Patricia Rice (27 page)

She knew he was furious when he strode out a while later and
snapped at the grooms to hurry as they changed the horses. Wyatt never snapped.
Cassandra clasped her hands and stared at the velvet squabs of the opposite
seat. Anger was better than sorrow.

She half-expected Wyatt to join her as the rain increased,
but he merely forced the driver to a fiercer pace. The carriage lurched and
rocked as it hit the ruts and rocks of the rough road, and Cassandra held
desperately to the meager contents of her stomach.

They did not stop for an inn as the day darkened, but
traveled on after another change of horses. Cassandra began to wonder if
Merrick were driven by the devil, but, she refused to complain. Thick bread and
a little roasted chicken had settled her stomach. She stared stonily at the
drizzling rain.

As the lights of Dover appeared, she set her chin. She had
told Wyatt she was leaving him. She couldn’t take the blame if he refused to
believe her. If he thought she would continue to share his bed and company, he
was mistaken.

When the coach stopped, Cassandra sent Jacob off to the
nearest inn for accommodations. When Wyatt came to hand her down from the
carriage, she refused. He glared at her in disbelief as the water dripped from
his hat to roll down his neck and saturate his already sodden cravat.

“You intend to sleep in the carriage?”

“I intend to sleep at the inn, by myself. I did not ask for
your company.”

“There are two perfectly respectable cabins on board that
packet. I am claiming one of them,” he declared. “You may stay here all night
if you like, but when the boat sails in the morning, I will go without you.
Your husband and I will find much to talk about while you catch up with me.”

He swung on his heel and strode off to the dock. It had been
a long time since he had spoken to her like that, and Cassandra bit back tears.

When Jacob returned to inform her the inns were full, she
cursed as vividly as Duncan had ever done. Swinging down from the carriage without
assistance, she stalked down the dock to the waiting boat. She’d be damned if
she let Merrick get to Paris before her.

Before she could walk up the plank, two bedraggled horsemen
galloped to the end of the street, loudly hailing the boat. Cassandra hesitated
at the familiar voices.

Jacob tried to lead her aboard but Cassandra resisted,
hating to turn her back on friends. The horsemen dismounted and raced toward
the dock.

At the cries, Wyatt emerged from the shadows and cursed.
Wyatt never cursed. “Get Cassandra inside, Jacob, quickly,” he ordered, shoving
her toward her servant and the gangplank.

Bertie stopped on the other end of the dock with hands on
hips and legs akimbo. “This is an outrage, Merrick! You can’t do it!”

What on earth? Even as she puzzled over Bertie’s fury, Thomas
raced down the dock to swing wildly at Merrick’s middle.

“You bastard!” The cry was more tearful than angry, and
Cassandra’s heart jerked in pain.

The blow struck Wyatt squarely in the abdomen, but he didn’t
flinch.

“Thomas! Thomas, stop that right now!” she cried, breaking
away from Jacob.

Her cry distracted him and his next blow swung wide. Only
Wyatt kept him from falling to the wet planks. Still weak and drained by the
mad ride, Thomas grasped his opponent’s arm for support.

“I won’t allow it! He can’t do this,” Thomas protested as
Cassandra raced to stand between them. He shook off Wyatt’s protective hold and
stumbled toward her.

Bertie caught his brother. “Cass, you needn’t do this. You
can come home with us and no one will ever say a word. My mother has always
mourned the fact she had only one daughter. She’ll gladly welcome another.”

Thomas threw off Bertie’s restraining hand. “I’ll marry you,
Lady Cass. I’ll find Rupert and kill him. You don’t need be any man’s mistress
while I’m around, Cass. You know that.”

Cassandra heard Merrick’s angry intake of breath, but tears
prevented any easy reply. She rested an imploring hand on Thomas’ saturated
coat and shook her head. What had she ever done to inspire such loyalty? He
must be mad, but she couldn’t help being touched by his brave defense. When
Thomas grabbed this moment to wrap her in his suffocating embrace, Cassandra
merely rested against his wide chest.

Wyatt’s warning tone broke the spell. “Unhand her, you young
lout. Bertie, take the sapskull to an inn and dry him out before I heave him
into the harbor.”

