A Dangerous Expectation (The Gentlemen Next Door) (2 page)

His fantasy seemed mute, and he was driven by a desire to hear her voice. He stood, surprised by his steadiness. Enough drink to spur a fantasy like this should have had him staggering on his feet.

"You would think I would have named you in my dream," he mused as he realized he didn’t know what to call her. He closed the distance between them, waiting for her to dissipate before his very eyes.

Instead, she gulped and her gaze darted to his chest and back to his eyes. He realized his shirt was unbuttoned to the waist—he recalled the buttons ripping away when he’d yanked off his imprisoning cravat earlier in the night.

He sensed her trembling and felt desire knot in his chest. He was now worried he would wake or blink his eyes and she’d fade to nothing and no amount of drink would bring her back. He had to hear her voice before she disappeared. Had to know her name.

"Your name?"

Her lips parted, as though she were parched, but there was no sound—almost as if she were swallowing back her words.

Gray hand cupped her cheek and he heard her swift intake of breath, felt the brush of her ragged exhale against the tender skin at his wrist. Was it possible to feel so keenly in a vision? He drew his thumb under her chin.

She felt real enough—her skin so soft and even a little chilled.

He inhaled—he could smell her. He’d expected something cloying and sweet, but instead, she smelled like sea air and timber, like open oceans.

An idea drove its way through his fogged mind as he began to wake, to draw into full consciousness.

This woman was no vision of strong drink. But that was impossible—how could a woman, especially one as perfect as she, have found herself in his library in the dead of night?

"Are you real?" he asked, half to himself.

Her whole body shook, but not with desire—no, he realized, it was with agitation. Why would his own fantasy be nervous around him? Perhaps she was cold?

He turned and grabbed a throw off the sofa to wrap around her shoulders. She clutched the fabric at her neck. Her clear green eyes searched his face so that even though she seemed shaken, he could see an intelligence there, as if it were driving to get out.

A crashing sound made them spring apart.

He could hear a door slam and then ranting—an older woman.

"How could you leave her alone? Didn’t you know Lord Gray is still in residence until week’s end?"

A well-dressed, rotund older woman—he’d met her earlier in the month, Lady Chesterley if he recalled—rounded the corner into the library with an apologetic coachman trailing behind her. She stopped at the sight of them, clutching her chest with a gasp.

"Lady Chesterley," his vision said, her voice deeper than he’d expected even though her tone was strangled.

"I was afraid of this, Miss Cassandra," Lady Chesterley sighed.

Cassandra
. The tragic Greek princess, gifted with prophecy but cursed so no one would ever believe her. Dismissed as crazy instead of the brilliant mind she was.

"Oh dear," Lady Chesterley went on, with a clutch of the pearls at her bosom. "I came as soon as I could, but it’s too late now."

"Too late for what?" Cassandra said. Then she mumbled, beneath her breath, "Too early is more like it."

Gray must have misheard her.

But even as she was confused, Gray knew what the older woman meant. Miss Cassandra was no vision, and while this situation was no fault of his own, he was no blackguard.

He felt no hesitation about the task at hand.

He took her hand in both of his, her confused expression turning to horror as he dropped to one knee. "Miss Cassandra, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Her eyes widened and her gaze leapt in shock from him on bended knee to Lady Chesterley behind her. Her mouth gaped in surprise—and then the damndest thing came out of it.

"Bloody damn hell."

Chapter Two

Cassandra fumed as Chastity fussed around her, brushing invisible strands of thread off her shoulders, flouncing the ivory skirt of her wedding gown. She felt her sister’s fingers in her hair, tucking the flowers more securely into the braided arrangement.

"Only the best for your special day," Chastity said. "These white blooms were brought in from London just this morning. I spared no expense."

"A feat, then, for I’m certain you bargained your own wedding down to a mere farthing."

"Not yet," she returned with a gleam in her eye. "But my wedding will come soon enough."

"This is wrong, all wrong!" Cassandra moaned. "I am the one wearing the dress instead of you. It’s summer instead of your autumn date. And we’re in this small country church instead of Westminster."

