The Conquest of Lady Cassandra (3 page)

She laughed lightly at his wit. To her dismay, he took that as an invitation to walk with her. She glanced askance at his profile. “Did you come down from town yesterday, Ambury?”

“I arrived yesterday, but I rode in from Essex.”

“Then you have not been in town for a while?”

“I am still involved in family matters that keep me from town most weeks, as I explained in my letters.”

If he had not been in town, he probably had not seen
her
letter, in which she accused him of using his family as an excuse in order to avoid paying her for the jewels.

“Are you riding back to town after the breakfast?”

“I still have business at the family seat. I expect to be in town by Monday, however.”

At which point he would read a letter that had been in his house for more than a week. Forthright would be a diplomatic word with which to describe its tone.

The musicians ended one piece. The absence of music left a sudden void.

“Will you be playing today?” she asked, seeking a safer subject. Ambury was known to be a superb violinist. It was
an unexpected talent for a man-about-town reputed to have no productive avocation.

“I rarely do in public.”

“Not even for your good friend and his bride?”

“I have already played for them. Privately.”

“That must have been very romantic.”

“Perhaps. I would not know.”

“Come now, do you expect me to believe that you have never used your music to make a lady pliable? You are not known as a man to resist pressing his advantage in the games of love.”

“Is that how we will pass the time? Comparing each other’s reputations? Or will I be constrained as a gentleman from participating in that topic?”

What a prickly response! Deeming polite discourse impossible, she began easing away in the direction of Lady Hollenfield.

Ambury remained with her step for step.

“I do not know why Kendale addressed me at all,” she said when it became clear he would not leave. “He does not care for me any more than the rest of your circle do. You are now being suspiciously solicitous in his stead. Surely, with all the women here, you can entertain yourself for the remaining time with more appealing company than me.”

“I doubt that. The very appealing image of that dress soaked in rain has lodged in my head now, giving you the advantage over the others.”

“If you focus on the history of the woman who wears it, that should remove the image quickly enough.”

He frowned, as if trying to follow her instructions. Those blue eyes scrutinized her slowly. The examination proved so thorough that she felt naked when he finally gazed in her eyes. He flashed a devastating, devilish smile. “Alas, your advice made it worse. Now the dress has a lovely body inside it, and I’m damned if anything else matters.”

“I am not a schoolgirl mesmerized by your charm, Ambury. All the bold flirting that you can muster will not make your attention any less peculiar.”

He laughed lightly, but his eyes told another story. Ambury could smile ever so amiably while the daggers within his wit sliced one to shreds. She worried that he honed the edges of those blades now.

“You are too clever for us. The truth is that Lady Southwaite asked Kendale and me to make sure you were not left stranded, what with her new husband’s relatives making up most of the party. Do not let her know I told you. She meant well.”

How like Emma to arrange this. Unfortunately, Emma did not know that Kendale and Ambury were the last people in this chamber to choose for the mission.

She gave her full attention to the man dragooned into what had undoubtedly been an unwelcomed duty. Too handsome for his own good, and far too charming for most women’s safety, Ambury turned heads when he walked into a chamber. As was often the unfair case with such men, maturity only made him more appealing.

He must be over thirty now, but his dark hair had not thinned at all. The faint lines that had begun to etch paths on either side of his mouth only brought attention to how masculine and well formed that mouth appeared. His lean strength flattered the current fashions, which he wore with a flair that managed to convey both fastidious care and self-confident indifference.

His dark blue, deep-set eyes regarded her just as directly as she did him. Everyone always said that his eyes reflected his good humor, but his amusement right now contained much that did not flatter her.

“Emma does not know why you two would never welcome such an obligation,” she said. “You could have explained it and been free of the chore.”

“Far be it from me to describe your fall from grace to her if you chose not to do so. I did think it an odd omission in a friendship so close.”

“Emma does not care about ancient history or stale gossip. She is a rare person, who accepts people as she finds them and who forms her own judgments without the influence of others. It was generous of you to agree to her request. I do not require your aid, however.”

“We gave our word. You are stuck with one of us.”

If she had to suffer Lord Kendale again, there really might be a row. Since it appeared Ambury had not read her letter yet…“How long must we tolerate each other’s company?”

“She requested our attendance on you through breakfast.”

“That long?”

“Afraid so.”

He would be at her elbow for hours, it seemed. What a discomforting nuisance.

“I
hope you do not mind leaving through this door,” Lydia said as she led the way through a passage angling toward the northern side of the manor house. “I would prefer to avoid the eyes and questions of my aunts.”

Cassandra assumed those questions would be about the advisability of riding with Cassandra as a companion. Although Lydia was old enough to be on the shelf, she lived under the supervision of a host of adults. Cassandra knew that her own family itched to treat her the same way. She only possessed the freedom that she enjoyed because Aunt Sophie had given her a home.

“I am just happy that the rain stopped,” she said. “A good ride followed by bathing in the sea will be wonderful.”

Cassandra held her skirt up so she would not trip on the rose-hued riding dress that she had borrowed from her friend. Lydia’s greater height explained some of the excess material, but the skirt was overlong by design to ensure modesty on the saddle. She noted with misgivings that it did not fit
properly in other ways either. The fabric strained over her breasts.

“I told the servants to have a sure-footed mare brought for you, so the mud should not be a problem,” Lydia said as she turned the latch on a heavy door.

Lydia would not require such care herself. Lydia was an expert horsewoman, due in part to being the sister of a man who owned one of the finest horse farms in England.

Two grooms waited outside, holding their mounts. As they were helped onto the saddles, Cassandra noted another reason why Lydia did not want her aunts viewing this departure. Lydia wore pantaloons under her skirt, and settled on a saddle that required her to ride astride. Cassandra’s own sidesaddle permitted a more decorous seat but promised a pace that she doubted Lydia would enjoy much.

