A Lady of Secret Devotion (6 page)

“My dear, I don’t want you worried; I just want you cautious. Sebastian cares for no one but himself. He’s actually taken . . . liberties with women in the past. I would not want to see you harmed in such a way.”

Cassie nodded. “I promise I’ll give him a wide berth.”

Mrs. Jameston squeezed her hand. “I just don’t know what to do for him anymore. He’s resentful of anything I try. Hopefully he won’t be with us for long. I’ll encourage him to leave as soon as his leg is on the mend. In fact, I’ll pay for him to go elsewhere if need be. I simply cannot have him upsetting my household once again. Even if he is my son.”

Cassie patted her arm. “I hate to see you this way, Mrs. Jameston. It’s not good for your constitution.”

Mrs. Jameston met her gaze. Her brows knit together and wrinkles lined her forehead. “I feel terrible. Sebastian is my own flesh and blood, but there is no joy in having him here. He has proven himself to be untrustworthy on so many occasions, I have, in fact, actually come to fear him.”

“Well, you needn’t worry now. I’m here. I’ll see that you are safe.”

Mrs.Jameston shook her head. “You don’t understand. Sometimes I fear that boy is in league with the devil himself.”

From the moment they met, Mark found he very much liked August Westmoreland. The man was rather stocky in build, with curly red hair that belied his fifty-some years of life, despite the occasional marks of gray. He welcomed Mark from the start with an enthusiasm that immediately put the younger man at ease.

“You must call me August. Everyone does.”

“They do indeed,” the man’s widowed sister said. “I’m Nancy Wenger.”

“Mrs. Wenger.” Mark gave a brief bow. “I’m pleased to meet you both.”

“You came highly recommended,” August declared, eyeing Mark as if sizing him up for some future reference.

“As did you,” Mark countered, meeting August’s gaze. The two men nodded, seeming to understand the underlying truth of why Mark had come.

Since then, Mark had found the room and boardinghouse to be comfortable and consistent with his needs. Not only did August and Nancy keep a tidy house, they put on a generous meal. August also offered a place for Portland to board with his own horses at a very minimal fee.

“So are you heading out today?” Westmoreland asked as Mark came down the rather steep stairs, hat in hand.

“I am. I thought to ride around the town a bit and familiarize myself with the streets. I appreciate the map you drew for me.”

“No problem at all. Should you want to go riding with me sometime, I’m sure I can get Nancy to watch over the house.”

“Maybe another time. Thank you,” Mark said, moving to the door. He had in mind to ride past the Jameston house once again and wasn’t yet compelled to share his mission with the older man. He popped the hat atop his head and smiled. “I shouldn’t be long.”

He found Portland and a pair of matched ebony geldings in the small corral in back. There was a lean-to type shed to offer shelter from the rain, but otherwise the arrangements were meager. Still, Mark thought the animal would prefer it here in the open to the shared quarters of the livery.

“Well, boy, are you ready for a little journey?” He quickly saddled the animal, all the while talking. “We have a little business to take care of.” Portland gave a soft whinny as if in acknowledgment of the work ahead of them. Mark led him from the corral and mounted, giving the horse a quick pat against the neck.

The skies were clear and blue as Mark made his way up Spruce Street. The air smelled of spring with the undeniable scent of flowers and budding trees.
Philadelphia is indeed a beautiful city,
he thought. Not only that, but the history of the town fascinated him—just as Boston’s did. He tried to imagine the city as Benjamin Franklin might have known it. He wondered if the old gentleman loved the city as much as he loved the idea of freedom for the country. Did he take long rides in the afternoon and soak up the sights and sounds around him? Did he have any idea of what his work would bring about in the not-so-distant future?

Heading north, Mark watched the neighborhood change. The docks and bustle of Front Street gave way to neighborhoods of redbrick row houses and cobblestone streets. At one time, this had been where the wealthy had enjoyed stately homes, but as the years passed, the rich took themselves north and west. That was where Mark would find the Jameston house.

He’d ridden by the Jameston property on two other occasions but tried to keep from looking obvious. He knew he would find a subtle opulence that only the very wealthy could afford. Often it seemed people of less capital overindulged to impress, whereas the truly rich had no need.