Chastity laid a cool hand on her sister’s cheek. "You don’t have to marry him."

Cassandra glanced up to meet Chastity’s keen blue eyes.

"We’ve been shunned by society before and we may endure it again," her sister said dismissively as she straightened the ribbon at her waist. "It will be a relief not to spend all Season accosted by boring and dull n’er-do-wells."

"I will marry him. It’s all right," Cassandra forced herself to say. She couldn’t allow Chastity to think there was any doubt in her mind about marrying a complete stranger. An impoverished son of a duke, no less, with little to his name besides a strong jaw and hypnotic eyes, from what she could tell. Although his friendship with Lord Willoughby certainly placed him in pleasant enough company.

"Is it really all right?" Chastity asked.

"Yes," Cassandra lied. "Why not him? At least he and your affianced are friends. What better could I do?"
Her
happiness was one thing. The happiness of her sister and Lord Willoughby was another. Chastity and Lord Willoughby couldn’t possibly marry if the Drummond sisters endured another taint beyond their impoverished origins. She knew it. Chastity knew it, too. While she loved her sister for her implied sacrifice, she loved her too well to let her make it. "But I am worried…about…tonight." She inclined her head. "The wedding night."

"Oh—the wedding…well…um…. You’ll be fine." Chastity smiled, but the words were forced from between tight, thin lips.

"Have you…?" Cassandra didn’t know which words to use.
Made love?
How absurd when she had known Gray for a grand total of two minutes. How could she be expected to be so intimate with a total stranger?

"Of course not! We haven’t married." Chastity shook her head, but her cheeks burned red. "But there are other things we’ve tried…rest assured, very little talking is required, so you won’t need to worry about your silent affliction."

Cassandra took in this information, not sure whether it was good or bad. It felt as if her sister had a secret, and for a moment she felt as distant from Chastity as ever.

"How fare your negotiations for the shipping route to the East?" she asked, for if there was one thing that brought her and her sister together, it was the fate of Drummond Shipping, with her sister wearing the business hat and she herself wearing the engineering one.

"Not good," her sister said grimly. "Without that route, we have no hope of competing with the other companies, who will be able to shave at least a week off their sailing time."

"What does that mean for us?"

Chastity forced another smile to her face. "It means nothing, dearest. Nothing matters today but your wedding."

It was Chastity’s way of saying it meant everything, but that for now, they would pretend and Cassandra was game to pretend with her. "Let’s make our way to the aisle."

"In a moment," Chastity said. "I have an errand to perform."

* * *

"A drink?" Lucas Willoughby asked.

Gray shook his head. Drink was what had gotten him into this mess. Had he not been drinking, he would have recognized his late-night visitor for what she was and promptly called for a chaperone.

Or would he have? Would he really have denied himself a moment alone with such a vision?

"You have to go through with this," his friend said.

"I know." Gray felt piqued at Lucas’s visible relief. He might be impoverished, but he was still a gentleman and Lucas should have known there would be no risk of his withdrawal.

"She’s a good sort, at least. Nice. Very affectionate to her sister. Level-headed."

"And rich," Gray said bitterly. So rich she did not need him except to save her reputation. So rich it was clear he was bringing nothing to their marriage. Not earning his keep in any way. He was finally living his worst fear. He was doing exactly what his father wanted: marrying for money.

You’ll never be anything more than a rich woman’s kept man
.
I thank your mother for your wretched face, which will make it easy.

"Yes, she is rich, not that she cares for it. Miss Cassandra is happiest when she’s engaged in engineering experiments. Chastity claims it’s Miss Cassandra’s designs that have brought Drummond Shipping to such heights."

"I will have that drink after all." Gray grabbed the glass from Lucas’s hand and swallowed its contents in one gulp. So she was intelligent, too, and had proven her value immeasurably to her father’s company. Could it get any worse?

"I must warn you…she has a reputation."