Thomas’ grip tightened, but Cassandra backed away. She was
doing it again, destroying all that was good and right and turning it into
evil. Maybe she belonged with Rupert and not the likes of these good people.

“Merrick, I ain’t never been ashamed of you before, but I
never thought you a rutting bounder before. She ain’t naught but a girl. Find a
loose bit of muslin to take advantage of and leave Cass alone. Ain’t she had it
hard enough without you to lead her astray?”

Bertie’s challenging tone raised Cassandra’s protective
instincts. “Albert Scheffing, you apologize at once! Do you think me some
bacon-witted wigeon with no thought in my head of my own?”

“Cass, go aboard before you are soaked, and let me deal with
this.” Merrick’s voice was low and meant to be steadying, but Cassandra ignored
it.

She swung around and glared at him. “I told you to stay
home. I told you I had to do this myself. But you wouldn’t listen. Men! Just
look at the three of you, fighting over nothing after being best of friends all
your lives. I suppose you want to take pistols now and settle this like
gentlemen. Fie on the lot of you! I wash my hands of you.” Catching her cloak
and skirts, she marched proudly back to the boat and her waiting servants.

Thomas stood stunned, watching her go, but Bertie turned a
knowing glare on Merrick. “I think explanations are due, old boy.”

Wyatt shook his head and watched Cass hurried away by Lotta
and Jacob. “No, they’re not, Scheffing. They’re not any of your damned business
at all.”

“Well, then, let’s get on with this.” Without any warning,
Bertie swung his massive fist at Wyatt’s jaw, sending him sprawling backward
along the planks.

~*~

Much later, Cassandra heard the stumbling footsteps and
muted curses as someone settled into the cabin next to hers. She pulled up the
covers and tried to force herself to sleep. Last night had been the first night
in almost two months that she had slept without Wyatt’s arms around her. She
had to grow accustomed to the loneliness.

She wondered at the extraordinary amount of noise Wyatt
managed to make by himself. He was usually quite agile despite his size. Yet he
seemed to be stumbling over everything in the room. She had never seen Merrick
drunk.

She cringed. Her father and brother had never been satisfied
in getting quietly drunk. Yet the noises gradually silenced without any further
disturbance. She lay there listening, remembering what it had felt like to have
Wyatt beside her, his lean length warming her, his strong arms holding her
close.

Remembering Duncan and his threats, Cassandra prayed for
strength. She refused to have any man’s death on her conscience. With the
increasing pounding of the rain outside, she finally slept.

In the morning, the boat dipped and tilted and Cassandra’s
stomach did the same. Groaning, she felt last night’s bread and chicken reach
her throat, and she grabbed for the bowl on the washstand. It was securely sunk
in the hole cut out to keep it in place for just such weather. She couldn’t
stand long enough to pry it free. The contents of her stomach spilled across
the floor.

The morning could only grow worse from there. Cassandra
buried her misery beneath the covers as Lotta clucked with concern. Strangers
appeared to clean up the mess, and Jacob was consulted. Foggily she recognized
Wyatt’s voice, but when she tried to open her eyes to look at him, she saw a
bruised and unshaven stranger in his place. She groaned and wished the
apparition away and turned her back to the room.

She tried to eat a small luncheon later, but the churning
sea brought it back up, and she gave up trying after that. Even the thought of
food made her ill, and she spewed up bile when her stomach was long since
empty.

By evening, Wyatt damned servants and friends and propriety
to hell and went to sit with Cassandra as she groaned and tossed and turned.
She didn’t open her eyes, but curled into his embrace.

She slept then, and Wyatt glared defiantly when Bertie
appeared in the cabin door to serve as arbiter of the conventions. Seeing
Cassandra peacefully asleep in the earl’s arms, Bertie backed away.

They persuaded tea and toast down her when she woke, and
Merrick left her in Lotta’s care for the evening, but by morning the illness
had returned. This time Merrick was there to hold the basin, and he didn’t
leave her side for the rest of the day.

When the ferry docked, the Earl of Merrick carried his lady
off the boat to a waiting carriage without caring who watched. Bertie had given
up his protests, and Cassandra’s servants were simply relieved that he’d taken
responsibility.

With Cassandra wan and ill throughout the journey to Paris,
nothing improper could happen by anyone’s account.

