The Conquest of Lady Cassandra (30 page)

Her thoughts halted. Her gaze froze on the woman’s powdered wig and the earbobs dangling beneath its overwrought curls.

She squinted hard at those jewels. Aging varnish obscured them badly, but—unless her eyes failed her—it appeared that beneath the yellow haze, sapphires hung from settings holding large diamonds.

Piercing disappointment stabbed her heart.

Ambury had indeed been investigating her aunt, but not for some nameless individual. He thought the earrings had been stolen from his own family.

Her mind jolted into a scramble of thoughts regarding what that meant and whether his promise to protect Aunt Sophie had been honest. She cursed herself for carelessness while she strode back and forth beneath the eyes of that ancestor.

I will, however, promise to protect her, no matter what, so long as it does not compromise my honor.
A lot of good that would do if he concluded Aunt Sophie was a thief.

She cursed herself again, for not seeing what he was up to and for not understanding how he qualified his promise. She needed to talk to Sophie and be very pointed in
demanding the truth, so she would be able to find her own way to offer protection.

While she debated and plotted, a footman entered the gallery. He bore a salver on which a letter rested. She recognized her aunt’s hand from five feet away and rushed to take the letter. She told the footman to wait because she intended to jot a quick reply. While he retreated, she opened the seal.

“Danger! Drama! Another Rescue! That is what I write to you about, dear Cassandra,” Sophie’s letter began. Alarmed, she devoured the rest.

“Your tedious brother came to the house to remove me again. Fortunately, Highburton’s footmen refused him entry. Thank goodness you arranged for Angus to replace Sean”—Cassandra had arranged nothing. If one Scot had replaced another, it had been a coincidence. “There is nothing like a Scot built like an oak to send a coward like Gerald running. What a disappointment Gerald is to me!

“He threatened something about the law and a solicitor and a forthcoming summons to Chancery. Angus sent at once for Southwaite. The denouement is I have been moved to Emma’s house, but Southwaite cannot ignore a court summons if one arrives, and it is only a matter of time before Gerald discovers I am here. I am sure that I have sanctuary until you return to town, however, and we will decide what to do then.

“You are not to worry, dear. All is well for now.”

Not worry? Her brother was acting like a madman. He had to know by now that she had married and was out of his reach. His pursuit of Aunt Sophie should have ended now that it lacked any coercive power.

Instead, he had tried to abduct Sophie again. As punishment for Ambury thwarting him? In retaliation for ruining his plans? Perhaps it had been nothing more than an expression of his pique and anger. Who knew how long he would continue on this path?

All kinds of potential developments raced through her
head. She could return to town next week and find Sophie gone, and Gerald named her guardian.

She dared not risk that.

She strode down the gallery to the waiting footman and sent him for the butler.

L
ondon was asleep by the time Yates stopped his horse after a grueling ride with minimal rest. He tied the animal in front of his family home, then let himself in. The servant manning the entry startled out of a dream when he shook the man’s shoulder. Embarrassed, the servant jumped to his duties and set about having the horse cared for.

Yates mounted the stairs to his chambers. Inside, he stripped off his coats and shirt and washed with water a servant brought up. Higgins had been left at Elmswood to follow in a carriage, so he did for himself.

Once Yates learned that Cassandra had departed Elmswood Manor in haste, he had himself done the same, even though it was not clear if that were necessary. All Yates learned from the butler was that a letter had come that called her back to town. Her own explanation—a brief note saying the letter had come from her aunt—hardly illuminated matters.

He expected to find the entire household asleep, so it surprised him to see the line of light at the bottom of Cassandra’s door when he looked down the narrow passageway. He had assumed he would wait until morning to find out why his bride had bolted without more than a one-sentence explanation. That light raised concerns that banished the irritation he had carried with him all those hours on horseback.

Perhaps her aunt had suffered some accident or illness. Maybe the situation had turned tragic. He did not like to think of Cassandra sitting in her chamber all alone if that were true.

Pressing the door open, he saw her sitting at her writing desk, intent on whatever she scribbled. The light from her lamp gave her profile a golden glow. Her eye appeared very dark, and her lashes very thick, and the tumble of curls falling down her back had already escaped whatever discipline a brush had imposed.

Picking up a small chair by its back frame, he set it down beside the desk so it faced her, then sat. She set her pen in its holder and slid her letter under the blotting paper.

“I did not expect you for several days,” she said. “I told the butler to tell you that you should complete what you needed to do in Essex, and that I would manage here on my own.”

“He is too discreet, and wise, to ever pass on a message like that. He would worry that I would not take well my wife giving me permission to act this way or that, and he probably feared that I might blame the messenger if I heard it.”

Those dense lashes lowered, obscuring whether she hid sparks of humor, regret, or rebellion from his view. “My apologies. I left in such a rush that I did not think of the proper way to do it.”

“There was no
proper
way to do it.”

Ice entered her tone. “Was there not? Even when an emergency changes one’s plans?” She fished through some papers on the corner of the desk, plucked one out, and handed it to him.

He read Sophie’s dramatic salutation, then the rest. “It appears that Southwaite had matters well in hand. Your aunt herself writes that you were not to worry.”

“She also writes that Gerald threatened to bring the issue to the courts. Southwaite could not disobey any summons to produce her, and had no standing to defend her. It was incumbent on me to find another place for her, quickly, where she would be safe and where Gerald would never think to look.”

He tapped the letter against the desk’s wood while he decided whether to have the row that was waiting now or later. She stared at him, not cowed in the least.

“Where did you move her?”

“I think it would be better if you did not know.”

“You are my wife. I am responsible for your actions. I need to know what you have done, whether you think it a good idea or not.”

