Patricia Rice (28 page)

She almost didn’t find Rupert in the room to which she was
led. Towering stacks of books and enormous ancient furniture huddled in the
gloom of the heavily draped windows. The books startled her. She hadn’t thought
Rupert a reader. Thinking herself alone, she cautiously approached the nearest
shelf. Even though the titles were in French, she recognized the trick of
hollow bindings to fill the shelves with the illusion of knowledge. That was the
Rupert she knew.

“Well, wife, did you come to see me or my shelves?”

The voice came from so close behind her that she jumped,
startled. Already she was at a disadvantage. She swung around and came
face-to-face with her nemesis.

The signs of dissipation were a little more marked, but he
was still a well-looking man. He was slender and not much taller than herself,
but she had reason to remember the strength behind the padding of his coat.
Cassandra edged away from the trap of the wall behind her.

“If I thought the shelves would show more sense and
sympathy, I would speak to them,” she replied. “I am likely to receive more
reward for my effort.”

Rupert crossed his arms and leaned back against a medieval
hand-carved chair. “If you have come to solicit my charity, you are quite
likely right. You have already stolen all that you will get.”

He was still closer than Cassandra liked, but she could not
speak to the back of his head. “Had you listened to me that night, I would have
helped you get back all that you had given Duncan and seen him punished for his
efforts. What I took scarcely compared to what you tried to take. That is not
my reason for being here. I will not see another man die in my name, not even
you, Rupert. I don’t know what is necessary to obtain an annulment, but I
suggest you seek one immediately, and be certain to let Duncan know when you
have obtained it.”

Rupert’s fair brows lifted with cynical interest. “You are
warning me? How very interesting. And what do you seek from this?”

“My freedom, that’s all I ask. Duncan covets your wealth and
will seek it through me. He could have hired assassins already.”

Rupert threw back his head and laughed. Once he recovered, he
studied her breasts, then grinned.

“And you are concerned for my health? How considerate of
you. But I enjoy challenges, my dear, and you are worth the danger. We’ll have
no more talk of annulments. It is time we got to know each other. You may end
up a wealthy widow, but I will have enjoyed every minute of our time together.
Come, let us begin at once.”

Rupert reached out to catch her arm, but Cassandra smacked
his hand away. There, that was done. She had given him the warning. If he
wanted to make her a wealthy widow, that was fine with her.

As she ran for the door, Rupert grabbed her from behind. He
jerked her around and crushed her close. Cassandra caught the faint fumes of an
unfamiliar liquor on his breath as he pressed his face close to hers.

“I’ll not let you escape again, my dear. I paid well for
you. Now I’ll see what my coins have bought. Has someone else been teaching you
what you should have learned in my bed?” His hand caught cruelly in her hair as
she struggled to escape, and his eyes glittered. “I do not feel the hysteria of
innocence this time, Lady Cass. You know what I mean to do now, don’t you?”

He chortled as one hand cupped her buttocks and pressed her
hips against his arousal. Cassandra squirmed, but her motion only served to
arouse him more and reveal the mockery of the act to be performed. This would
be no gentle love-making, but torture, pure and simple. It would not surprise
her if he meant to kill her when he was done.

That would explain his reckless ignoring of her warning.

She had played the part of fool once more. Wyatt would come
after her, and Rupert would kill him too. She had saved no one with this act of
sheer willfulness. Once again, it would be all her fault.

Fighting for Wyatt’s life as well as her own, Cassandra
freed one arm from the trap of their bodies and swung her fist as low as she
could. She only grazed his hard abdomen and made him laugh more.

Catching her hair tighter and yanking her head back, Rupert
covered her mouth with his. When Cassandra refused him entrance, he jerked her
hair harder, causing her to gasp in pain. His tongue took full advantage,
filling her with his lust and the threat of what was to come.

Cassandra beat futilely at his shoulders, gagged and
screamed, and kicked at him with her thin slippers. No one came to help. In all
probability, no one could hear her in this dismal mausoleum. She bit Rupert’s
tongue and scratched his face, and he was forced to return her to the floor
just to catch her hands.