Merrick installed them in the most expensive hotel in Paris.
Cassandra was too tired and ill to notice. She curled up in the massive feather
bed and slept like the dead for a day and a night.

It wasn’t until late the next morning that word arrived from
the servants that she was awake and demanding breakfast.

Bertie was almost ready to commiserate with rather than
condemn Wyatt when they joined Cassandra for breakfast. Wyatt looked like hell,
whereas Cassandra was her usual cheerful self again. She looked at the earl’s
drawn features with puzzlement, noticed Bertie for the first time and frowned,
then nodded absently as a waiter poured her coffee.

“I did not expect such noble company, gentlemen.” She sipped
from her cup, then stared at it with distaste.

Merrick removed the coffee cup from her and drank it
himself. Bertie gaped at this rudeness. To his surprise, Cassandra threw Wyatt
a look of gratitude. The adoration in her eyes as she watched a bleary-eyed
Wyatt drain the cup struck Bertie forcibly.

Wyatt was no Adonis, nor even a Byron, to be gazed upon with
such open admiration. Women never looked at Wyatt like that. The obvious
affection between these two made it even harder to believe when they finally
exchanged words.

“I am sorry to have put you to such trouble, gentlemen,” she
began innocuously enough, “but you really must go home now. I cannot expect my
husband to take me back while I am in the company of other men.”

A muscle tightened over Wyatt’s jaw, but he merely signaled
the waiter to fetch hot chocolate for Cassandra. When the man was gone, he
answered without emotion. “We’ll talk to Rupert together.”

A white line appeared around Cassandra’s lips. “You cannot
do that, Wyatt. I will not allow it. This is none of your affair.”

“Like hell, it isn’t.” The normally equable earl glared at
Cassandra, then at Bertie. When neither bowed to his opinion, he continued, “You
are being childish, Cass. If you truly wish to return to Rupert, I won’t stand
in your way. I just insist on being there for the interview. If Rupert becomes
abusive, I’ll not leave you there.”

Cassandra forced back her tears. Lud, how she wanted him
with her when she warned Rupert of Duncan’s treachery. Perhaps... Just maybe...
She shook her head at the thought. No, not Wyatt. She couldn’t bring Wyatt into
this fantastic disaster she had created.

So she smiled brilliantly for Bertie’s sake and mouthed a
few words of agreement and fled back to her room. She would have to escape now
before anyone suspected anything. Wyatt would see Lotta and Jacob home. She
could not afford to keep them any longer.

The last few coins in Rupert’s bag might feed her until she
found a job as a governess or companion. Concealing her coins from her maid,
Cassandra excused herself to use the privy out back, and left the hotel. She
had warned Merrick. He could not fault her for that. He just hadn’t believed
that she would do it. She just wished he hadn’t looked so ill and worried when
she left.

Remembering the feel of Wyatt’s strong arms around her, his
body inside hers, she almost wept with the pain of loss.

She had difficulty explaining her destination to the sedan
carriers. Her accent was miserable, and they couldn’t read the written address
she held. A passerby straightened out the situation, and soon she was lurching
through the streets in the direction of Rupert’s apartment. The prospect made
her more ill the closer they came.

When she finally stood in front of the impressive edifice,
nausea returned. She had to choke it back. She couldn’t disgrace herself in the
street right in front of her husband’s home. She had to be calm and assertive.

She wished she had brought Jacob with her. He would in all
probability have gone straight to Wyatt with warnings, but she should have
taken the chance. Her terror of Rupert was overwhelming. Merrick had taught her
the way it could be between a man and a woman, but she greatly suspected Rupert
would be considerably more violent. She must not give him the opportunity to
touch her.

It was midday. He should not be drunk at this hour. She
would pass on the warning about Duncan and leave, disappear from all she knew
forever.

Bravely she stepped forward and lifted the knocker.

A servant opened the door and accepted her card.

When a footman returned, she followed him through carpeted
halls, their feet making no sound in the magnificence of this monument. She
felt as if she were in some sacred tomb where she must speak in hushed tones.
Her gaze followed the soaring ceiling upward to what very much appeared to be
obscene cherubs on the cornices. She blushed at the positions she recognized,
and looked back to the floor.