They avoided the main lane that connected the house with the road, riding cross-country. The sun shone brightly, and the damp formed a fine mist.

“I was delighted when you suggested this, Lydia, but I hope you will think it worth it if your brother discovers our outing.”

Lydia smiled. Unlike her public smiles that appeared as false as they were, this one animated her entire face. Her dark eyes and hair, and her face’s delicate but clear bone structure, gave her a lovely, somewhat poetic countenance.

“I believe my brother will be very occupied this afternoon, and not thinking about me. He did not wait to take his pleasure, but I do not think he will mind doing so again.”

Cassandra laughed. “I did not know you were aware of that.”

“I am not supposed to know, but I am not stupid.”

Lydia guided their horses north on the coastal road, once they reached it. The mud seemed even worse, filling the wheel ruts that had baked into the dirt. Cassandra hoped conditions improved by morning, or it could take her days to get back to London.

“I read about you in a scandal sheet last week,” Lydia said.

“That is hardly new.” For years now the scandal columns alluded to all kinds of bad behavior by her. It was all innuendo, and mostly made out of whole cloth, but there were people who believed all of it—in particular, her own family.

“It was reported that you have not been seen gambling for months now. That is new for you—being notorious for giving up a vice. I hope that you are not reforming. I shall cry if that ever happens.”

“On this one thing, I fear that I must. The losses I suffered in the spring have taught me to trust neither my luck at the tables nor the honor of those I play against.”

That garnered Lydia’s attention enough that she slowed the pace of her horse. “I heard you had to sell your jewels to recover. Are you saying you think your opponents cheated?”

“I am almost sure of it. I dare not say so publicly, and it can never be proven, however.”

“Are you sure it cannot be proven?”

“Only if they are caught while doing it again.”

“Yes, I suppose nothing less will do.”

“Alas, even that will not return my money to me.” All kinds of trouble had resulted from that big loss. She had been forced to sell the jewels to pay off tradesmen who were dunning her. Now she wished she had ignored their threats a few months more and held on to the auction proceeds.

“You must tell me what happened. I will put my mind to finding a way to exact revenge. It will give me something to do when I am imprisoned by my brother. Now that he has come down to Crownhill, the rest of the summer will be a terrible bore.”

“You complain too much, Lydia. Compared to my brother, yours is a saint. At least he has your best interests at heart. I increasingly fear that Gerald does not, but I do not know why.”

“Has he been cruel? What more can he do? He does not give you a penny, and he has all but disowned you.”

“He has been looking for ways to coerce me to obey
him.” He had found a good one, too. She longed to confide, but to do so carelessly could spawn gossip that would help Gerald’s plan. This outing was a reunion of sorts with Lydia, but the truth was they had not been good friends for a long time now.

“The scoundrel. Surely he cannot hope to succeed in forcing you to marry after all this time.”

“I fear he believes he can.”

“Then he is a fool, and has never realized what he has in you. If you would not let Lakewood do the right thing, and have survived the consequences for six years, you are hardly going to be impressed with whatever threats Gerald makes now.”

Lydia’s assessment flattered her more than she deserved. It also missed the danger of the current development. Gerald had realized that while threats against Cassandra herself had borne no fruit, those against Aunt Sophie might reap a good harvest.

Nausea fluttered as she remembered the smirk with which Gerald had offered his judgment that Aunt Sophie’s mental faculties were failing and that she required care and watching. He had preened at his own brilliance in discovering a new front on which to fight their war. She hoped that he had believed the lack of concern she had pretended when she dismissed his threats as not only dishonorable but impossible.

In truth, she had been dying inside, and trembling from the realization of Aunt Sophie’s vulnerability. Relatives were put away all the time. Officially, her brother had no authority over her aunt, but as the closest male relative, and an earl at that, he would probably succeed if he tried.

He counted on her accepting his authority to spare her aunt. He wanted her married and silenced and out of London and society forever, so he would be spared the embarrassment of her.

She imagined her life if she agreed to his demands. She
would be tied forever to some kind, dull fellow who liked to hunt quail and hated the Season. She would be buried on some country estate. Even Lakewood would have been preferable, and she had never liked or trusted Lakewood.

“Aunt Hortense considered joining us,” Lydia said. “Thank goodness she decided the afternoon was too warm to come out. She would have only ruined our fun.”

“Did you tell her that we are going to bathe in the sea as well as ride?”

“That was my mistake. It appealed to her. If she had come, she would have insisted on a pavilion being set up on the shore and an army of servants to attend on her. Hours would have been lost in preparation.”

Cassandra took the answer to mean that no servants would attend on them, and there would be no pavilion. “It is a private spot, you said.”

“Are you worried for your modesty? Have no fear. No one even knows the way down to the water except me, and the cove is such that even fishing boats cannot see the shore. Follow me. I will show you.”

Lydia turned her horse toward the coast and an unpromising stretch of rough, high ground. Cassandra followed, impatient to bathe in the sea. The storm had not refreshed the air the way summer storms could. Now the sun created a steam off the ground that only increased the discomfort.

“We need to go up this rise, then down the other side,” Lydia said. “Do not worry about the horse’s footing. She will not fall.”

“Is it as steep on the other side as this one?”

“More so. Once we are in the sea, you will agree it was worth it, I promise.”

Lydia guided her horse up a path that only she could see. Cassandra followed with misgivings. She was not a bad horsewoman if her mount traversed London’s parks. She imagined falling into the rocks and brush that she passed.

Her horse and her prayers absorbed her attention until
the path leveled and she came up beside Lydia. To her dismay, the little plateau on which they stood appeared to fall away in a cliff in front of her.

She groped for courage while she stared at the steep decline. “Let us stop here a minute, if you do not mind.”