Seducing an Angel (38 page)

And it seemed to him that the darkness that had been in her had gone, to be replaced by light. Had he had some small hand in that? If he had, and if she was lost to him at the end of the Season, then perhaps there would be some consolation in the lonely years he would face before he could begin to forget her.

Not that he
would
lose her.

And not that there would be any consolation.

Most things in life had come easily to him. Even when he was a boy he had known that Meg had carefully saved enough of the portion their mother had brought to her marriage so that he might go to Oxford and receive enough of an education that he could find steady, gainful employment for the rest of his life. Since he had
inherited his title and all that went with it, life had been very easy indeed for him. And very happy too. He had never had to fight hard for what he wanted.

He would fight now.

He wanted Cass.

“You look almost fierce,” she said.

“Fiercely determined,” he said.

“To do what?” she asked him. “Stay off my toes for the last few minutes of the waltz?”

“That too,” he said. “But not just that. Determined to enjoy what remains of the Season. Determined to see to it that you enjoy it too.”

“How could I
not
enjoy a little piece of eternity in company with an angel?” she said.

But she laughed as she said it, her eyes dancing with merriment, and he did not know if it was a flippant, essentially meaningless answer or something that came so deeply from the heart that it had come out sounding unbearably sentimental.

The waltz was at an end, and so was the evening.

Within twenty minutes everyone had left except for a few stragglers, mostly family, and Wesley Young’s hired carriage had pulled up outside Merton House and Young was waiting to hand his sister in. Miss Haytor and Golding were already inside the carriage.

Stephen stood on the pavement at the bottom of the steps, both Cassandra’s hands in his own. He raised them one at a time to his lips.

“Good night, Stephen,” she said.

“Good night, my love.”

And she was. His love, that was.

How could he convince her of that without burdening her with the truth?

Courtship was not an easy business at all.

Perhaps it was as well. There was that saying about anything worth having being worth fighting for.

Old sayings had a tendency to be filled with truth and wisdom. She raised a hand from inside the carriage a few moments later, and then she was gone.

The next month went by for Cassandra too slowly and far too quickly.

She wanted it over with so that she could begin the rest of her life. Everything had been settled with great ease between her and Bruce with the aid of their lawyers and Wesley. Not only was she to be granted what she was owed by the marriage contract, but also she was to be paid the pension to which she was entitled by Nigel’s will, including all the back payments. Her jewelry had already been sent from Carmel.

She was a comparatively wealthy woman. She could live more than comfortably for the rest of her life, especially when she intended to live that life somewhere in the country with only the expenses of a small cottage and a few servants to consider.

Mary was going with William, of course. He was already in the process of purchasing land in Dorsetshire and the small manor that stood upon it. They hoped to move there in the autumn. In the meanwhile they stayed with Cassandra, and Mary insisted upon continuing as housekeeper, maid, and cook.

Belinda was excited at the prospect of moving to a big house far away with her mama and papa.

Alice was going to marry Mr. Golding, and she was going to do it within the month. Cassandra had shamelessly promised that she was going to marry Stephen, and Alice had believed her and decided to follow her heart. She was bubbling over with happiness, and Cassandra felt not the smallest pang of guilt for her lie. She was just going to have to convince Alice when the time came that she had had a sudden change of heart and could not marry Stephen after all.

It would be too late for Alice to confront her with the deception by then.

Cassandra
needed
for Alice to be happy. Only so could she forgive herself for her selfishness in keeping Alice with her all these years.

But time moved too slowly even though there was much to make Cassandra contented, even happy. And there was much to look forward to. The agent who had helped William find his land and manor was now looking for a suitable cottage for her.

Time moved slowly because every day brought her closer to Stephen and deepened her regard for him. She saw him every day, sometimes more than once. She might go riding with him in the morning, perhaps, and join a party to Vauxhall with him in the evening.

She
liked
him. Oh, she did indeed. It was almost worse than the love. She could be
friends
with this man in a friendship that would last a lifetime. She was sure it must be so. Apart from Alice, who had been her governess and surrogate mother for many years, she had never had friends. No one, anyway, with whom she could relax and talk—and laugh—on any subject on earth without having to make an effort to keep the conversation going. And no one with whom she could be comfortably silent for minutes at a time without her mind racing for some subject—any subject—with which to fill the silence.

She loved him too, of course. She yearned for him physically, a desire made even worse by the fact that she had had him twice and knew how close to her grasp a physical heaven was. But it was more than just physical. She
cared
for him in a way that was far too deep and complex for any words. Or if there
were
words, she certainly did not know them. The word
love
, she thought, was like a tiny doorway into a vast mansion that filled the universe and beyond.

Sometimes she wondered why she could not simply marry him and be happy for the rest of her life. He had said he loved her, after all—
once
. And he always seemed happy when they were together.

But how could he
not
appear thus when he was a man of honor?

And how could she possibly force him into marriage?

Whenever she began to wonder why not, she forced herself to list the reasons. She had deliberately singled him out for se diction. She had trapped him into becoming her protector. She had taken money from him—
which she had since repaid in full
. She had not stopped him from kissing her out on that balcony at Lady Compton-Haig’s ball. She had allowed him to announce their betrothal immediately afterward. She had not put a firm stop to the farce the day after. She had … Well, she usually stopped there. Why go further? The list was shudderingly long as it was.

Of course
she could never marry him.

Sometimes the list kept growing longer in her head even when she tried to stop thinking. She was three years older than he and had been married before. Her father had been a gambler, her husband a drinker. Such a woman was not a suitable bride for the young and charismatic Earl of Merton.

