Patricia Rice (20 page)

Slamming the cover down, Merrick rose and peremptorily held
out his hand. “I had best get you home before the storm breaks.”

It hadn’t broken last night and might never break, but
Cassandra rose and took his hand.

Wyatt ordered two horses saddled, and they waited in the
protection of the shrubbery along the drive. The wind tossed and rattled the
upper branches, and clouds scuttled across the setting sun, but a beam of light
still brightened the horizon. Cassandra held tightly to Wyatt’s ungloved hands.

The horses were brought and Wyatt allowed one of the grooms
to throw Cassandra up in the saddle. The wind wasn’t conducive to talk, but the
words had to be said.

“I can’t bring myself to apologize for what happened last
night. I did not think you would wish to see me again.” Merrick said stiffly,
not daring to look in her direction.

“Then I will not apologize either. And I don’t think I could
bear it if I never saw you again.”

Her voice was low and quiet and Merrick wasn’t certain he
had heard her aright. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” he protested.

“Probably not, but I don’t care. You’re my only friend,
Wyatt. I couldn’t bear it if I lost you.” The pain crept into her voice.

Merrick sat in stunned realization. She needed a friend, not
a lover, but he didn’t think there could be any separating the two. He had
paced the floor last night in an agony of unquenched desire. He didn’t know how
it had come to this or why, but the one woman in the world who drove him to
unbridled lust was the one woman he could not have.

“Cassandra, there are some basic truths you must understand.
Friendship between a man and a woman is looked upon with skepticism by our
society. People won’t believe we are merely friends. And they would be right.
You don’t understand yet what is between us, and as the older, more responsible
party, I cannot let you learn more. That is why women take husbands. I hate to
say this, but you chose Rupert. It is his place to teach you the relationship
between a man and a woman.”

“You cannot forgive me that, can you?” Cassandra asked
bitterly. “I have a hard time forgiving myself, so that is understandable. It
is too late now for regrets. It could not have been done any other way. I just
don’t know why I have to suffer for it for the rest of my life.”

“I wish I knew how to help you, Cass, but I don’t. You must
have had reasons for choosing Rupert. I do not know what happened that night,
but is it something that might be corrected with time and patience? Perhaps you
just didn’t understand...” Merrick found that a difficult topic to express, and
he changed his direction. “Rupert was quite drunk. Perhaps he didn’t mean to be
cruel. You can try a man’s patience at times, Cass.”

Cassandra threw him a spirited look. “And men can try mine
equally. Rupert is a drunken bully, and I’ll never go back to him. You’re
right. I didn’t understand what was expected of me, and it doesn’t make matters
any better now that I do. I loathe him. I’ve always loathed him and had never
intended a true marriage. It’s just,” she gestured helplessly, “now that I’m
married, Duncan can’t sell me again. I’ve accomplished that much of what I set
out to do. I just don’t understand why it should mean an end to our friendship.”

“It doesn’t mean an end to our friendship, Cass. I’ll always
be here if you need me. I just don’t think it would be very good for either of
us to continue seeing each other as we have.”

The clouds overhead were thicker now, blotting out what
remained of the sunlight. As they entered the forest, the trees danced wildly
in the wind, and a bolt of lightning made the horses jittery.

“Not see each other?” Cassandra asked angrily. “What kind of
friendship is that? You sound like a bored lover trying to rid himself of an
unwanted mistress. How many times have I heard my father use that line? Not see
each other! Pardon me for being so offensive to your delicate tastes, Merrick.
I did not mean to fling myself upon you. You may stop seeing me now if it
pleases you. I will have Jacob return your horse in the morning.”

She kicked her mount into a canter. Another streak of
lightning followed by a paralyzing crack of thunder directly overhead spooked
the horse into a gallop, and Merrick shouted a warning even as the rain began to
beat down upon his shoulders.

The path she took was not a riding trail. The branches were
not trimmed to a horse’s height. Panic drying his mouth, Wyatt sent his horse
into a gallop after her.

