the ball last night.”

Her eyes smiled at him. There were identical smiles on his sisters’ faces. He wondered how they really felt about his betrothal.

“A very good thing,” Cassandra agreed. “Though it was
you
who made the announcement.”

“As was only right and proper,” Meg said. “One shudders to imagine what would have been the reaction if
you
had made it, Cassandra.”

It was a comment that sent all the ladies into paroxysms of merriment.

“And the very
idea
,” Nessie said, “that you might
not
have meant it, Stephen. Or that Cassandra might have contradicted you. It makes me feel quite vaporish just to
think
of it.”

“And we would not have had this lavish ball to plan,” Kate added. “Or the even more lavish wedding this summer.”

They all chose to be hugely amused again as if they were in some sort of conspiracy against him.

Stephen hugged Cassandra closer to his side and smiled down at her.

“I see that you and my sisters are getting along famously,” he said.
“I might have warned you that they would not wait until after the wedding to take you under their wing.”

“We were discussing the colors of the floral arrangements before we turned our attention to the chandeliers,” she said. “We all agree that the effect has to be bright and sunny, like a garden, though we have not yet decided exactly
what
colors there will be or how many.”

“Yellow and white,” he suggested, “with lots of greenery?”

“Perfect.” She smiled into his eyes.

“Inspired,” Nessie said. “Cassandra is going to wear a sunshine yellow gown, Stephen. It will look quite stunning with her coloring, though of course she would look quite stunning even in mud brown. I am
mortally
jealous of that hair.”