Lord Deverill's Secret

  For Cassandra, the world stopped. She could see him and only him, highlighted in her suddenly narrowed vision, and she could feel nothing but the soft touch of his fingers. She ought to tell him to stop; she ought to pull away; but she could not do it. She couldn’t even breathe, let alone move. She could only watch his face, mesmerized, as she took in the slight changes in his expression. She saw the curve of his mouth as it opened slightly, noticed the whiteness of his teeth and the fullness of his lips, and took in the slight shadow around his chin. She had never been so close to a man before. When dancing, she stood the required distance from her partner, and when talking she had always been separated by the space of a few feet of air. But here, there was so little distance between them that when he took a small step nearer she could feel the fabric of his coat brushing against the front of her dress. She felt the soft touch of his breath on her forehead as she tilted her face upwards, feeling it feather its way down to her cheeks and then to her lips. Instinctively they began to part. She felt his fingers stilling, and then to her painful disappointment she sensed, rather than saw, him stepping backwards. She felt empty, as though something vital had been taken from her just as it was about to be given.

  She made an effort to master herself and opened her eyes. He was still very close to her, so that she could see him with great clarity, and she noticed he was holding something. It was a small piece of foliage.

  She gave an inward sigh, as she realized that was why he had stepped so close. Making an effort to recover her composure she wondered why she had been so foolish, allowing herself to become mesmerized by a man who had done nothing more than remove a leaf from her hair.

  “It must have fallen from the pot when I held it over my head,” she said.

  “Yes,” he said.

  But somehow the tension did not relax. He was still looking at her intently and she swallowed.

  “Cassandra…” he said.

  “Lord Deverill…”

  “My name is Justin,” he said softly.

  “Justin…I…”

  But she said no more, for without her knowing quite how it happened he was kissing her on the lips and she found herself responding, moving her mouth under his. It was a sweet sensation, slow and sensuous, and she slid her arms around his neck, revelling in the feeling until he let her go.

  She looked into his eyes and saw the dark rim she had never been close enough to notice before, accentuating the green and making it glow. But she saw something else, a tortured look she could not understand, unless it was caused by the fact that he had kissed her and should not have done so.

  The thought brought her to an awareness of what had happened and she felt herself flush. She had forgotten how to behave. For one mad moment she had lost control of herself and given in to her desires, desires she had never experienced before. They had overwhelmed her, intoxicating her and awakening her to new and powerful feelings.

  It had all seemed so clear at the time: Justin was kissing her and she was kissing him back. But in the cold light of reality it seemed confusing, and she could take no more.

  “I must go,” she said.

  She slipped out of the room, and returned to the drawing-room. It was noisy, so she retreated to the card-room, where there were only a few people. Some were playing cribbage and some whist. She stood and watched the players, effacing herself in the corner so that she would not be called upon to speak to anyone. By and by the ordinariness of her surroundings began to calm her and she felt her pulse slow. She began to take an interest in the games, and was pleased to see a game of cribbage brought to a successful conclusion.

  She had just restored her equanimity, however, when it was shaken again by the sight of Mr. Bradley entering the room. He was looking a trifle more sober than the last time she had seen him. He had fastened the buttons of his waistcoat and straightened his cravat. But she was still wary of him. He looked round the room, and his eyes alighted on her. In the card-room, with others present, she did not feel threatened, but she was uncomfortable nonetheless, particularly when he came and stood next to her. Like her, he watched the games. Or at least pretended to.

  “You think Deverill’s such a hero,” he said, “but you don’t know the first thing about him, and you wouldn’t like it if you knew. I’m not the only young man he’s threatened. He does it all the time. He’s a bully.”

  Cassandra bit back an angry retort, fearing it would only make him worse.

  He sneered. “You don’t believe me,” he said. “I can see it in your eyes. You think I’m making it up, but I can soon prove it to you.” He never took his eyes off the game, but spoke to her in a low undertone. “Ask Deverill where he was last year, on the night your brother died.”

  “I know where he was. He was with Rupert.”

  He looked surprised. “So you know about that. I’m surprised he told you. I didn’t think he would. I thought he’d keep something like that to himself. But if that’s the case, I don’t know how you can bear to let him look at you. There’s no need to play the innocent,” he jeered, turning towards her. “You know what I mean. He can’t keep his eyes off you. He can’t keep his hands off you, either, I’ll be bound. You were a long time in the conservatory once I’d left. What were you doing in there?” He glanced at the low neck of her gown. “That lace around your neck wasn’t crooked before.”

  Cassandra was tempted to strike him, but kept her hands by her side.

  “It’s lucky no one else noticed,” he said, “or what would it do to your reputation? Not as unsoiled as you like to appear, are you?”

  “You have said enough,” said Cassandra, moving away from him.

  “Ask Deverill what he was doing with your brother on the night he died. Ask him what really happened, then see how much you want him to touch you.”

  “What do you mean? And how do you know Lord Deverill was with Rupert the night he died?”

  “Because Raistrick talks when he’s in his cups.”

  “Mr. Raistrick said nothing about it to me.”

  “Perhaps you didn’t ask?”