The sky exploded in flash after flash of light. Wyatt
could see only the silhouette of horse and rider ahead of him. The horse was
clearly in control now, the drenching rain and thunderous cracks driving the
spirited mare into panic. Cassandra was either too angry or too frightened to
care. She clung to the reins and let the horse have its head.

The next flash set the silhouette into a slow motion that
drove Merrick’s breath back into his lungs. A low-lying limb loomed ahead. He
could see Cassandra duck to dodge it, but not soon enough. He could almost hear
the crack as her uncovered head connected with the branch. Then she was
tumbling, and he raced forward, but he could nothing do to stop any of it.

Mud splashed his boots as Merrick leapt from his horse. The
crumpled figure on the ground lay very still, and he couldn’t breathe as he
knelt beside her. Bright hair lay soaked in filthy water, and rain poured in
muddy rivulets down Cassandra’s pale face as he lifted her from the path. His
own heart thudded too loudly to be certain he felt hers. Her eyes remained
closed, and he groaned in despair at what his careless words had wrought.

She had come to him, lowered her pride, and let him see her
vulnerability, and he had returned her favor by setting her aside. He had
listened to his head and not his heart. He had always thought that the wisest
way to live, but sometimes wisdom wasn’t enough.

The lifeless girl in his arms might not be wise, but she had
a heart that might have welcomed him if he had let her. He might never know
now. Moisture not entirely from the rain slid down Wyatt’s cheeks.

He had to get her out of the rain. Their clothes were
drenched and clinging, and the air had turned colder. Even if she still
breathed, she would have pneumonia from this weather. Holding on to his horse’s
reins, Merrick carried his still burden down a shorter path. The playhouse
should still be there.

The small square cottage appeared in the next flash of
lightning. There was little protection for his horse here. Wyatt debated the
merits of riding the miles back to the house or sending the horse home. If
nothing else, the arrival of two riderless horses would signal something was wrong.
The lifelessness of the woman in his arms made the decision for him. She would
be safer here, out of the cold, than riding miles in a drenching rain.

Wyatt’s mind grasped one logical step at a time. He dared
not think further. Smacking his mount on the rump, he prayed the horse would
have sense enough to find the stable on a night like this.

He carried Cassandra inside and cursed the darkness. It had
been a long time since he had set foot in this child’s territory. A flash of
lightning revealed the cot still in the corner, and he carried her there.

There would be no tinder or flints. At least it was dry and
out of the wind. Merrick laid his burden down upon the bed and discovered the
woolen blanket still folded at the bottom.

There would undoubtedly be moth holes and mildew in it, but he
had nothing better. His own teeth chattered against the chill of sodden clothes.
Cassandra had to be made warm, and that was impossible in that soaking gown.

Although finding the fastenings was nigh on to impossible,
he gave thanks for the darkness. Just touching her silky skin beneath the
sodden clothing aroused him. Were he able to see what he touched, he wouldn’t
be responsible for his actions.

Cassandra groaned and stirred as he drew her arms from the
bodice. Wyatt caught his breath in hope, but she didn’t wake. He lifted her
limp shoulders and pushed the bodice of gown and chemise to her waist. The full
curves of her breasts pressed into his wet shirt as he balanced her against his
chest to strip her.

With difficulty, he slid the sodden garments over her hips.
For a moment Wyatt hesitated, wondering if this was the wisest course, but he
refused to turn back out of cowardice. He would simply have to stop thinking of
the soft nest of curls his fingers encountered and the fact that he hadn’t been
with a woman in months, maybe longer.

Wyatt dried her with a soft cloth from the cabinet, then
wrapped her in the blanket. Still, she didn’t wake. How long would it be before
anyone came for them? In this rain, probably hours.

He began to discard his own soaked clothing and wished again
for a fire. The wetness chilled to the bone, but he could find no suitable
garments or blankets in any of the tiny cabinets.

Stripped to his wet breeches, listening to the rain pound on
the thin roof, Wyatt tested Cassandra’s brow for fever. She didn’t feel warm.
In fact, she felt icy.

The proper thing to do would be to just sit and wait for rescue.
It could be dawn before that happened.

