Patricia Rice (7 page)

Belting her robe beneath her breasts, Cass took a deep
breath to steady her nerves. The knock came again. It had to be him. No one
else would sound so authoritative but discreet. Without another thought, she
opened the door and stood aside.

~*~

The room’s darkness left Merrick momentarily nonplussed.
Only a single candle burned on the far desk. The lamp in the hall spilled his
shadow across the uncarpeted floor, and he realized that Lady Cassandra had
been assigned one of the lesser rooms despite her rank. He finally located her
huddled uncertainly beside the door. Blinking against the gloom, Merrick stepped
inside.

“Cassie? What happened to the lamps? What is this urgent
matter you must speak of privately? Can you not come down to the study or
somewhere proper? Are you ill?”

Her muffled cry brought him further into the room. She had
no one to turn to but him, the message had said, and Merrick realized the truth
of that. Whatever gossip said, he knew her to be little more than a frightened,
proud girl cast into a harsh world without guidance. Perhaps the gossip had
reached her ears, and she did not dare face the guests below.

The door closed behind him. Merrick turned to correct that
impropriety, but Cassandra fell against him, and he was forced to catch her up
in his arms.

“Cassie? For pity’s sake, Cassie, what is wrong? Where is your
aunt? Let me fetch her.”

She clung to him, and Merrick felt her slightness in his
arms. She was more slender than any reed, and she smelled of some heavenly
scent that clouded his thoughts. He was aware of her silken hair tickling his
cheek, her breasts pressing against his waistcoat, and he tried to remember
another woman feeling so comfortable in his arms.

She was tall, taller than most, but there was nothing boyish
about her figure. She had the slender curves of a woman full grown but not yet
ripe. Wyatt had the sudden nonsensical desire to see her ripen and become the
sensuous woman every man dreams of.

“Cassie, answer me. You are giving me the fright of my life.
What is wrong?”

She pushed back from his embrace then, her face glowing up
at him through the darkness. She had such lovely, liquid skin, he wished to
stroke it, but he settled for catching her chin between his thumb and
forefinger. “Speak, Cassandra, or I will choke it out of you.”

She smiled then, an easy smile of friendship. “I am trusting
you not to strangle me, my lord. You may wish to shortly, but I have put all my
confidence in your integrity. Duncan will almost certainly beat me, but you
will not, will you?”

The confidence in her glittering blue eyes stirred
uneasiness. His desire to protect her had astonished him from the first, but
now he had reason to remember her mischievousness. It would be better did he
look to protect himself.

He grasped her hair in a firm hold so he could keep her gaze
on his. “What are you plotting, Medusa? I’ll not hand you over to be beaten by
your brother, but I am not averse to spanking some sense into you.”

The smile disappeared and she grimaced. “I had hoped you
were one who would not lift a hand in anger, but I suppose that really was too
much to ask. I deserve whatever you mete out, I daresay, and I will not
complain of it, but you will find me much more compliant should you show me
gentleness.”

“What the deuce are you talking about?” Merrick practically
yelled, although he had a sudden suspicion. Dropping his hold on her, he
reached for the door.

Cassandra raced to the opposite end of the room, to the
window opened to a cool evening. As Wyatt discovered the locked portal, she
dropped the key into the shrubbery below.

Wyatt swung around in time to catch her treachery. With a
hissing intake of breath, he strode across the room. Catching Cassandra by the
waist, he glanced out the window to study the distance to the ground. They were
on the third floor.

He turned a furious gaze to the conniving brat. Briefly, he
contemplated shaking her until her teeth rattled, but that was obviously what
she expected. Her air of patience and resignation quelled his impulse. She had
to be desperate to do this.

Wyatt flung his hands from the temptation of Cassandra’s tempting
curves. He found a lamp and lit it with the candle. Unless he thought quickly
they would be caught in a scandal of enormous magnitude, and he could be
looking at his future wife.

“Why, Cass? Why me? I’m nearly old enough to be your father.
I cut no dash about town. I harbor no misconceptions about my looks. Except for
the title, I am little more than a staid old country squire. And I cannot think
the daughter of a marquess is much impressed by titles.”