  Mr. Bradley moved away, but the damage had been done. What did he mean? What more did he know about Lord Deverill and her brother? Why should she not want him to touch her if she knew? Despite the fact that she didn’t want to take any notice of Mr. Bradley’s words she found she could not ignore them. Moreover, she found herself wondering if they had had anything to do with the tortured look in Justin’s eyes.

  Justin remained in the conservatory long after Cassandra was gone, feeling low in spirits. He should not have given in to his feelings and kissed her. It was not the way he should have behaved towards a gently reared young lady. But when he had seen her in danger it had aroused his protective instincts, and when he had seen that she was shaken he had wanted to soothe her. He had not meant to touch her, but when he had seen the leaf in her hair he had removed it without thinking about what he was doing. As he had felt the softness of her tresses, other instincts had been aroused, and before he had had time to think about it he had taken her into his arms and kissed her.

  He had had no right to do it. He was not betrothed to her, nor could he ever become betrothed to her.

  Leaving the conservatory, he glimpsed Cassandra through the door of the card-room. In the candlelight her hair was glowing with golden lights. Her skin was soft and smooth, and he longed to kiss her again, but he must never do so. He must fight his attraction, because it was an unwanted complication in an already tangled situation.

  He turned away from the sight and went to find Maria.

  “Mrs. Winter, this has been a splendid soirée. Thank you for inviting me,” he said politely.

  “You’re surely not going so soon?” asked Maria.

  “Alas, I have some business to attend to.”

  “Oh, what a pity. Never mind, I’m delighted you could come. I’m sure Miss Paxton is delighted, too. I hope you will honour one of our little gatherings again?”

  “I would be delig
hted,” he said.

  Then, having done his duty, he departed, leaving Cassandra—but not his turbulent feelings—behind him.

  Cassandra went into the drawing-room, feeling shaken by what she had heard. As she did so, she noticed that a number of guests were floating towards the stairs. The party was breaking up, and carriages were being called. She looked round, but could not see Justin. With a sinking feeling she realized that he had already gone.

  Maria and Harry were bidding their guests farewell.

  “Thank you for a marvellous evening,” said a woman who was resplendent in a gold silk gown.

  “I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” said Maria. “Do come again.”

  Harry added his endorsement, and sped the guests on their way.

  “What a wonderful harpist you found for us, Maria. I must hire her myself,” said an officer in uniform.

  “Yes, isn’t she good?” said Maria. “I will give you her direction.”

  “A fine supper, Maria. You must let my cook have the recipe for your salmon tart.”

  “I’ll ask her to send it round tomorrow.”

  The guests departed, and at last the house was empty. Chairs had been pushed aside and were scattered haphazardly across the floor. The music stand had fallen over, and empty glasses were piled on a tray by the door. A harassed footman picked up the tray and carried it out of the room.

  “What a relief!” said Maria, collapsing on to a chaise longue. “I enjoyed myself immensely, but I am exhausted.”

  “It all went very well, I thought,” said Harry.

  “Yes, it was excellent,” said Cassandra. “I heard a number of people saying how much they’d enjoyed themselves.”

  “I’m so pleased. It’s always a worry, and when Mrs. Gunning fell ill I thought I would never manage. But it all went very well. Madame Lorette played superbly, I thought.”

  “She did. And the supper was excellent,” said Cassandra.

  Maria gave a happy sigh.

  “Even so, I am glad we are not entertaining again for a while,” she said. “It will take me at least a week to get over it. Lord Armington was attentive, I thought,” she added, turning to Cassandra.

  Cassandra had forgotten about Lord Armington. So much had happened since she sat next to him during supper that it seemed almost a week ago.

  “Yes, he was,” she conceded, adding, “just as he was attentive to every other lady in the room.”

  “Even so, I have high hopes,” said Maria. “He remarked on your beauty to Harry, and he told me that it is time for him to take a wife. If that is not meaningful, then I don’t know what is.” She paused. “Lord Deverill was also very attentive. I didn’t see anything of him after supper until he took his leave of me. But these great men do as they please. To think, I had two lords in my drawing-room, and both at the same time!”

  Cassandra said nothing about Justin’s activities after supper. She had no intention of revealing what had happened between them. To many young ladies, attracting the attentions of an earl would be a source of unalloyed happiness, but Cassandra found it unsettling. A gentleman who talked to her about books and poetry as Lord Armington did was one thing; a gentleman who made her tremble with his touch was quite another.

  She thought back to his kiss. It had been unsettling and disturbing and wonderful. And then she remembered the moment he had pulled away from her, and remembered the expression in his eyes. It was almost as though he had kissed her against his will, and as though he had regretted it.

  She had been kissed twice that evening, but both times had been completely different. Mr. Bradley had wanted to impose his will on hers, to take something she had no desire to give. He had wanted her in his power. But there had been nothing of power in Justin’s kiss, only a tender yearning and a smouldering fire.

  Mr. Bradley’s perplexing words intruded on her thoughts. She knew that Mr. Bradley had been trying to unsettle her, but even so, when he had spoken to her in the card-room there had been something in his eye that had told her he was not just making mischief. There was something behind his words.

  She shivered.

