Miss Cresswell's London Triumph (16 page)

Her disappearance had been swift and quiet enough to escape everyone s notice except that of someone whose quick perception and sensitivity had seen her first start of surprise and had hazarded a fairly accurate guess as to its cause. Years of debating intellectual arguments with Cassie had closely attuned Ned to her mind and her ways of thinking. He had been several years ahead of Horace Wilbraham in school, where he had known him as an earnest, but plodding student who lacked the intellectual brilliance and creativity or the curiosity to become a true scholar. Familiar with the pedantic and unoriginal cast of his mind, Ned had been more than a little surprised that he had come up with such a well-constructed and intriguing interpretation of the frieze. In fact, Ned had just been criticizing himself for having judged Horace too quickly when he happened to catch sight of Cassie's face. One glance and he knew the reason for the look of shock and betrayal registered there. His initial disgust at such intellectual dishonesty faded quickly when she left, replaced by an urgent desire to catch up with her and assure her that he, at least, recognized the stamp of her intellect even if others did not.

Waving to an imaginary acquaintance across the room, Ned bowed to the group and headed for the French windows, where a swirl of white flounce was all that gave away Cassie's place of retreat.

He stepped across the threshold and into the shadows. "Cassie?" he called softly, walking toward the farthest corner of the garden. "Cassie?" He tried again with no success. This time, though, he heard a faint rustle and saw the vague gleam of pearls caught in the light from the ballroom. As he approached, he heard the gasps and saw the shaking of the delicate shoulders as Cassie fought for control.

Ned's heart went out to her. One swift step brought him to her and he pulled the slender form into his arms. For some time he held her there, stroking her hair and murmuring over and over, "My poor girl. Hush, Cassie."

The sobbing subsided. Cassie gave a gulp, pulled herself away, and looked up, apologizing angrily, "I can't think why I was so overcome. I'm usually not such a poor creature. It's just that—"

A lean bronzed hand reached out to push back a stray tendril as Ned soothed, "I know. I know. You couldn't fathom how anyone could lay claim so baldly to your ideas."

The dark blue eyes bright with unshed tears regarded him in astonishment. But how did you know?" she demanded with some surprise.

Ned smiled fondly down at her. "Cassie, my girl, I know your mind as well as I know my own, and I also know Horace Wilbraham's. You were at daggers drawn with me once for casting doubt on his capabilities, but he doesn't hold a candle to you in any field. He no more could have dreamed up that interpretation than he could ride Chiron."

She smiled weakly at him. "Will you forgive me for being so angry at you that time if I acknowledge that perhaps you were in the right of it?"

An answering smile glimmered as Ned raised his eyebrows in disbelief, exclaiming, "An apology! From the redoubtable Cassandra? You must be more distraught than I had realized."

This sally was rewarded with a watery chuckle.

"That's better, my girl. It takes more than a poor pedant to get the better of Lady Cassandra Cresswell."

Cassie's smile was erased as another thought came to her. Eyes dark with hurt and anger, she looked up at Ned as she wondered aloud, "But how could he ... how could he lie like that?"

And take the credit from someone he professed to admire so extravagantly and pursued with such dogged determination, Ned remarked privately in disgust. But he kept his thoughts to himself, saying instead as he took her hands in a firm but gentle clasp, "I don't know why, Cassie." A flash of grin broke the gravity of his expression. "But it's a brilliant interpretation. You can hardly blame the poor fellow for wishing he'd thought of it," he conceded.

She smiled shyly at him. "Thank you, Ned. How kind of you to say so."

Looking unwontedly serious, he cupped her chin in his hand and gazed deep into her eyes. "It's not kindness, my girl. It's the truth. You have a mind filled with ideas that can compete with the best of them," he assured her.

She returned his look gravely, questioningly.

They stood some time gazing at one another until a burst of laughter from the ballroom recalled them to their surroundings.

"Will you be all right?" Ned asked in some concern, gathering both her hands gently in his.

Cassie dropped her eyes to look at her slim white fingers linked with his long tanned ones and nodded.