“You are no more likely to refuse the courts than Southwaite. You might bar the door to Gerald, but you will not disobey a summons.”

“And you would?”

“If necessary, yes.”

“I cannot permit that.”

The look she gave him said what wisdom kept her from speaking aloud.
It does not matter what you will permit.

“I always knew you were bold enough, Cassandra, and not given to obeying rules that you did not accept. I can’t be surprised that you refuse to be an obedient wife, I suppose.”

“I am obedient enough, Ambury. Since I married you to protect her, you cannot be surprised that I will disobey you to do so too, however.”

The row still waited, like a storm on the horizon. It made the air brittle and their conversation pointed. The gaze she gave him dared him to stir those dark clouds, as if she welcomed a good tempest.

For the first time he wondered if in the name of honor he had condemned himself to life with a stranger. Not because she had so quickly abandoned their honeymoon without a thought for his feelings. Not even because her loyalty to her aunt took precedence over her loyalty to him. And not because she had equated their marriage to the arrangement between mistress and protector, and had tempted him into doing the same.

The real reason he wondered was in the way that she watched him.

She did not trust him.

“Tomorrow I will explain to you what I expect and don’t
expect about some of your behavior in the future. For now, let us just go to bed.”

She looked at his naked chest and a question entered her eyes.

“I will bid you good night, Cassandra.” He stood and walked away. “I have been riding too long to have much heart for giving my wife lessons of any kind tonight.”

He strode to his bedchamber. No lamp had been lit there, and he could not be bothered with bringing the one from the dressing room. Without undressing further, he fell onto the bed and was half asleep before his face hit the coverlet.

His hand felt a bulge beneath it. He flexed his fingers and groped. Velvet and lumpy, the bulge gave off various tiny sounds from its contents.

Curious, he got up and carried the discovery into his dressing room. As soon as the lamp there illuminated it, he knew what it was.

He opened the velvet purse’s drawstring and poured the contents into his palm. Sapphires and diamonds flashed. A folded paper floated to the floor. He picked it up.

He set down the jewels and the note that made clear Cassandra now knew why he had been so insistent in wanting to know how they came into her aunt’s possession. No wonder she had been so cold tonight, and so wary of him. Of course she did not trust him now, if she ever had.

C
assandra rose early, putting a merciful end to a very restless night. The reunion with Ambury had played in her head the whole time she stayed in bed, and she hoped that getting dressed would exorcise the uncomfortable memories.

She had never seen him truly angry before, but had guessed he would not be the type of man to bellow and yell. Instead, his mood poured out of him with silent intensity. His face possessed the ability to become quite hard when he did not soften it with smiles and wit. Last night, when he sat down in that chair that he swung beside her writing table, he had appeared carved out of ice.

The depth of his anger made no sense. He knew where she had gone, and why. True, the plan had been to spend two weeks together down at Essex, and become used to each other as a married couple. Theirs had not been some love match, however, and her departure had hardly interrupted a sought-after romantic tryst.

She left the house dressed for the day and strode toward Oxford Street. No matter how much she talked herself through it, his obvious displeasure had left her unsettled and a little sad. Her reaction made even less sense than his behavior. Of the two of them,
she
was the one who had a right to be angry, not him. He had no cause to get all lordly with her about it. He definitely could not claim that she had wounded him.

She paused in her tracks as that word came to her. She had sensed that in him, along with a masculine dismay. She tried discarding the notion as even less logical than all the others. She was incapable of wounding Ambury, of that she was sure. Yet she could not shake the feeling that last night’s conversation had revealed a new fissure between them that had not been among the other ones when they said their vows at Kendale’s house.

The melancholy swelled inside her again. The sadness included a sense of loss, perhaps for the easy familiarity she and Ambury had shared. She marched on, hoping the dull weight on her spirit would ease as the day wore on.

An hour later, she stepped out of a hackney in front of Fairbourne’s auction house. The building appeared cold and still. She trusted Emma had received her letter yesterday and had made the arrangements that she had requested. Upon finding the front door unbolted, she knew it had been done.

Further evidence that all was in order showed on the big gallery wall. A few paintings hung there, including the odd primitive one that had so entranced Emma when it arrived for examination.

Emma came out of the office, looking fresh and lovely in a pale green dress that complemented her golden brown hair. She gave Cassandra a kiss, then stood back and crossed her arms. “What are you up to? Southwaite is not pleased that you spirited your aunt away while he was absent from the house. He instructed me to find out where you took her.”

“It would be better if he did not know, which means you should not know either.”

“His concern is for her safety. I hope that you know that, Cassandra. He has no desire to see your brother take her away.”

“Your husband is a part of the government and sworn to uphold the rule of law. Please do not press me for her whereabouts, Emma. You know I am right to keep it a secret.”

“Even from Ambury?”

“Yes.” Especially Ambury.

“Will you stand against the whole world, and all alone at that? And now this business with Herr Werner. Am I to know why you had me invite him to see these paintings?”

Herr Werner was the private emissary to Count Alexis von Kardstadt, a member of Bavaria’s royal family, who had brought his master’s art collection to London last spring. The count’s paintings had been the main attraction at the Fairbourne auction where Cassandra also sold her jewels.

Herr Werner knew how Aunt Sophie amassed her jewels, because the count had been one of the lovers who had bestowed some upon her. Cassandra hoped to convince him to explain that to Ambury, to put an end to any suspicion that Sophie had stolen them.

“I assume he is here not only to sell but to buy as well. With the funds from that auction weighting down his purse, I thought your auction house might be a good place for him to lighten his load.”

“How good of you to have Fairbourne’s best interests at heart. I know there is more to it than that, but I will allow you to keep your own counsel on this matter too, if you insist.”