She fought and struggled, bringing her knee up whenever a
space opened between them, swinging her fist when he had to protect himself
with his hands. He cursed and held on.

She lacked his strength. Her screams rent the air, but she
was already gasping for breath. Rupert aimed a blow at her jaw, but she ducked
and grabbed a brass figurine from the shelf. The object glanced off his head,
and he had to drop his grip on her hair to dodge a second blow.

Cassandra lifted her skirt and ran. Rupert dashed after her,
slamming her face first against the closed door and viciously tearing at the
fastenings at the back of her gown, pressing her in a trap between the solid
wood and himself.

As he tore at her clothing, Cassandra screamed as if to
bring all of Paris running.

Abruptly, Rupert was there no longer. Released, she slid
down the wooden panel, weeping, until the harsh crack of bone against bone reverberated
above her.

Rupert’s furious growl forced Cassandra back to her reeling
senses. Scraping her bare back against the carved wood, she absorbed the
astonishing sight of Wyatt repeatedly plowing his fist into Rupert’s stomach.
Those sensitive fingers that played the pianoforte so magically had become
weapons of destruction, and she could not bear the sight.

This was her fault. She had done this to him. She was a
curse. She had never done anything right in her life, and now she was
destroying the man she loved. With a groan, Cassandra sought a weapon.

Almost as if he read her mind, Wyatt brought his merciless
punishment to a halt with one solid blow to Rupert’s jaw. The smaller man
crumpled and lay still.

The sound of a cheer drew Cassandra’s gaze from Wyatt’s fury
to the audience at the far end of the room. Bertie looked solemn and concerned,
but Lotta and Jacob hurried toward her, grinning. Rupert’s servants huddled
uncertainly in the background.

“Get her out of here,” Wyatt commanded, gesturing toward
Cassandra. “Tie her and lock her up if you must, but don’t let her out of your
sight until I return.”

Cassandra gaped in astonishment at this cruel command from
her gentle lover, but Wyatt had already turned his attention to the man on the
floor. Heart filled with pain, she didn’t linger to watch. She ran out the door
ahead of her bodyguards.

Merrick signaled the servant to leave the basin and depart.
Rupert was starting to come around. Wyatt didn’t need an audience for what he
had to say.

Rupert rubbed his jaw, frowning at the pain as he attempted
to speak.

Merrick gestured him to silence. “Just listen, and listen
close. My solicitors will forward a petition for annulment to you. You will
sign that petition as soon as it arrives and return it to the messenger, who
will wait for it. If you do not, I will personally return with that paper, and
you will be in no shape to do anything but sign it when I am done with you. Are
you understanding this?”

The hatred glaring in Rupert’s eyes answered that question.
Merrick helped himself to a cloth from the basin, and wetting it, wrapped it around
his injured knuckles. He schooled his features to their normally impassive
expression.

“If you ever come near Cassandra again, I will shoot you, so
there is no reason for you not to agree to the annulment. She is no longer
under Duncan’s protection, but mine. It would behoove you to note that there is
a decided difference.”

So saying, Wyatt strode out. Cass would kill him if she knew
what he had done, but the point was moot. He was going to strangle her for
placing herself in such danger for no good reason at all.

But when he returned to the hotel, Cass was too busy being
violently ill for him to do more than pace the floor. When Lotta finally
assured him that her mistress was sleeping, Wyatt made arrangements for their
return journey.

He had known Cassandra would be a rare handful. She was
willful, stubborn, temperamental, and wild to a fault. She did not know the
meaning of restraint, and propriety was a synonym for prison to her.

She would also foolishly risk her neck for anyone she
considered a friend. And probably for stray dogs as well.

He had enjoyed the pleasures of her abandoned nature.
Somehow, he had to learn to endure the consequences. Never in his life had he
lashed out at anyone as he had Rupert. It would have given him great pleasure
to kill the man. His own violence horrified him. Yet even as he favored his
aching knuckles, Wyatt savored the moment when he heard Rupert’s jaw crack.

He would become as heathen as Cassandra at this rate.
Casting a glance at the door behind which she lay, he experienced a sharp pang
of pleasure at the thought. For the first time in his life, he felt truly
alive.

