The Unofficial Suitor (26 page)

Hours later it was obvious that she would never sleep again, at least not while he was in her bed. The situation was clearly impossible—she lay awake for hours, but the harder she tried to put him out of her mind, the more he filled her thoughts.

* * * *

Cassie was so warm and comfortable when she woke up that it took her several moments to realize she was curled up against Mr. Hawke—against Richard. With her head on his shoulder and his arm around her, she was, in fact, so very comfortable that she continued to lie there for a few minutes instead of immediately moving back to her own side of the bed.

It was a very embarrassing position to be caught in, she realized moments later. Undoubtedly Richard would be quite smug when he discovered her there. Perhaps if she was very careful, she might be able to ease herself away from him before he realized that she was trespassing on his side of the bed? Before he discovered how successful his contemptible tactics had been?

Unfortunately, before she was able to move, he spoke. “Good morning, my love.”

After a brief silence, she asked, “How did you know I was awake?”

He chuckled, and so infectious was his laugh that she was hard-pressed not to smile herself.

“You have been cuddled up against me like a soft little cat, and then all at once you became as stiff as a board in my arms. It seemed reasonable to assume that you had just woken up.”

He was entirely correct—she was absolutely rigid with tension. With conscious effort she tried to relax, and she had achieved a measure of success when he began stroking her arm with his free hand, as if he were in truth petting a cat. It was so pleasant, she felt her firm resolve to abandon his shoulder begin to weaken.

After all, the damage was already done, was it not? Richard already knew she had—however strong her intentions not to—crept into his arms while she was sleeping. So what harm could there be in staying where she was a few more minutes? Thinking it through logically—or at least as logically as she was able to think, given the fact that she was positively groggy from lack of sufficient sleep—there was no pressing reason for her to return to her side of the bed, which at this moment seemed unappealingly cold ... and lonely ...

When she awoke again, the sun was high in the sky, and she was the only occupant of the bed. For that she could be thankful, of course, since she did not wish to have Richard observe her when she was not fully clothed, even if he had that right as her husband—and even though she had slept in his arms.

After ringing for Annie, Cassie went over to the window and looked out. The scene that greeted her eyes was so different from London—and from Cornwall. The sky was so blue, the sun so brilliant, she knew she could not possibly waste such a glorious day by staying inside.

If Richard was too busy to ride out with her and explore the estate, she would at least take Annie with her and walk around the garden and home woods. Perhaps the cook would be able to tell her if there were any berries ripe at this time of the year?

Cassie was contemplating her choice of walking dresses, trying to decide which would be the most appropriate for the country, when Annie entered with hot chocolate and scones on a tray. “You slept late this morning. Did your husband manage to wear you out last night?”

“Annie!” Cassie was shocked at how casually—how crudely—her maid spoke of things that proper ladies never discussed openly.

Setting down the tray, Annie peered at her closely. “It appears I am premature in speaking of such things with you. Your husband has not yet made you his wife, apparently.”

Cassie felt as if her face were on fire. “What makes you say that?” she asked, turning away to hide her blushes.

“Your eyes are still those of an innocent maiden—they display no knowledge of what it means to be a woman,” Annie replied enigmatically. “It is odd, but I would never have credited that Mr. Hawke was not man enough to bed his own wife.”

“There is nothing wrong with my husband!” Angrily, Cassie whirled around, only to discover Annie was laughing silently. With effort Cassie unclenched her fists. “Oh, very well, if you must know everything, Richard has given me his word that he will not consummate our marriage until I ask him to.”

“And you have been married more than twenty-four hours and have not yet asked? More fool you.”

“That is all you know! I shall never ask—never!”

“I had not thought you hated him so much.”

Hate? No, Cassie realized to her own surprise, she did not hate Richard, nor even dislike him. Even more amazing was the growing awareness that she no longer was afraid of him.

“Can you not understand, Annie? He purchased me from my brother. Surely you can understand how that makes me feel? Would you ever stoop so low as to sell yourself to a man? Even if you were starving? I know you would not.”