  “Cold?” asked Maria.

  “A little,” she said.

  “I’m not surprised. It’s late.”

  Maria yawned.

  “I should be going,” said Cassandra. “You must want the house to yourselves.”

  “Not at all,” said Maria. “You are welcome to stay the night.”

  “No, thank you, it’s time for me to leave.”

  “I will call the carriage,” said Maria.

  Cassandra put on her shawl and took her leave of Maria and Harry, but as she left the house she felt her spirits sink. It was clear that Justin regretted kissing her. As she went home, she wondered if she would ever see him again.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The same thoughts were troubling her the following morning. She had slept badly and awoken unrefreshed, so that she was only too glad to get up and start the day. Going downstairs, she went into the parlour. To her plea sure, she found something to break her low mood, because there, propped up on the breakfast table, was a letter. She recognized the scrawling handwriting at once. It was from her sister, Lizzie.

  She picked it up and carried it over to the window to read. A shaft of sunlight fell on the uneven letters, which trailed across the paper like a drunken spider. Each page was crossed and difficult to make out, but Cassandra at last managed to decipher it.

  “I’ve brung you chocolate and rolls,” said Moll, carrying a tray into the room.

  “Thank you, Moll.”

  “You’ve seen it, then?” she asked, setting the tray down on the table.

  “Yes,” said Cassandra, scanning the closely written pages.

  “Is she enjoying herself?” asked Moll.

  “Yes, very much. Sit down, I’ll read it to you,” said Cassandra, taking her place at the table.

  With a familiarity that would have appalled most employers, Moll did as Cassandra bid her. She proceeded to take a plate of hot rolls and a cup of chocolate from the tray and set them down in front of Cassandra, then wiped her hands on her apron and listened with rapt attention as Cassandra began to read.

  Darling, darling, Cassie.

  “Ah.” Moll nodded approvingly.

  Cassandra took a sip of chocolate and then continued to read.

  I am having a WUNDERFUL time. Jane has lent me her pony and he is far better than old fat Tom, thow I love old Tom dearly. He is called Prince. Are you married yet? Jane says everywun gets a husband in Brighton even if they are old and rinkly and you are not so you will find a husband I am shaw. I sed to Jane you don’t want one but she says everywun wants a husband and I wish you wud get married as long as you don’t marry HORRID HORRID HORRID Mr. Brown.

  Cassie almost spilled her chocolate. She knew she should be appalled by her sister’s atrocious spelling, but she was instead amused by Lizzie’s lively letter.

  HORRID HORRID HORRID Mr. Brown was their nearest country neighbour, and he had taken to haunting their house since Rupert had died. Using the library as an excuse for his visits, he had borrowed and returned books until Cassandra and Lizzie were heartily sick of him, leading Lizzie to remark crossly that he always had his nose stuck in a book.

  He had then astonished Cassandra by offering her marriage. The fact that he was fifty years old had not stopped him as, he had kindly informed her, he did not consider their relative ages a problem. Indeed, he had told Cassandra that he could overlook her youth and inexperience in view of the fact he was sure she would soon settle down into a useful house wife. He had been surprised when she had refused him; so surprised, in fact, that he had asked her twice more, just to be sure. And if she had not left home, she feared he would have asked her twice more again.

  “I don’t say she’s right for calling him horrid,” said Moll, with the air of one determined to be just, “but he’s an old man and a regular nuisance, there’s no gainsaying. Now finish your breakfast before you
say another word.”

  Forbearing to point out that she was two and twenty, and that she had left the nursery well and truly behind her, Cassandra meekly finished her breakfast. Then she continued to read Lizzie’s letter. Moll nodded sagely at everything that could be construed as a compliment towards the little girl, whether it be the fact that Jane’s papa had called her a taking little thing, or the fact that Jane’s sister—a haughty young lady of thirteen years old—had said that she was very stupid, but not as stupid as Jane.

  When the letter was finished, nothing would do for Moll but that Cassandra should read it again.

  The clock chimed the hour.

  “I must get on,” said Cassandra. She looked out of the window. “It’s a beautiful morning. I think I’ll go to the circulating library before making a start on the drawing-room.”

  “I’ll fetch my bonnet,” said Moll.

  Ten minutes later the two of them set out. There were a number of circulating libraries in Brighton. The oldest of them was on the east side of the Steyne. Books could be bought or borrowed there and Cassandra had often visited it with her family in happier times, for there was a billiard-room attached to it which had occupied Rupert and her father whilst she and her mother had chosen their books. On occasions she and her mother had been known to play a game of billiards as well. But it was not to this library that she was now going, for she was going to the newer library on the south side of the Steyne. There were a number of excellent shops in the vicinity and, whilst purchasing anything was out of the question, Cassandra was looking forward to admiring the displays in the windows.

  The morning was cool and the fashionable visitors who were promenading along the Steyne were wrapped up in colourful spencers. They looked pointedly at a group of men who were playing cricket, as if to say, “Go and play your games elsewhere.” It was an old problem. Rupert had often played cricket on the Steyne and had frequently fallen foul of promenaders who took exception to dodging cricket balls, or being knocked down by enthusiastic fielders.