Mark thought again of Richard and wondered if he’d taken this same route to catch a glimpse of the Jameston house. It was hard to think of Richard gone. They had been close friends for so long. Richard had helped Mark to go on living after the death of his beloved Ruth. When Mark had wanted to turn to drink, Richard had helped him, instead, turn to God. Now God seemed strangely absent. Richard was gone, and in so many ways he’d taken God with him.

Lost in his thoughts, Mark very nearly missed the Jameston address. He focused on the four-story mansion and wondered which of the ornate windows belonged to Sebastian.

The lawn was well manicured with lovely flower beds and tall, majestic trees. The landscaping seemed to beckon him to come and share in its peaceful tranquillity. But Mark knew he’d find no peace there.

He kept his gaze fixed on the house, watching for any sign of movement or occupants. There was nothing, however. He supposed he couldn’t be so lucky as to have Sebastian Jameston just happen to wander outside.

He urged Portland forward, but all the while watched the property. It wasn’t until the horse whinnied and snorted that Mark put his attention back on the road. Only it was too late. His mistake played out in front of him as a young woman rounded the corner abruptly and screamed as Portland reared in uncharacteristic fear.

CHAPTER 5

T
he last conscious thought Cassie had was of being stomped to death by the reddish beast. She let the black calm take her and felt as though she were floating. Was this what death was like? Funny how there was no pain.

“Miss?”

The voice sounded faint at first. It held a warmth and concern that greatly appealed to Cassie’s senses. She felt the fog lift as he continued to call to her. Did the voice belong to God?

“Miss. Open your eyes.”

She tried to, but they felt ever so heavy. Surely God could just open them for her if He wanted them to be open. Little by little, the feeling was coming back to her. She felt something wrapped around her back. Had God given her angel wings?

“Are you all right, miss? Please wake up.”

Cassie opened her eyes and stared up into the handsomest face she’d ever known. God was certainly dashing. She chided herself. Of course God would be dashing. He was, after all, God.

But what had happened? For a moment, she couldn’t remember anything, but the more she concentrated, the clearer it became that this was not heaven, and the handsome man was not God. The reality of it all was quite disappointing, for she wouldn’t have minded spending eternity in the presence of one so lovely to look upon. The man’s dark blue eyes held her captive, while his frown assured her that her injuries must have been grave.

“Am I . . . how badly am I hurt?” she asked, trying to detect any pain in her body. The absence of it was almost unnerving. More disturbing still was the warmth of the stranger’s arms around her as he knelt beside her.

He smiled, and Cassie felt mesmerized. “I don’t believe you have any injuries, miss. I’m afraid you fainted dead away when Portland began to fret.”

Cassie tried to remember what had happened. The horse! She could see those horrible hooves coming down on top of her and gripped the man’s arm without meaning to. He pulled her closer.

“I wasn’t thinking . . . I mean . . . I was, but not about where I was going.” She realized how intimately he held her and felt her heart skip a beat. “I was upset. It was silly. Oh bother.” Pushing away, she refocused on the moment. “Am I truly without injury?” She scrambled to her feet and smoothed out her skirt.

The man chuckled and got to his feet as well. “I don’t know for certain. Perhaps you should tell me.”

Cassie shrugged. “I suppose the only thing truly injured is my pride.”

This caused the man to laugh all the more. “Well, I speak from experience when I say that such things mend quite quickly if left alone.”

Cassie smiled. “I suppose you saved my life from that brute.”

The man sobered. “Portland is not a brute. You startled him. That was all.”

“He started it,” Cassie countered. “He startled me with his stomping and snorting. It was like some kind of demon possessed him.”

“Now, stop. He’s just over there, and he might hear you. You’ll hurt his feelings.” The man’s teasing voice was not at all what Cassie had counted on.

She watched as he walked to where the horse awaited him. He took up the reins and drew him toward Cassie. She immediately backed up until she was pinned against a large maple tree.

“No. Get him away.” The terror in her voice was clear even to her own ears.

“I don’t understand,” the man said. He seemed sympathetic enough and stopped in midstep. “My horse is quite friendly. He won’t hurt you.”