“No,” Annie replied, her smile gone, “I never have and I never will. But marriage is different.”

“How is it different? What rights do I have as a married woman? My husband has the power to control my every action, to make every decision for me. And yet he himself can do whatever he wishes, and I have no say in the matter.”

“Marriage is different,” Annie repeated stubbornly. “The bonds between a husband and wife are much deeper than a simple financial transaction.”

“Perhaps I would agree with you if my husband loved me.”

“Pray, what makes you think he does not? The way he looks at you, I would say rather that he is quite besotted.”

“It is simple really.” Cassie took a deep breath, then continued. “If he loved me, he would never have bought me as if I were a horse or a cow or a sheep.”

“You are being foolish beyond permission,” Annie retorted. “Marriage settlements have been around as long as there have been marriages, and most of them are designed as much to protect the woman as the man. Moreover, if you wish to have power over your husband, you have only to welcome him to your bed. You will soon discover that a little loving can bring even the strongest man to his knees.”

A series of disconcerting images flashed through Cassie’s mind. Thoroughly unsettled, she said quite sharply, “I do not wish to discuss this matter any further.”

“Very well, my lady. Whatever you say, my lady.” Annie curtsied so deeply, her forehead touched her knee. “We shall say nothing more on the subject.”

Cassie could not hold back a laugh. Her bad mood was gone as quickly as it appeared. “The role of deferential servant does not suit you, Annie. You look positively ridiculous, in fact. Now do get up and help me dress; I have already wasted enough of this glorious day.”

“And someday you will regret every one of the nights you are so determined to waste, you mark my words.”

* * * *

It still rankled that he had been tricked so easily. Geoffrey stood at the rail of the ship that had carried him away from England—the ship that should have been transporting Richard Hawke to a lifetime of slavery in North America.

So far the winds had been favorable, and they had made good time. Ahead of them, its top lit up by the last rays of the dying sun, loomed the bulky shape of Gibraltar—which he realized full well represented his last chance to make a successful escape.

After their first day at sea, Captain Rymer had not kept his two prisoners in chains, apparently deeming it unnecessary because the crewman assigned as guard was a full head taller than Geoffrey—who was not a small man—and the sailor was also extremely well muscled, undoubtedly weighing more than Geoffrey and Piggot combined. Only a man wishing sudden death would have attempted a direct assault on such a giant.

The question Captain Rymer had apparently not considered, however, was whether or not his oversized crewman could swim as well as Geoffrey. If he could, then all was lost. But very few sailors could swim at all, so the odds in Geoffrey’s favor were quite good. As for Piggot, he was henceforth on his own—Geoffrey certainly owed him no loyalty since he was the one who had suggested they hire that treacherous smuggler, Digory Rendel.

Doing his best to analyze the unfamiliar currents, Geoffrey waited until he judged the ship to be in the most auspicious position, then suddenly vaulted over the railing.

The water was warmer here than off the coast of Cornwall, which was to his advantage. He had also had the foresight to leave his boots and jacket below deck, so that he would not need to waste precious moments struggling to take them off once he entered the water. Surfacing, he could hear cries above him of “Man overboard!”

Instead of making directly for shore, he swam around the stern of the boat until he was on the opposite side from where he had entered the water. Already there were creaking sounds of winches as a boat was lowered.

At first the growing darkness was his ally, keeping the men who still stood on deck from spotting his head among the waves. But after the ship finally vanished into the night, the darkness became his enemy. Too low in the water to see the lights along the shoreline, he could only swim in what he hoped was the proper direction.

By the time the first light of dawn streaked the sky, he was too exhausted to swim another mile. His arms felt like lead weights, and it was all he could do to keep his head above water.

Not that it mattered—in whichever direction he looked, he could see no sign of land, not even clouds, which commonly formed where the sea met the coastline.

With his remaining breath, he cursed Richard Hawke, Piggot, Digory Rendel, Captain Rymer, and of course his sister Cassie, who was undoubtedly enjoying her new wealth without sparing a thought for him.