Later, while they waited in the private parlor outside Cassandra’s
room, Wyatt handed Bertie a glass of port and waited for him to speak. He had
no intention of defending his actions, but he hated to lose this one friend who
had stood by his side.

Bertie merely raised his glass in silent toast and sighed, “She’s
a rare handful, ain’t she?”

Wyatt felt a load lift from his shoulders, and tenderness
curved his lips as he pictured Cassandra’s fierce passion in love and anger. “
Rare
is as good a description as any.
Luckily, Rupert is too crude to appreciate that. He’s agreed to an annulment.”

Bertie’s blond eyebrows rose, but he poured another drink in
celebration. “By Jove, you’re a lucky bastard, Merrick. How you going to
explain that to Duncan?”

Wyatt set his glass aside. “No explanations are necessary.
The deed will be done without him. Do you think I ought to send for a
physician?” He nodded at the closed door to Cass’s chamber.

Lotta emerged in time to hear this last, and she shook her
head vehemently. “None of them Frenchie quacks, milord. Let us get her out of
here, and she’ll lighten up, just see if she don’t.”

Wyatt looked skeptical, but he ordered bags packed and made
preparations to depart.

The return journey was more pleasant. The sun emerged long
enough for them to bask in its warmth. Cassandra rested in a chair fashioned
for her on the ferry’s deck. The livid bruise on the side of her face had begun
to fade and the throbbing disappeared, but only in the evenings could she keep
her food down long enough to enjoy the company.

Wyatt discreetly left her alone as he had promised, but Cass
feared the questions in his eyes. She had left him, defied his wishes, and
caused a great deal of grief. Bertie in all probability thought her a fallen
woman and would no longer allow her to visit his family. She had created disaster
and chaos, and had not accomplished even one of her goals. Rupert was still in
danger from Duncan—although he at least had been warned—and Wyatt still seemed
to feel responsible for her. He had every right to hate her.

But when they arrived in Dover, everyone remained
solicitous. All the decent rooms were taken. Bertie ordered Thomas to surrender
the room he had taken while waiting for them, and the two brothers agreed to
travel ahead, leaving Wyatt and Cassandra to travel at a more leisurely pace.

Grateful for their understanding, Wyatt watched as the
brothers rode off, then turned back to the stairs and the room they would share
for the first time in over a week.

Cassandra hadn’t objected when he had led her to the chamber
and had their luggage carried in. It was very probable that she no longer
wished his attentions, but he couldn’t allow her to lie ill and alone in a
strange inn. He would let her rest, and they could talk when she woke.

Wyatt found her sleeping soundly. He dismissed the maid to look
for Jacob in the servants’ quarters, and began removing his travel-stained
cravat. Cassandra looked so pale and still, he sat down beside her to verify
she was just asleep. It was an odd feeling, this need to protect another, to
know her life was in his keeping—odd, but satisfying.

Wyatt touched her brow and Cassandra stirred. Satisfied, he
began to remove the rest of his clothing. Even in sleep with the mark of Rupert’s
hand across her jaw, she was beautiful. Perhaps she would leave him come
morning, but for now she was still his to care for.

~*~

When Cassandra woke, it was dawn and her stomach was
churning, although there could not possibly be anything left in it. She reached
wearily for the basin, as had become her habit these last few mornings . Only
when a strong hand reached to hold her shoulder did she realize she was not
alone.

Wyatt held her as she heaved the meager contents of her
stomach into the bowl. Then he rose and mixed a weak concoction of brandy and
water to clear her mouth and sent for someone to bring warm water for washing
and hot tea to drink.

She watched warily as he prowled the room wearing only his
trousers. Her gaze took in the raw scrapes on his knuckles, rested on the bare
expanse of his chest and shoulders, but she refused to meet his eyes. They had
discussed nothing since Paris. She understood that was about to end. When Wyatt
came to sit on the bed beside her, she was tense and nervous.

He leaned back against the headboard and drew her into the
curve of his arm. She came reluctantly, but he stroked her hair, and she rested
her head against his shoulder.