Cassandra clasped her robe as if prepared for fury or worse.
She obviously had not expected his reaction, and her mouth dropped open in
surprise.

“I shall be nineteen in a month and you cannot have become
thirty yet. You would have had to have been an extremely precocious child to be
my father. I didn’t mean it to be like this, Wyatt, but you are too proper to
break your betrothal with Catherine, and I could not see any other way to it.”

Wyatt contemplated flinging the little heathen to the bed
and giving her the scare of her life, but his long-denied body warned that he
was very capable of doing more than scaring her. His gaze strayed to the creamy
curves rising above the flimsy fabric of her robe.

He seldom indulged in the pleasures of the flesh, and he
could not remember ever indulging himself with anyone remotely attaining this
girl’s magical beauty. He very definitely wanted her, but that wasn’t the
point.

“This is ridiculous, Cassandra. There must be another key to
that door. Why don’t you fetch it, and we’ll forget any of this happened. I am
marrying Catherine because she will run my home with little interruption of my
present life, because I need an heir and she will give me one, and because our
estates are joined. I do not wish to break my betrothal. Before you create any
further scandal, why don’t you let me quietly leave?”

Cassandra shrugged and boldly climbed upon the step to perch
on the edge of the high, canopied bed. Releasing her death grip on her robe,
she let the satin fell loose from her thin shift.

“I am not the one who would wish to make changes in your
life, Wyatt. Catherine is. She is tired of Kent and wishes to celebrate
becoming a countess by entertaining all of London. I have no such desire. She
is practically on the shelf, my lord, and will soon be too old to bear children
safely, I heard Aunt Matilda say. If that is so, you would have much more
chance of success at heirs with me. And you know where my lands lie.”

Her brother’s lands, not hers, but Wyatt did not mention
that small point. Despite the fact that she was artfully leaning forward to
reveal more of her lovely curves, she still appeared a confused child to him.
He doubted if she even knew what she would be expected to do to produce heirs.

Fisting his fingers, he advanced threateningly, leering at
the bare flesh revealed by her open robe. “Is that so, my lady? And what are
you willing to do to give me those heirs, Cassandra?”

Putting on a bold front, she leaned beckoningly toward him. “Kiss
me, Wyatt, and I will show you.”

Amused as she closed her eyes and pressed her lips primly
together for his kiss, Wyatt waited. “What else, Cass? Show me how you will
give me heirs.”

Cassandra opened her eyes and gazed at him in puzzlement,
before sitting up cross-legged in the bed’s center and glaring at him. “You’re
the one who wants heirs, my lord. I should think the matter was up to you. In
any case, it does not matter. They will come looking for us soon enough, and
you will have no choice but to do the honorable thing. Will you be dreadfully
unhappy to lose Catherine?”

Merrick wondered what would happen if he answered in the
affirmative. Would she set him free from this trap out of guilt? He rather suspected
not.

He really didn’t think he would suffer any great pains of
anguish from replacing Catherine with this treacherous but lovely little witch.

His mother would undoubtedly have the vapors. The servants
would probably all quit after a day of Cass’s improper escapades. His
reputation would be ruined. But he didn’t think any of that would disturb him
greatly.

But there was one thing he would insist on, and he doubted
that Cassandra had given it any consideration.

“You are asking to be tied to a man who prefers the solitude
of the country and the fidelity of a proper wife, Lady Cassandra. I don’t
drink, I don’t gamble, I don’t entertain lavishly, and I don’t exchange my wife
for the beds of others. You would find it an exceedingly tedious life compared
to the fast one you are accustomed to. Why don’t you just unlock the door and
end this charade, Cassie? If you have a problem, I’m certain we can come to
some more satisfactory conclusion than this.”

A horrifying thought occurred, and he blurted out, “You are
not pregnant, are you?”

“Of course not!” she answered so innocently that he feared
she had very little concept of what the word meant. Then she lifted a hand
wistfully in a gesture that very nearly broke his heart, had he believed a word
she said. “I do not mind being bored, Wyatt, really I don’t. I’d much rather
live in the country. You would let me have a dog and a horse, wouldn’t you? I
can learn to be very proper.”