"For what?" Gray asked—never say for philandering? He couldn’t believe that of her, although he’d seen her for only five minutes before Lady Chesterley had whisked her away on the eve of his proposal, shouting, "Of course she’ll marry you," before Cassandra could say yes or no. Even now he felt his fist tighten and wanted to lay it across Lucas’s jaw for even implying anything untoward about her.

"For being aloof—perhaps a bit strange."

Gray held back a smile. He was no stranger to strange.

"I’ve gleaned from her sister that Miss Cassandra detests social settings and is a bit of a shut-in. I must warn you—she’s barely said ten words to me. If not for Chastity, I would have assumed she was addled instead of brilliant."

So his Cassandra was like her Greek counterpart. What an enigma, this woman.

The clearing of a throat caused both men to turn to the open doorway. Gray took in his first sight of his intended’s sister.

She was a slightly shorter version of Cassandra, with blue eyes instead of catlike green, and frizzy hair. "Might I have a word?" she asked.

"Of course," he said.

Gray watched Lucas’s face soften as he gazed at his betrothed. He and Lucas were cut from the same cloth—poor sorts whose only use was their good humor. Now Lucas was titled, compliments of his brother, and soon to be wealthy, compliments of his fiancée, yet no one would accuse him of being the sort to rely on others. He could at least afford his own home in London. Unlike Gray.

What was Gray, after all?

A rich woman’s kept man
. He heard his father’s voice echo in his head before shoving it aside.

Chastity closed the door behind her and crossed her arms. She was a no-nonsense sort and as she tipped her nose up at him and narrowed her eyes, he had the feeling he was being sized up.

"What are your intentions after the wedding?"

Gray would have sputtered had he been drinking at that moment. "My intentions?" He shot a nervous glance at Lucas, who seemed equally puzzled.

"Yes, your intentions. For your living arrangements."

He felt a burning pit of shame in his gut. He had no home. She must know that. Wrestling with how to care for his future wife had preoccupied his every waking thought since their engagement.

"Gray has leave to use my house," Lucas said quickly, "as his own, for as long as he wants."

Gray nodded gratefully. It did little to lessen his shame, but he preferred to accept charity from his friend rather than his wife. He could not see himself moving into her home—wherever that might be—not without proving his father right in every measure.

"I’ll have Cassandra’s items sent there," Chastity said, as if making herself a mental checklist. "You must have noticed that she can be…nervous…around men."

Lucas had said as much, and now Gray recalled Cassandra’s body quaking with agitation. He had wondered in the days since if he in particular had caused it—but apparently not. "Yes, I’ll take great care to put her at ease." It was, after all, one of his talents.

"Please take note—you may be married, but you are still a stranger to her. And will be, for quite some time."

Gray nodded once, not sure that she even wanted a response.

"The best wedding gift you can give my sister is time. And space. Lots of space."

"The house has several bedrooms on separate floors." Was he really discussing sleeping arrangements with his future sister-in-law?

"Separate homes," she said.

"Separate homes?" Gray repeated—not sure he’d heard her correctly or understood her assumptions.

"Lucas’s property has a neighboring cottage, am I correct?"

"Chastity," Lucas interrupted. "You can’t mean—"

"I can," she snapped, eyes firing on Gray.

She blamed him, he realized. She blamed him for her sister’s predicament.

He even blamed himself. For needing the generosity of others. For having no value of his own. "The neighboring cottage will do," he said.

He expected no better.

* * *

With every step down the aisle, Cassandra felt as if weights were being chained to her ankles. She forced her feet to move, gripping the bouquet for dear life until the stems from her gardenias bruised. She scanned the crowd. She saw her sister’s dear friend Franny holding her mewling newborn baby as she leaned into the embrace of her besotted husband. She saw Lucas with a rare grim expression. There was Lady Chesterley with a wide smile in the first row. Her father was still at sea—he would make port and discover her married, and be so happy for her that she wouldn’t be able to tell him she felt otherwise.

She saw stranger after stranger. Judging.

She’d never pictured a wedding for herself. Never believed she’d actually have one, but if she had, there would never be this many people—who
were
these people? Perhaps Gray’s friends in the country?