Realm 03 - A Touch of Cashemere (13 page)

“Lord Yardley!” she gasped, but she did not fight him. Instead, she had clung to his neck, their faces only inches apart. Marcus could see the incredibly long length of her lashes, thick and black with golden tips.

He pushed the renewed desire away. “I have you, Miss Cashé,” he assured her as he waded through the shallow water, making his way to the grassy slope. So close, he again filled his lungs with the scent of her and his eyes with her image. For the longest time, Marcus just held her close, then he realized the impropriety and started to place her on dry ground; but a beauty mark caught his eye, and he spontaneously remarked, “I have never noticed the mark on the back of your neck. It resembles a star.”

“Both Satiné and I have one. However, hers is on her shoulder where she can hide it from prying eyes,” she sniped.

Noting the uncomfortable flush of her cheeks and the censure in her tone, he, finally, sat her before him. “Are you...are you hurt?” he asked softly.

“No, Sir,” she mumbled and looked quickly away, adjusting her clothing with the turn of her back to him.

Marcus swallowed hard. “Why do you not take the children to the house? Daniel can carry the basket. I will secure the fishing equipment and follow you.” It seemed important to separate himself from her: He needed time to think. Without looking back, he sloshed into the water to retrieve the abandoned pole, making a show of capturing the line and giving himself time enough for Cashé and the children to don their shoes and make their ways to the manor house.

She followed the children at a leisurely pace. Sonali danced and twirled, her floral crown and necklace swaying with her. Daniel chased her in circles as he swung the basket freely, both of them giggling and playful as children tend to be when left alone. And, today, Cashé had no intention of interfering with their amusements. Her mind rested on the irascible earl and the lingering excitement she had felt when he had lifted her so easily into his arms.

She did not want to think of Marcus Wellston; she had fought the good fight in that matter, but it was to no avail. She had thought of him often of late–too often for her own sanity. Of course, such ruminations served no purpose. The earl affected her sister Satiné, and his friend Lord Lexford had offered his attentions to her. Yet, Cashé held no affection for the viscount–no more than she had done for Lachlan Charters.

“Neither stirs my interest,” she murmured. Only the earl’s heat remained. “Could I undermine my own sister?” she asked herself as the house came into view.

Marcus paused as he gathered the fishing lines for the three poles. The day had taken an unexpected turn. All along, Marcus had detested everything about the lady. He had considered Cashé a spoiled, self-centered woman, but today he observed the softer side of her.

He actually felt an erection when he had embraced her, which definitely vexed him because he had convinced himself that he had wanted nothing to do with her. “It is because she is identical to her sister. It happened only because I had Miss Satiné on my mind.” However, he knew better. Miss Cashé’s presence had shaken his world.

“Damn!” he cursed aloud. “I cannot be attracted to Cashé Aldridge,” he growled. “And if I am, what of Kimbolt?” Marcus had suffered through the viscount’s depression when Shepherd had separated Kimbolt from Miss Cashé by sending them to Calcutta. Lexford had made them all miserable because he had pined for the girl. Obviously, he could not come between Aidan and Miss Cashémere. He credited his friendship an important link to his current peace of mind–something for which he had struggled for many years after Maggie’s death. “This is all a fluke,” he said the words out loud, trying to make them so. “It is Miss Satiné who stirs my blood.”

*

During the evening, Marcus made a concerted effort to ignore Miss Cashé by doubling his attentions to Satiné, but try as he may, he could not withdraw his eyes from the lady. Satiné was everything he thought he had needed in his life, and, at first glance, a person could not tell the sisters apart, but there were distinct differences. Charles Morton had guided Satiné in the niceties of Society. Bred as a genteel lady, the woman possessed nothing but admirable qualities: good manners, ladylike accomplishments, and acceptable opinions. Yet, was Miss Satiné’s perfection settling for the boring–something he had never done in his life?

Then there was the entity known as Cashémere. Equally as beautiful as her two sisters, Cashé posed no problems in that manner. Difficulties occurred in other areas, however. She often spewed prejudice and offending remarks, but she possessed an appealing vulnerability, which had made him want to protect her, even from herself. She was admittedly one of the most vexing females he had ever encountered. She was impetuous and unpredictable and strong-willed, and the woman knew exactly how to bait him into saying and doing things he would not normally do.

“Would you care to walk in the garden, Miss Cashé?” Lord Lexford extended his hand.

Cashé had considered refusing, but a quick glance at Lord Yardley told her that the earl danced attendance on Satiné. “That would be pleasant.” She placed her hand in his and allowed the viscount to lead her through the open patio doors.

“Lord Yardley speaks of providing fishing tips for you today.” Lexford turned his head in her direction.

The fact that Yardley had spoken of her sent a shiver down her spine, but that he had found it necessary to tell Lexford of their encounter said he did not feel what she did today. She could tell no one of it, not even her own reflection in the mirror. Cashé glanced away, again remembering the brief intimacy she had shared with the earl. “It was a spontaneous thing. Lord Yardley had taken Daniel to the tarn, while I entertained Sonali. We came across each other quite by accident.”

“Should I be jealous?” Lexford teased.

Cashé thought, if only, but she said, “I must protest, Lord Lexford. We do not have that type of relationship.”

The viscount stopped under a shadowy rose arbor. “Miss Cashémere, you must be aware of my interest. It would please me greatly if you would allow me to call upon you while you are with the baron.”