To hell with proper. Standing, Wyatt peeled the rest of his
wet clothing off. Cassandra would have hysterics if she woke and saw him like
this, but he would prefer hysterics to her present state of lifelessness.
Drying himself off with the damp cloth, Merrick crawled beneath the blanket
with her.

He tried to concentrate on generating warmth. There was
scarcely room for the two of them on the narrow cot. He turned Cassandra on her
side, wrapping his arm around her waist to hold her close. She stirred and
snuggled closer into the curve of his body, leaving Merrick to wonder if she
had not planned this all along. She fitted perfectly. He could move his arm
neither up nor down without encountering female temptation.

If she were warming up as quickly as he, they could dry
their clothes over the bed with the impending conflagration, he thought dryly.

~*~

Cassandra woke to the pounding of a drum, and she clenched
her eyes against the pain until she could determine its source. Disoriented,
she wondered if the leak on the roof of her bedroom had grown larger. The rain
sounded so much closer, and the air was damp and sticky. The feather mattress had
matted into hardness. She stirred restlessly—and discovered she was quite naked.

Worse, there seemed to be someone equally naked lying behind
her.

Her first thought was: Rupert! But the warm arm wrapped
around her was comforting and safe. Even though her head hurt dreadfully, she
smiled and imagined Wyatt beside her. She didn’t wish to wake from this dream
just yet, and listening to the patter of the rain overhead, she slept again.

In the dark before dawn, Cassandra woke once more, and she
knew something had changed. The pounding in her head had subsided to a dull
roar, and she sought the difference with her senses. She must have turned over
in her sleep. She could feel her companion’s breath upon her face.

The arm at her waist tightened, and she knew the difference
at once. He was awake. Raising her hand to the broad, lightly furred chest not
inches from her nose, she whispered anxiously, “Wyatt?”

“Thank God,” came the reply.

Then he stiffened and started to back away, but Cassandra
couldn’t bear to lose this dream so quickly. She ran her fingers through the
soft curls of his chest, testing the unyielding surface beneath. “Don’t go. It’s
cold.”

Cassandra eased closer. She was intent on seeking Wyatt’s
kisses, determined to win him somehow.

Wyatt succumbed without a fight. He brushed his tongue across
her lips and she parted them.

It was much better this way, without the layers of cloth to
prevent touching. Cassandra responded to Wyatt’s kiss with excitement, running
her hands over his broad shoulders. She could feel the ripple of muscle in his
back as he shifted position, and she felt no surprise at all when she lay half
under him, her lips parted to encourage his plundering.

Excitement danced along her skin as his fingers stroked the
crest of one breast. She could never have dreamed such sensations, and she
responded eagerly. His kisses burned and tingled all at once, creating a liquid
fire that slid to the very core of her being.

She was breathless when he lifted his head to stare down at
her, but in the darkness she could see nothing of his expression. She heard the
whisper of her name mixed with anguish and what she very much hoped to be
desire, and she lifted her hand to pull him down to her lips again.

It was like nothing she had ever known, and more than she
had ever hoped it would be. Wyatt’s strength cradled her against his shoulder,
and his touch was gentle and heated all at once. When he bent to suckle at her
breast, Cassandra came a little closer to ecstasy.

She wanted to give him the same, but she didn’t know how.
She wrapped her hands in his hair and cried out her joy at his touch and tried
to lift herself closer. The brush of his hard maleness should have caused her
to retreat, but it matched a taut emptiness inside her and felt right.

Cassandra explored the firm muscles of Wyatt’s shoulders and
arms. Her hands traveled to his broad chest as his kisses trailed living fires
across her breasts. He gently set her exploring fingers aside so he could trace
his own across her body, and Cassandra eagerly submitted to the sensation.

When he brushed at the heat between her thighs, she
instinctively refused the touch. His gentle insistence fired a new urgency to
which she succumbed, parting her legs to allow his hand entrance.

She knew she was going too far, that they teetered on the
edge of a precipice, but she could not seem to stop herself. She rose against his
exploring fingers, opening to him fully and begging his caress.