“We are talking marriage, Cassandra, not a romp in the
country,” he said angrily. “We are talking of spending the rest of our lives in
each other’s pockets, sharing meals and beds. Have you given any thought at all
about what it would be like to wake up to my face every morning?”

Cassandra smiled and caressed his jaw. “Much better yours
than Rupert’s. Marriage is a gamble anyway you look at it, isn’t it? But I
think I prefer the cards you hold to Rupert’s. I’m just sorry you think
Catherine’s is the better hand. I’m willing to wager my life that you’re wrong.”

Wyatt closed his eyes in exasperation and against the
temptations of her loveliness. The sunset glow of her hair burned against his
lids, and the enticingly fresh scent that was all Cassandra’s own lured him
even without vision. He leaned closer, wanting to know the taste of full
strawberry-tinted lips, wanting the sweet brush of her breath against his
mouth. Any more of this, and he would wonder why he was fighting her.

As if sensing his capitulation, Cassandra swayed closer. The
warmth of her breath brushed his cheek. He turned his head until her lips
seared across his.

There was nothing for it but to pull her closer before he
lost his balance. He couldn’t release the ripeness of her innocent mouth. He pulled
her to her knees, and she came without hesitation, her fingers curling against
his chest as he pressed for more, demanding a parting of the soft temptation of
her lips.

At first, she didn’t seem to know what he wanted. In the
next moment, she was opening fully to him, moaning in surrender and flattening
her hands against his chest while his tongue plundered and stole the innocent
passion she offered.

Only whores had ever kissed him like that, and not with this
amount of pleasure. Wyatt felt his body hardening in response, and caution fled
with the winds. He gripped her arms tighter, twisting his mouth against hers
until he received the maximum pleasure of their proximity. As her breasts
crushed into him, her tongue tentatively met his, and intense desire dashed all
reason.

He stroked her back, caressing, learning the fine-bones of
her fragile figure. The satin of her robe slid through his fingers, falling to
the bed. He wanted to pull her hips against his, feel her response to his
arousal, but he wasn’t ready to frighten her yet.

She was so incredibly responsive. He hadn’t expected this,
had never dreamed such passion was available for just a touch and a kiss. In
the back of his mind, he condemned himself for what he was doing, but such
pleasure did not often come his way.

Cassandra uttered a soft sound like a purr as Merrick
explored the curve of her breast. The thin cotton of her shift offered no
protection, and he stroked the nipple pressing eagerly into his palm.

He scarcely heard the first timid knock on the door. He had
the pins from her hair and bent her backward with his kisses so the lush
tresses fell over his arm and his brain was south of his waistcoat.

A louder knock jarred him back to his senses. Intellectually,
he had known the outcome from the moment she’d thrown away the key. Physically,
he had no desire to release her. His first wife had never allowed such
liberties, and his experience with whores had been unpleasant. Strangely
enough, he was almost exuberant with the freedom that knock and familiar voices
represented.

With a wry, mocking look, Wyatt sat Cassandra back against
her heels and smiled down into her stunned loveliness. “I think you are about
to be granted your wish, my lady. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Cassandra clung to his arm a moment longer, squeezing her
eyes shut while regaining composure.

He waited until she spoke.

“Answer it, my lord, for I fear I cannot.”

Sympathetically, Wyatt caressed her reddened cheek, then
hardening his resolve, he released her. “The door’s locked,” he yelled over his
shoulder to the anxious rapping. “You’ll have to find a key.”

To the shrill exclamations of surprise and concern from the
other side, Wyatt turned a deaf ear. His body had not been so totally out of
control since he was a boy with no outlet for his sexual needs. Should anyone
walk in here now, he could not disguise his state of arousal.

He schooled his rampaging emotions to practiced coldness.

“My Lord Merrick, is Cassandra in there? What has happened?
Why can’t you open the door?” The high, quavering voice of Cassandra’s elderly
and respectable great-aunt pierced the heavy paneled door with anxiety.