The Conquest of Lady Cassandra (33 page)

He took her face in his hands and kissed her again, long enough for her to stir. Not only her body responded but her raw emotions did too. She felt a lot of care in that hold and kiss.

He watched as he brushed his thumb over her lips. “The house is ours. The bedding is new. I am of a mind to see if it all suits us.”

The idea appealed to her for reasons other than pleasure. She needed to hold on to the solace that his touch gave her.

She set the earrings down on the cushion, then accepted his hand and followed him into the bedchamber.

Y
ates waited while Cassandra’s deft fingers released the buttons on his shirt. She stood in front of him, naked, doing for him as he had done for her. Silence surrounded them. Even the sounds of the city did not penetrate this chamber that looked out over the gardens.

No servants. Not another soul on the premises. That
would change very soon, but he liked their isolation and the novelty of this place today.

She looked up at him, her eyes bright with naughty lights, while she unfastened his lower garments. Her touch deliberately worked more than buttons and fabric.

“I expected a terrible argument with you today,” she said. “The kind from which couples never recover. I think perhaps you intended one, but chose another path.”

He had, and in doing so, had left things unsaid that probably should not have been said anyway. It took more than vows to create trust, let alone loyalty.

She pushed down his garments and took his shaft firmly in her grasp. “I am feeling grateful today, for this house and for that petition, and for your willingness to suspect instead of know. How do mistresses show they are grateful?”

He pulled her into an embrace so he could hold her to his body. Her skin seemed cool, but warmed quickly as flesh met flesh. “A man would have to be an idiot to not be glad his wife tells him to treat her like a mistress. Yet, try as I might, I cannot think of you that way.”

“Because I lack experience and skill? You are supposed to rectify that.”

A man would have to be a
complete
idiot to do anything other than agree that was the plan, and move on to the next lesson. “Because you are my wife. That makes it different, I have discovered.”

“How inconvenient for you.”

“Hell, yes. But there it is. Even when the acts are the same, the experience is not.”

“By
different
, you mean less scandalous, I suppose, and hence less exciting. More proper, and with lines drawn around what is done. I am flattered, Yates, but it is perhaps too bad for you. I was working up my nerve to be very, very bold in a manner I am told men expect of their mistresses, but I do not want you thinking less of me.”

He moved his hands over her, thinking the most ordinary
pleasure would be bold enough for today, or any day, if such lush warmth were his to hold. “Bold in what way?”

She placed a row of kisses to his chest. “I was told once that I have a scandalous mouth. I later learned what was meant by that. It shocked me, but I have perhaps become accustomed to the notion. It is not something that wives do, however.”

His arousal doubled in intensity at once. He grasped her bottom and pressed her closer, so his shaft pushed against her stomach. “Actually, I am told that some wives do,” he muttered between biting kisses.

“Truly?”

“Mmm.”

“Who would have guessed? So you would not mind?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“I may do it wrong. I have never…” She looked in his eyes and stopped talking. A devilish grin broke. “Oh, you would not mind at all, I think.” She looked down. Her fingertips did a little dance up the length of his shaft and tapped the tip. “Let me see if…” She bent over and nibbled.

Intense sensations charged through him like lightning. He gritted his teeth so hard that his jaw felt locked.

“It might be easier if I knelt.”

“Perhaps.”
Yes. Now
.

She lowered herself. Her position made the anticipation unbearable. He saw her elegant back and the round flare of her hips and the erotic rise of her bottom.

The dark cloud of her hair angled toward him. Then velvet heat encased him, and he went blind.

“I
think that new pleasure benefits me as much as you,” Cassandra muttered between deep gasps. “This is delicious.”

He withdrew slowly and thrust deeply again. What she had done did not really require this long, slow joining once he recovered. He could just as easily take her quickly.

He decided it was not in his interests to explain that.

He stopped, her incomparable softness surrounding him up to the hilt. He lowered and angled his head so he could tease her breasts. Her sparkling sigh sang in his ear. She flexed and tightened around him in subtle squeezes. She felt so damned good. He used his tongue to flick at her tight, dark nipples until she whimpered.

She bent her knees and shifted her hips, drawing him in even deeper. She pouted and shifted again.

“You are impatient,” he said.

Her lashes rose. “Unlike you, I have not already been in ecstasy this afternoon.”

“You know you will be soon. I have never left you discontented.” He withdrew and reentered, savoring every instant of the sensation. “It does not always have to be hard and mad, Cassandra. There can be great pleasure in appreciating the nuances.”

“Much like forcing oneself to savor a bonbon very slowly?”

“Or keeping good brandy in one’s mouth awhile.”

“I do not care for brandy, but I do like bonbons.”

He felt the tight frustration that had been coiling in her unwind. She kept him deep and close, but no longer from impatience. He moved again, and little signs of delight eddied through her expression.

They did not storm the mountain. They walked up hand in hand, stopping every now and then to admire the view. When the storm finally broke in him, there was no thunder this time. He experienced it as a sudden downpour that drenched his essence with a warm, poignant rain.

C
assandra noticed that the last of twilight was dimming, but she did not move. She remained nestled in Ambury’s embrace, afraid she would ruin the mood if she even breathed too deeply.

She did venture a sidelong glance at him. His eyes were closed but he did not sleep. His arms were too alert to her.

Had this pleasure moved him as it had her? She had thought perhaps it had somewhat at least. There were moments when she was sure they had a perfect bond and understanding, and shared the intimacy to the fullest. She wondered now if it were possible for a man to know it quite like a woman, however. She also wondered if he had planned this, for his own purposes. Perhaps he thought to conquer her with tenderness.