A tender look stole into Ned's eyes. He dropped a light kiss onto the golden curls. "That's my Cassie. Come." He drew her hand through his arm. "It wouldn't do for someone to be missing too long at her own ball, much as she considers such things to be the most frippery of occupations." This last remark, spoken as it was in a rallying tone, restored some modicum of vivacity to Cassie's countenance.

"That's the ticket," Ned approved. "Come. Waltz with me. It's the thing to do, you know. Sally Jersey vows I am the best waltz partner this side of the Channel." He quizzed her wickedly as he led her onto the floor.

To those who cared to observe. Lady Cassandra Cresswell, having danced continuously that evening, was now being whirled gaily around the room by one of the Season's biggest matrimonial prizes and enjoying herself immensely.

For Cassie the rest of the evening passed in a blur of assorted partners and conversations. Freddie and Bertie kept her plied with glasses of champagne and delicacies from the supper room, but she could no more than take a sip here and a nibble there. Somehow, she was not quite sure how, she managed to smile and nod in the appropriate places. Certainly she was able to satisfy eager partners or doting mamas with her conversation. At any rate, Arabella, who had magically appeared at Frances's elbow the moment Ned led Cassie back to the Mainwarings' coterie after their dance, seemed to find Cassie's abstracted response of, "Yes, lovely ... no, truly, did she?" to her questions about the elegance of her own toilette and the raptures of Madame Celestine over her favorite patroness entirely satisfactory.

At last the evening ended and she was able to fall into bed, alone at last and at peace, to try to marshal the welter of thoughts, impressions, and emotions that had occupied her mind the latter part of the evening.

First and foremost were anger and disgust at Horace's appropriation of her ideas as his own. She then fell prey to a variety of emotions ranging from abhorrence of his duplicity and his sycophantic need for admiration whatever the cost, to hurt pride at his assumption that she would not notice or care that her inspiration fed his glory, to disillusionment at the discovery of dishonesty in someone she had admired and given her friendship to, to rage at her own stupidity at having been so blind to his weaknesses.

But thoughts of that dreadful moment in the ballroom when revelation struck her also brought with them the memory of Ned's kindness. And the feelings stirred by that were even more varied and complicated than those precipitated by Horace's betrayal. She had always thought of Ned Mainwaring as an ordinary part of her life just as she had considered Freddie, Frances, Julian, and Teddy to be, but his sudden appearance in the garden had changed all that. He had invariably been extraordinarily sensitive to her moods and needs, and on the occasions when Freddie's bracing "Buck up, Cassie," had not had the desired effect, his sympathetic ear and advice had always brought solace. But this time something had been different. At first when he

had taken her in his arms, she had felt nothing more than the comfort and security she had felt when as a child she had run to her parents or to Frances with a skinned knee. But as he had stroked her hair and comforted her, she had relaxed, and other, different feelings had washed over her.

Gradually she had become aware of his lean strength, the solidity of his chest, and the tightening of the muscles in his arms underneath the material of his jacket as he held her. When he had looked down at her, encouraging her and rallying her back into better spirits so she could reenter the ballroom with some degree of equanimity, she had realized for the first time what a singularly attractive man her old playmate had become. There had been an intensity in the dark blue eyes that she had not seen before and this had evoked a quiver of response in her that she could not quite place. All of a sudden she had become vividly aware of his nearness, of the warmth of his fingers on her bare arms and the feel of his breath in her hair. When he had kissed the top of her head, the response became a warm languorous tide sweeping over her and threatening to suffocate her. It had subsided somewhat by the time they returned to the ballroom, but her heightened awareness of Ned had not. During their waltz she had been conscious of nothing so much as the warm hand at her waist holding her, guiding her, and the agility with which he moved as he led her deftly around the floor.

Cassie lay awake for some time recalling in precise detail all these feelings and the moment that had brought about each one of these new sensations as she tried to identify and analyze the responses they evoked. But cogitate as she would, she could not come up with any satisfactory explanations for the puzzling sense of vague disquiet which excited her and made her extremely anxious all at the same time. She at last fell asleep just as the first rays of sunshine stole between the curtains, but it was a restless sleep, and it was not long before she woke, impatient to see if the daylight and quotidian duties would prove these new sensations to be mere figments of her imagination.