* * * *

Annie walked into the breakfast room and almost into the arms of Viscount Westhrop, who smiled engagingly down at her.

“So, at last we meet again, Annie Elizabeth Ironside.”

Keeping all traces of emotion from her face and voice, she replied, “If you will kindly step aside, my lord, I need to fetch Lady Cassie’s shawl, which she inadvertently left here this morning.”

Instead of moving out of her way, he took a step toward her, which she matched by taking one step backward. “Why have you been deliberately avoiding me, my love? I have been here for five days already, and this is the first time I have even managed to catch a glimpse of you.”

“Beg pardon, my lord, but I have not been avoiding you. I have merely been doing the job that I am paid for.” She took another step backward and bumped up against the door she had just come through.

He stopped a mere foot away and reached out one hand to caress her cheek. “Do not utter such fibs, my love.”

Quick as a flash, she pulled her knife from its hiding place. “I am not your love, and if you value your life, do not touch me, my lord.”

Looking down at her weapon, he merely smiled. “Does this mean I may not kiss you?”

Something about his expression made her think that perhaps she had met her match—he certainly did not seem to fear the naked blade in the slightest.

Tightening her grip on the handle of her knife, she answered as firmly as possible, hoping she could still bluff him. “You may kiss me only at the expense of your life, my lord.”

“Then tell my friends I died happy,” he replied. Making no effort to seize her weapon, he leaned over and kissed her gently on the mouth, then gasped. Pulling away slightly, he looked down at the blood that was oozing from a cut in his side.

“I warned you, my lord,” she said, keeping her tone icy although she felt sick at what she had done. In her heart, she knew she should not have used her dagger because this man had meant her no real harm—a slap on the face would have doubtless been as effective as sticking a knife in his ribs, and certainly less dangerous for him.

“It is not yet mortal,” he commented as serenely as if he were remarking on the weather. “I can perhaps steal another kiss before I expire.”

He suited actions to words, pulling her into his arms and kissing her with growing passion, which she found herself reciprocating. Her knife fell from nerveless fingers to land with a soft thud on the carpet.

The blood soaking through her dress brought her back to reality, and she shoved him away. “Oh, stop, stop, before you bleed to death.”

“You forgot to say ‘my lord’ in that prim and proper voice of yours,” he said, reaching out to her again.

She batted his hands away. “Do not joke; you are bleeding all over the carpet.”

He laughed. “Ah, yes, so I am. I agree, a gentleman should not be so crass as to ruin a carpet with his demise, especially such a magnificent Oriental one as this.”

Tears filling her eyes, she said, “You must let me bind up the wound, before the loss of blood weakens you.”

He touched her cheek gently. “You are crying—does this mean you care for me? Very well, I shall allow you to bandage my cut, but only if you kiss me first.”

Staring into his eyes, which were as blue as a Scottish loch, she said passionately, “You have not the least bit of common sense, my lord; I am surprised you have survived this long!”

“Oddly enough, my cousin, Edmund Stanier, was likewise astounded to discover me still in the land of the living. If I were pressed to come up with an explanation, I would have to say that luck has played a large part in my survival thus far. Now kiss me, my love.”

Frustrated beyond measure, she grabbed his face with both hands and pressed a quick kiss on his lips. “There, I hope you are satisfied.”

“Never will I be satisfied, my love. I intend to keep kissing you every day for the next fifty or sixty years.”

She was too angry with him to answer. Pulling him by the hand over to the table, she shoved him down into a chair, then began unbuttoning his jacket. With his help, she soon had his ribs exposed.

“Be gentle, I cannot stand pain,” he said teasingly.

Going to the sideboard, she found a bottle of brandy. Instead of offering him some to drink, she poured a healthy measure of it onto the cut.

“A—a—a—a—a!” He was gasping for breath, and sweat appeared on his brow.

“Stings, does it, my lord?” she asked sweetly.

“Perry,” he finally managed to say through clenched teeth. “You must call me Perry, my love.”