That was an ignoble notion, but she could not disregard it. The vows had not bound her enough to make her pliable and obedient, but this sort of chain definitely would. This was why Emma took care to soothe Southwaite’s pride and temper, she guessed. Not out of duty or fear or lack of free will, but because she had let him send tethers into her heart that made her want him to be happy.

Ambury rose up on his arm and looked down at her. “You asked me when I proposed if I would accept your having lovers after the heir and a spare. I have decided that I will not.”

She rather wished he would not issue decrees like a conqueror so soon. “I trusted that you would be reasonable.”

“It is a reasonable answer. You will not take lovers. Ever.”

“It is far too soon to decide this. You need to wait until the novelty of marriage has dimmed, and I am more of a nuisance.”

“My views on it will not change.”

She should explain that he was not being at all reasonable. He appeared uncompromising, however, and at the moment, the idea of another lover did not appeal to her at all. Better to fight battles that counted for something.

They drifted back into the intimate peace they shared. Perhaps if he did not want to share her, he had experienced something similar to what she had tonight. Such as a man could, that was.

“Cassandra, I need you to bring me to your aunt so I can
talk to her. Do you trust me enough to do that?” The question floated to her in the gathering dark. At least he was asking, not commanding.

She had trusted him when he proposed. There was no reason not to now. Except for the earrings. That had not been a small deception, and it touched on everything that mattered to her when it came to trust.

Her mind weighed that heavily. Her heart did not possess the ability to be so ruthless. Trust glowed there, no matter what her thoughts concluded. Acknowledging her heart gave her peace and relief, and brought a smile to her spirit.

“I will take you to her tomorrow afternoon.”

T
he letter arrived with his breakfast the next morning. It stood out from among the rest of the mail. He recognized the stationery at once, then the seal and the hand. It had been almost a year since he had received a missive from Penthurst.

He broke the seal and unfolded the paper. It bore only one word. Did he imagine that he saw something of his own surprise in the way that name had been penned? Penthurst had to have found the discovery very interesting.

Yates certainly did. Interesting and confounding. Enough that he left the breakfast room, returned to his chambers, and banished Higgins. He took out his violin and trusted that it would not fail him.

The music created its separate world, like it always did. It filled his mind, defining and organizing. He did not think about anything much at all as he played, but lost himself in the purity of sound while the composition worked its magic.

When the piece was over, he set down the instrument.
He still did not have answers, but he at least knew the questions. He merely had to decide if he wanted to ask them. Then he had to decide if he
should
ask them.

He wandered down the little corridor and pushed the door to Cassandra’s chambers. The maid in the dressing room shook her head, indicating Cassandra had not risen yet. He went to the bedchamber and stood over the bed. She appeared beautiful lying there. Just looking at her brought calm to the chaos closing in again.

Her lashes rose and she looked up at him. “What is it?”

“Nothing. I thought you were asleep.”
I wanted to look at you. I do not know why
.

“I woke up a while ago. I did not move, so I could secretly listen.”

It took him a moment to realize she referred to the music. She pointed languidly at her window. “It is open, and yours is too, so the music travels here nicely.” She sat up and rubbed her eyes. She looked adorably drowsy and disheveled.

“It is so lovely. Why don’t you play for people?”

She did not mean just people. She meant her. He swallowed the inclination to shrug and say he did not know.

“Perhaps because my father did not like it. He enjoys music enough, and admires musicians. He had no moral opposition, nor did he think it below me or inappropriate.”

“Then why would he dislike it?”

“He had other plans for my time, especially when I left university. Playing well takes a lot of practice. Hours and hours.”

“What did he want you to do instead?”

“Parliament. The Commons, so that I could begin forming the relationships that would give me power when I succeeded him. Inheriting the title only goes so far. I had no interest in that, and resisted, and played—the violin and in other ways.” And now when he needed to know what those in power knew, he went to men like Penthurst, who had not followed youthful impulse quite so much.

“I can see how you would not want to play for him, of course. But others—when you played at Emma’s grand preview in the spring, everyone was spellbound. Men had tears in their eyes. It is a great gift you have, and that you share when you do perform. They know they have souls when they listen to you play.”

She flattered him enormously. She also put a name on the real reason he did not perform. It made him uncomfortable to see people moved like that. It embarrassed him to make grown men weep. He felt inadequate when people said he touched their souls, because his music never did any of that for
him
.

He kissed her for the compliment. “I am going to visit my father. We will go to your aunt in a few hours.”

“Do you mind if I listen through the open windows?” she asked. “I do not want to…intrude.”

“I do not mind.” He headed down to his father’s apartment, admitting that he found the idea of touching Cassandra’s soul appealing.

“H
ow is he today?” Yates asked the valet when he entered the sitting room.

“Tired, sir. But otherwise it is much the same. He is awake now, if you want to see him.”

Yates walked to the large chair where his father sat in his robe and cravat. He supposed that the day he came here and found the neck piece gone and the face unshaved, he would know a turn had been taken for the worse.

His father’s eyes were closed, and he appeared very calm. Almost beatific in his peace. Perhaps because the valet had opened the window.

“Yates. Good of you to visit.”

Yates sat down in the chair all visitors used. He looked at the window again.

“I am wondering if you feel well enough to talk about
the estate. I have some information and also some questions.”

“I think sometimes we will never be done with it, but ask what you must.”

“I learned more information about those earrings. The ones you kept asking about, that had gone missing after the last inventory. As you know, my wife owned them for a while. She received them from her aunt, Lady Sophie Vernham.”

His father reddened with anger. “I am very disappointed in her, to have abused a friendship in that way. Your mother overlooked much with Sophie, and will be distressed to know that her goodness was repaid with common thievery.”

“The story about Sophie Vernham’s jewels was not that she stole them, of course. She claimed they were gifts from lovers.”

“A shrewd ruse on her part, I think now. She does not claim such a thing with those earrings, I am sure.”