On his part, Ned was just as disquieted. Though no less confused than Cassie, having had more worldly experience than she, he was somewhat less in the dark as to the causes of the intense emotions he had experienced that evening. Unlike Cassie, he had not even made any attempts to go to bed or to seek the oblivion of sleep, but instead had sat in front of the fire swirling a glass of brandy in one hand and staring into the names. When he had returned from his travels, having moved in society in India and Europe as well as London, Ned had begun to see Cassie from a more social perspective and to realize that she had become a lovely young woman. He had become more accustomed to this new picture of his former playmate as an attractive member of the opposite sex than Cassie had.

The revelations he was undergoing now were not of that nature, but they were no less disconcerting. Despite an initial sense of shock, Ned had gradually adjusted to the idea of a beautiful grown-up Cassie, but he had continued to regard her in this light as a fond brother might have. When she looked particularly elegant or charming, he had felt nothing more than the pride that Freddie or Frances might feel that their sister was admired, and he had been pleased to see her so well accepted by the ton. He had been less pleased by her attachment to Horace Wilbraham, but again, that had been the same feeling of disgust that Freddie experienced seeing his sister wasting her attention on someone who was inferior to her in every way.

However, when Ned had pulled Cassie into his arms that evening, something had occurred to make him realize that Cassie affected him in a way that had nothing to do with brotherly affection.

The vision of her, his intrepid playmate, trying desperately to stifle heartbroken sobs, had torn at his heart, and as he stared into the flames, it continued to move him. Because she had always been so ready to take on any challenge or adventure that Freddie, Nigel, or Ned could devise, Ned had always pictured Cassie as stronger and larger than she really was. It had been a shock to discover as he had pulled her close to him how small and fragile she felt in his arms. As he had looked down into her tear-filled eyes, huge in her delicate face, an overwhelming surge of protective rage had swept over him. He wanted to hold her close and do battle with anyone or anything that threatened her equanimity. The fact that, independent as she was, Cassie would have scorned to accept such protection made him doubly eager to spring to her defense and act as her champion.

As the sobs had subsided and Ned's immediate concern for her distress had lessened, he had gradually become aware of how she felt in his arms—the softness of her skin under his hands, the delicate scent of her hair brushing his chin—and he had wanted to pull her even closer to him, to hold her there forever, reveling in the depth of tenderness that welled up within him. He had held
many other women in his arms, a good number of them more seductive and more voluptuous than Cassie Cresswell, but the feel of her body against his, lithe, slim, and trembling from her distress, had stirred emotions in him that he had never experienced before. A bewildering array of sensations had swept over him. Foremost had been the yearning to comfort her, to wipe away her distress as easily as he smoothed back her hair and to make everything all right again. Following that, dawned the awareness of how beautiful and desirable she looked. And last came the realization of how wonderful and yet how natural it felt to hold her in his arms and how much more he wanted.

Thinking over it all, reliving every gesture, every sigh, he longed to hold her again. His arms ached to go around her, to comfort her, to protect her from the world in spite of her constantly and vociferously expressed wish to take care of herself. You must be in your dotage, Ned, old boy, he admonished himself. That's Cassie you're thinking of. She's practically your sister. People don't feel such things about their sisters. It's just the concern you have for her happiness that makes you respond this way. She is not the type of woman to appeal to you—too damnably sure of her own mind, too prickly in her independence, too caught up in her interests to relax and enjoy herself. You don't want or need someone like that when those are already your natural proclivities. You should have someone charming and sophisticated who can introduce you to the gaieties in life and help you indulge yourself. You might be able to tolerate a sister who tells you that you have nothing in your cock loft or that your opinion on some issue is bacon-brained, but it don't make for an amusing companion. So why do you want to waste your time on someone who would lead you on such a merry dance?