Seducing an Angel (37 page)

“And got here just in time,” Monty said with a grin, “though you did not have a moment to spare to change into your ball clothes. It is an affecting story. The ladies will all be in tears if they get wind of it.”

“We had better think of an explanation for the nose, though,” Con said as they led him from the room between the two of them. “It ought not to be hard. A man meets with all sorts of accidents when he is in a hurry to wish his stepmother well in her new marriage.”

Stephen reached out and took Cassandra’s hand in his. She was looking very pale, and her hand was cold. He smiled at her and looked at William Belmont.

“You will stay too?” he asked. He had asked before, but Belmont had refused, since Mary was quite adamant in
her
refusal to attend such a grand affair, even if she
was
Mrs. William Belmont and sister-in-law of Lord Paget.

“Not me,” Belmont said. “I am going home for my dinner, which was ready half an hour ago. Bruce adored our mother, you know, but he would never see the truth. He was afraid of it, I expect. He spent most of his adult years as far away from Carmel as he could get. As I
did too, of course. I ought to have done more for you than I ever did, Cassie. I am sorry for it now, though apologies are cheap, aren’t they?”

And he turned and was gone.

Stephen lowered his head to look into Cassandra’s face.

“All right?” he said.

She nodded. Her hand was beginning to warm in his.

“Such melodrama,” she said. “Oh, Stephen, I am so sorry. You must be cursing the day your eyes first alit on me in the park.”

He smiled slowly at her and kissed her briefly on the lips, though he was aware of his family close by, all buzzing in reaction to what had just happened.

“I bless the day,” he said.

She merely sighed.

“Stephen,” Meg said briskly, “it is time the receiving line was formed. Your guests are going to start arriving
at any moment
.”

Stephen grinned about him.

“And a man gets to celebrate his betrothal only once,” he said.

His sisters proceeded to hug both him and Cassandra.

“You will have children with
Stephen
,” he heard Vanessa whisper to Cassandra while they were in each other’s arms. “They will never make up for the ones you lost, but they will warm your heart. I promise you they will. Oh, I
do
promise.”

21

H
OW
could she possibly stand in a receiving line, all things considered, Cassandra wondered over the next hour, smiling and greeting large numbers of guests and thanking them for their good wishes on her engagement?

But she did it.

How could she possibly dance all the rest of the evening, smiling all the while, and how could she possibly converse and laugh between sets just as if this really were the happiest evening of her life and she had not a care in the world?

But she did it.

She even almost enjoyed herself.

She
did
enjoy herself apart from the needling twinge of guilt over the fact that she was deceiving everyone. Except Stephen, of course. And his sisters. And she guessed that they had told their husbands.

It felt like a wonderfully celebratory occasion, and the ballroom was the loveliest she had ever seen, and Stephen looked happy and more handsome than ever. He looked as he
ought
to look at his betrothal ball, she thought rather wistfully.

Perhaps she did too.

They danced the opening set together.

“He stayed,” Stephen said while they waited for the music to begin. “Are you surprised?”

Bruce had indeed come to the ball. He was even dressed appropriately He really had just arrived in London, it seemed. His bags had still been outside Merton House in his traveling carriage. He had gone to Portman Street and then here without first stopping at a hotel.

“Appearances were always important to Bruce,” she said. “He stayed away from home for years, I believe in the hope of distancing his reputation from Nigel’s if scandal should ever break—as it did not until after his death. He probably sent me away at least partly in the hope of distancing himself from the rumors beginning to circulate about me. Perhaps tonight he has realized his mistake. Perhaps he has understood that his best hope for lasting respectability is to stick staunchly by the official verdict on his father’s death. And he can do that best by standing by me and making it appear as if he came to London to give his blessing on my betrothal to you. Poor Bruce.”

He smiled at her, and then smiled about at his guests. It was the opening set of their betrothal ball, and of course most eyes were upon them.

Oh, it
almost
seemed real, Cassandra thought as the music began and they moved off into an energetic and intricate country dance. Within moments they were both laughing.

During the evening Cassandra danced with all three of Stephen’s brothers-in-law as well as with her own brother. She danced with Mr. Golding, who had come with Alice, and with Mr. Huxtable.

“It would seem, Lady Paget,” that last gentleman said as they danced, “that everyone has misjudged you. And I believe everyone is beginning to realize it, especially with Paget smiling benignly on you with every step you take. A pity about his nose, but one really ought to be careful to move it out of the path of a carriage door when a sudden gust of wind is slamming it shut.”

“Anyone who believes
that,
” she said, laughing, “is probably
still
expecting to see me swing an axe about my head before this is all over.”

He raised one eyebrow.

“Before
what
is all over?” he asked. “The ball? One hopes it is not something else to which you refer, Lady Paget. My young cousin is cheerful by nature, but I do not believe I have seen him this happy before now.”

“And you believe,” she said, “that I can make him happy?”

“It would seem rather obvious that you can,” he said.

“I am forgiven, then,” she asked him, “for colliding with him at Margaret’s ball?”

“I will forgive you,” he said, “on your wedding day.
After
the wedding.”

“I shall look forward with renewed eagerness, then,” she said, laughing again, “to my wedding, Mr. Huxtable.”

“You may also call me Con,” he said, “after your wedding.”

He was a man difficult to decipher. Did he like her or did he not? Did he like Stephen, or did he not?

She danced the supper dance with Bruce. He asked her and she could hardly say no. But it was hard not to feel bitter over all the dreadful things he had said to her before banishing her from Carmel, over the terror she had felt while traveling here with her small entourage of refugees with no idea how she was going to care for them or herself, over the ghastly rumors he had done nothing to quell and perhaps much to spread, over the way he had come here this evening, heedless of who might hear his righteous tirade. It was pure good fortune that he had arrived when he had and not an hour later.