“My father was killed in a riding accident. The horse threw him and then trampled him to death. I watched the entire thing,” Cassie said, drawing her arm up as if to shield herself.

“I’m so sorry. No wonder you have such an irrational fear.”

This bolstered Cassie a bit. “It’s not irrational. I have a very good rationale for my feelings.”

“Yes, I suppose so. But they aren’t reasonable. Our entire society is dependent upon horses for transportation and work. You cannot merely go about being terrified of them the rest of your life.”

Cassie relaxed a bit and shrugged. “It’s suited me well enough for ten years.”

“But it would suit you better to overcome such fear. Now come here and make up with Portland.”

Cassie felt her eyes widen as she caught the large brown eyes of the horse. “Sir, I do not know you, and I have no desire to know your mount.”

He laughed. “I am Marcus Langford, but my friends call me Mark. And you are . . . ?”

“Cassie. Cassandra Stover.”

“And where do you live, Miss Stover?”

“There,” she said, pointing to the Jameston mansion. She saw him frown and wondered why her response seemed so unappealing. “What’s wrong? It’s a wonderful house. I am Mrs. Jameston’s companion. She’s the older woman who owns this property.”

“I see. And how long have you been her companion?”

Cassie thought the question strange, but at least it kept him from forcing her to meet his horse. Goodness, but why did some men think they had to fix everything? “I’ve only just started. I’ve been there for about two weeks.”

“And do you find it to your liking?” He reached up and stroked his horse casually.

“I do. Well, I did until her son came back to stay. He was injured, though, and there was no putting him from the house. He’s caused all sorts of upset, however. No one likes him.” She clenched her jaw shut and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I should be more careful about speaking my mind.”

Mark laughed. “I like a woman who speaks her mind. It makes her more honest and her company more enjoyable.”

“I doubt that is true of me. I do try to refrain,” she said with a sigh, “but sometimes . . . like now . . . it just pours out of me.”

Cassie eyed the horse again. She was surprised at how calm the animal had remained at Mark’s side. He appeared perfectly safe, but she couldn’t allow herself to believe that.

“I see you are reconsidering Portland. He’s a fine gelding. And actually, he’s very mild-mannered. When you came running out around that shrubbery, he was taken by surprise. That’s all. He meant you no harm.”

“You talk as if you understand what he’s thinking,” Cassie said, returning her gaze to the man. He was dressed well in a dark blue frock coat and trousers with a bit of a green striped waistcoat peeking out from against a nicely starched white shirt. His face was clean-shaven, and his wavy brown hair was cut close and combed back under his hat.

He allowed her scrutiny for a moment. “I hope I pass inspection.”

Cassie was slightly embarrassed but made the best of it. “I believe for a rescuer, you cut a fine figure.”

He smiled and tipped his hat in her direction. “And for a damsel in distress, you could not play the role any better.”

Giving him a curtsy, Cassie laughed. “I guess we now know that we’re both hopelessly silly.”

“If we remain in the street much longer, the entire neighborhood will know that much. Now come here, Miss Stover, and meet Portland. You truly have nothing to fear.”

Mark led the mount to the Jameston drive and waited for Cassie to react. She watched him for a moment, shuddered, and then pushed away from the tree.

I might as well get it over with,
she thought.
He isn’t going to forget this nonsense.
She walked very slowly toward the man and his horse.

“What was that?”

She looked up and smiled. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Sounded like something,” he teased. “I thought perhaps you were issuing a prayer.”

“I should,” she agreed, stopping within a foot of the man. “I hardly believe this is necessary.”

hardly believe this is necessary.”

“Of course it is. Now give me your hand.”

Cassie frowned and pulled her gloved hands together. Why?”

Mark laughed. “So that you can pet Portland.”

She looked at the horse. He seemed to tower over her. “I think not. He might decide he’s hungry instead.”

With lightning-fast reflexes, Mark reached out and locked a hold on her wrist. “Stop being so ridiculous. Here, see for yourself. He’s not going to eat you.”

Cassie closed her eyes, and Mark pulled her hand to the horse’s neck. She felt the firm-muscled animal beneath her hand and trembled.