But, though the last month of the Season crawled along far too slowly, it also galloped along at an alarming pace. For once it was over, Stephen would be returning alone to Warren Hall for the summer and she would be going to an as yet unknown destination—her new home.

And they would never see each other again.

Ever.

It was July. People had already started to trickle out of London to return to their estates or to seek out cooler, fresher air close to the sea or at one of the spas. The parliamentary session was almost at an end. The frantic pace of social activities was beginning to wind down for another year.

And Cassandra had left town. Oh, it was for only a few days, it was true. She had gone into Kent for Miss Haytor’s marriage to
Golding and would be back. But Stephen was starting to feel nervous—or continuing to feel nervous, to be more accurate. He had courted her quite relentlessly for a whole month, but he was still not sure if she felt anything more for him than a fondness and a friendship.

Neither was enough for him.

Now that it was too late, he wondered if he ought to have told her every day that he loved her. But if he had done that and it had not worked, he would probably
now
be wondering if he ought to have kept quiet about his feelings.

There were no rules of courtship, it seemed. And there were no guarantees that even the most persistent of efforts would bear fruit.

But he could not wait much longer to press the issue. He had been delaying doing so, he realized, because he feared her answer. Once the question was definitely asked and her answer definitely given, there would be no room left even for hope.

Assuming, that was, that her answer would be no.

When had he become such a pessimist?

Cassandra had expected to be back in town on the Tuesday after the wedding. But Stephen ran into William Belmont by chance on Monday and discovered that she had returned just before he left the house.

Stephen lost no time in going to call on her.

She really was not expecting him. And Mary had become careless, having seen him almost every day for the past month and a half. She did not go to the sitting room first to see if Cassandra would receive him. She merely greeted him with a smile—she was outside polishing the brass knocker on the door—and then went ahead of him to tap on the sitting room door, open it without waiting for an answer, and let him in.

Cassandra was standing before the empty fireplace, one wrist
propped on the mantel, the other hand pressed to her mouth. She was weeping quite audibly.

She turned her head toward him, red-eyed and aghast, before turning it sharply away again.

“Oh,” she said, making an attempt at bright normality, “you took me by surprise. I look a mess. I arrived home only an hour ago and changed into something comfortable but not very elegant.”

She was plumping a lone cushion on the chair beside the fireplace, her back to him.

“Cass.” He had hurried across the room to set both hands on her shoulders, making her jump. “What is the matter?”

“With me?” she asked brightly, straightening up and deftly evading his grasp as she went to move a vase a tenth of an inch from its original place on a table behind the chair. “Oh, nothing. Something in my eye.”

“Yes,” he said. “Tears. What has happened?”

He followed her and handed her a handkerchief. She took it and dabbed at her eyes before turning toward him, though she did not look at him. She smiled.

“Nothing,” she said, “except that Alice has got married and is going to live happily ever after with Mr. Golding, and Mary and Belinda are going away with William,
also
to live happily ever after, and I was indulging in a little self-pity. But they were partly tears of happiness too. I
am
happy for all of them.”

“I am sure you are,” he said. “Will
you
live happily ever after too, Cass? Will you marry me? I love you, you know, and they are not just words spoken to make you feel better about the situation. I
do
love you. I cannot imagine life without you. Sometimes I think you are the very air I breathe. Can I hope that you love me too? That you will forget about ending our betrothal and marry me instead? This summer? At Warren Hall?”

There. It was all blurted out. He had had a month to prepare a
decent speech, but when it had come to the point he had not been prepared at all. And he had not chosen a good moment. She was in deep distress, and his words had not helped. Almost before he had stopped speaking she was across the room and looking out the window.

But she did not say no. He waited with bated breath, but she did not say anything at all.

She was not silent, though, he realized after a few moments. She was sobbing again and doing a damnably poor job of stifling the sounds.

“Cass.” He went to stand behind her again, though he did not touch her this time. He heard a world of misery in the one word he had uttered. “It is not just self-pity, is it? Are you trying to find a way to let me down gently? Can’t you marry me?”

It took her a few moments to bring herself sufficiently under control to answer him.

“I think I probably have to,” she said then. “I think I am with child, Stephen. No, I don’t
think. I am
. I have been trying to tell myself otherwise for a few weeks, but I have …
missed
for a second time now. I am with child.”

And she wailed so uncontrollably that all he could do was grasp her by the shoulders, turn her, and hold her against him while she wept into his shoulder.

He felt weak at the knees. His heart felt as if it were somewhere near the soles of his boots.

“And that is so dreadful, is it?” he asked when her sobs had subsided somewhat. “That you are with child by me? That you must marry me?”

Not like this
, he thought dully.
Not like this. Please not like this
.

But he had slept with her on two successive nights when he ought not to have done so, and now he must bear the consequences. They both must.

She had tipped back her head and was looking up at him with red, frowning face.

“Oh, I did not mean it that way,” she said. “I did not mean it that way at all. But how can I do it again, Stephen? I thought I was barren after the last time. It was more than two years before Nigel died. How can I do it again? I
cannot
.”

Tears ran unheeded down her cheeks again, and he understood.

“I cannot offer guarantees, Cass,” he whispered, cupping her face with his hands and drying her cheeks with his thumbs. “I wish I could but I can’t. What I
can
promise, however, is that you will be loved and cherished—and given the very best medical care—throughout what remains of the nine months. We will have this baby if love and wanting can accomplish it.”

He blinked away tears from his own eyes.