The one satisfaction for her was his reddened, slightly swollen nose.

How splendid Stephen had looked …

But she ought not to find satisfaction in any form of violence. She
had
, though, and she still did. For once in her life someone had
actually fought
for
her rather than against her. She knew just what a fist to the nose felt like.

“You must know, Cassandra,” Bruce said stiffly as he led her onto the floor, “that I have never liked you. You were an opportunist fortune hunter when you married my father. You had not a feather to fly with after growing up with that worthless father of yours. You thought to live in the lap of luxury for the rest of your life, and you almost did. The jewels my father bought you are worth a fortune, as I am sure you know. But you paid for your scheming ways. You got what you deserved. I doubt you will with Merton. He is altogether a weakling and a milksop. You have chosen more wisely this time. However, if William is to be believed—and I daresay he is—you did not
kill
my father, and so I am doing my utmost tonight to dispel the rumors that followed you here apparently with a vengeance. I will be happy to dispel them. I will be happy to see you marry Merton. I will be happy to have you off my back, to be able to forget about you, and perhaps—if I am very fortunate—never to see you again.”

He smiled warmly at her all the time he spoke.

The dance was about to begin.

“You are not considering marriage on your own account, Bruce?” she asked him, smiling back.

“I am not,” he said.

“I am very glad,” she told him. “Very glad, that is, for the lady who might have been your wife.”

“I will see my lawyer tomorrow morning,” he said. “I will take him to see
your
lawyer.
You
may wish to meet us there at noon, Cassandra. You will get everything to which you are entitled provided you are prepared to swear
in writing
that you will make no further claim on my estate. Ever.”

He smiled. She smiled back.

“I will be there with Wesley,” she said. “My lawyer will advise me on what I ought to agree to, in writing or otherwise.”

They danced in silence, smiling at the air to the side of each other’s face. And they were watched, Cassandra guessed, by guests curious to interpret what Lord Paget’s appearance here tonight meant. But it could surely mean only one thing to them. Would he have come if he truly believed she had murdered his father? Would he have come if he did not wish her well, if he did not wish to convey the blessing of his family on this second marriage of hers?

Cassandra could almost hear what was being thought, even said—and what would be said in the coming days.

Perhaps they had all been wrong about her, they would surely say. The rumors had been rather extreme, after all. What woman was capable of hefting an axe high enough and firmly enough to cleave a man’s skull in two? Not that they had really
believed
those stories, of course, but even so … And she had denied nothing, had she? And one could believe a woman with hair
that
color capable of anything. They
must
have been wrong about her, though. Not only was Lord Paget here, he was also dancing with her, conversing with her, smiling with her. They were clearly on the best of terms with each other.

Paget had behaved well, Stephen thought as the evening neared its end and he could, at last, claim Cassandra again for one more set.

He could not say he was happy Paget had come or happy that he had felt obliged to invite the man to the ball instead of pounding him to a bloody pulp, which would have been far more satisfying.

But, all things considered, matters had perhaps worked out for the best. Although there would always be people who would think the worst of Cassandra—that was human nature, after all—nevertheless most people would now conclude that they must have been duped by gossip. And most would convince themselves that they never listened seriously to gossip anyway and had not believed this particular item for a moment. Cassandra’s reputation would be restored.

And after coming here and smiling his way through the evening and even dancing with Cassandra, Paget could hardly now claim that she had no right to her personal property or to the monetary provisions made for her in her husband’s will and the marriage contract.

Stephen did not know how wealthy she would be, but he guessed that she would at worst be very comfortably well off. She would be independent. She would be able to do with her life whatever she chose to do.

It was not a realization that depressed him. Quite the contrary. She would have fought him to the bitter end, he knew, if it had seemed that she
needed
to marry him. And he would have hated to feel obliged to persuade her into matrimony only because she had no real alternative. He would have spent the rest of his life wondering whether she had really
wanted
to marry him. And wondering if pity had somehow warped his judgment.

Now he could fight for her without any qualms at all. She
would
say yes. But she would say it because she
wanted
to, because she had the freedom to decide whichever way she wanted. And he would fight because he wanted her. There would be no other reason.

He smiled at her as he took her in his arms. He had been smiling all evening, of course, but this time he saw only her, and he felt only the love that almost overwhelmed him. He could still scarcely believe it had happened to him—long before he had started to look for it, and in a totally different direction than he would have turned if he had been deliberately looking.

“I suppose,” he said, “you are still determined to break off our engagement once the summer comes?”

“Of course,” she said. “And only I can honorably do it. I will not fail you, Stephen, or trap you. This is all very temporary.”

Did she feel anything for him? It was impossible to know. He was as certain as he could be that she felt a fondness for him. He knew
she was physically attracted to him. But did she feel anything approximating to love? To romantic love? And to that deeper love that would endure through a lifetime?

She was free now to love.

Or not to.

But she was not free to tell him that she loved him, was she? She had promised to break off their engagement when the Season was over.

I will not fail you, Stephen, or trap you
.

This was going to be a difficult courtship. They were trapped in an engagement that she was honor-bound to break and he was honor-bound to convert into marriage.

Love seemed a minor consideration.

Except that it was everything.

They waltzed in silence. And they waltzed in a space that seemed to contain only the two of them. He could smell the flowers she had helped choose, and the scent of her hair and of
her
. He could feel her body heat and hear her breath. And he could see the proud arch of her neck, the beauty of her face, the bright glory of her hair, the sunshine of her gown.