Cashé kept her eyes downcast. “You must understand, Lord Lexford, that this is all very new. In Edinburgh, Uncle Samuel had come to an informal agreement with Mr. Charters. Now, I am to live with Uncle Charles, and everything has changed. The baron has indicated that he will bring both Satiné and me out into Society. That allows me six months to learn a whole new way of thinking.”

Lexford took her hand in his. “I understand your reticence, and I am sympathetic to your dilemma. You are being ripped from the only life you have ever known, but the baron only has your best interests at heart...as do I. If it suits you, I will temper my needs with the understanding that I will make my suit known when the Season begins.”

Cashé hushed an overwhelming urge to run from him and to find solace in the strong arms, which had held her earlier today. “Your suggestion appears prudent, Your Lordship.” She forced herself to smile at him. “I appreciate your understanding.” It was not that the viscount was a bad choice. She knew women who would think her a complete idiot to lead the viscount on. He was very handsome; yet, Lord Lexford’s affections were not reciprocated.

The viscount either could not or would not recognize her indecision as a stalling technique. He lifted her chin with his fingertips and lowered his head to lightly kiss her lips.

Cashé flushed in embarrassment. This was her first kiss ever, and she hated that it was with him. It lasted but a few seconds. He had placed no pressure upon her nor had he taken her into his arms. It was nothing more than a brushing of his lips across hers–no passion–simply a common regard.

Like most young girls, Cashé had always thought that if she married, it would be for love. She realized she had not loved Mr. Charters, but she had held him in highest respect, and she always assumed that love would follow once they had had time to know each other more fully. She wanted someone who would love only her. When she allowed herself feminine dreams, she had imagined a man who would cherish her even if she were sometimes outspoken or had broken with propriety; he would love her because he had chosen her. She had never known anyone who preferred her above all others. Even Uncle Samuel’s love had come with its own limitations: She had been thrust upon him after her parents’ freak accident. Her uncle “had to” love her. She may not have been raised as Velvet was, but Cashé shared one thing with her sister: She wanted her own “happily ever after.”

“Very nice,” the viscount whispered.

Cashé opened her eyes, a bit shocked that she had not resisted the intimacy, although she certainly could not count it as an immodest act. However, she would have to dissuade the viscount from escalating the relationship. “Lord Lexford, you must accept the fact that I cannot allow you such liberties. It would not be proper,” she chided.

Lexford smiled widely. “I will remain a prefect gentleman in your presence, Miss Cashé. I simply wanted you to realize the depth of my regard.”

“Then we shall forget this unseemly behavior,” she asserted. “I am honored by your interest, Your Lordship, but I will hold you to your promise of gentlemanly manners.”

The viscount nodded his agreement. “We should return to the house.” He presented his arm, and Cashé reluctantly took it. Kimbolt cupped her hand with his free one. “Thank you, my Dear, for tolerating my indiscretion,” he said softly.

“As long as you do not repeat the act any time soon, we shall speak no more of it.”

Marcus tried to ignore his friend taking Miss Cashé from the room. However, his mind said one thing, while his body said another. So, when Kerrington had inquired as to the whereabouts of Lord Lexford, Marcus had volunteered to seek the viscount about the grounds. He exited through the same patio doors, as did the couple earlier. Crossing the graveled path to the lower garden, Marcus had come up short. Standing in the rose harbor, Kimbolt bowed his head to kiss the upturned face of Cashémere Aldridge. Marcus made himself look away–made himself turn on his heels and execute a ready retreat. However, the pressure building in his chest cut off his ability to breathe normally. Only a few hours earlier, he had held the lady in his arms; her body plastered to his chest wall, and the scent of her hair and the warmth of her skin had tempted him beyond control. Now, she had offered those lips he had craved to one of his best friends.

Rather than let the others know of his discontent, Marcus had crossed behind the house to follow the circular drive toward the stables. He required a few moments to sort out these new feelings toward Cashé Aldridge. He could not seriously be interested in the girl; he simply needed a woman to sate his growing desires. Today was the first time he had held any woman for some time. “That is why I reacted to the lady. I need to call on Rose when I return to Northumberland.” The widow would take care of his needs. “A night in Rose’s bed.” He did not finish his thoughts because in his mind’s eye, the lithe figure of Cashé Aldridge replaced the image of Rose Hardesty’s full bosomed body. “Bloody hell!” he growled as he ran a hand across his face to push his crazed thoughts away.

*

For the next few days leading up to Fowler’s wedding, Marcus spent much of his time alone or in the company of his friends. He had even avoided Miss Satiné–her looks reminding him of her twin. “Does something bother you, Yardley?” Kerrington had asked as they shot a round of billiards.

Marcus paused for a moment, tallying his words carefully before he spoke. “Nothing really. I just have many responsibilities in Northumberland that need my attention while I am whiling away my hours in Derby. Trevor needs me there. I do not like to be long away from him.”

“If that is truly what disturbs you, then I will keep my piece.” Kerrington broke the ball set before he lined up his first shot. “Yet, if there is something more, I am still here to listen.”

Marcus tilted his head as if considering Kerrington’s words. “Have you,” Marcus began, “wanted something...something you knew was bad for you?”

Kerrington straightened, the cue stick chalked for the next shot. “I suppose it would depend upon what a person wanted.” Frowning, Kerrington leaned over the table before he said, “We make our plans, and then God laughs and sends up something quite unexpected. Does this have something to do with Miss Satiné?”

Marcus shook his head in the negative, shoving down a pang of guilt. “It is not Miss Satiné. The lady is all that is pleasant.”

“Then something else?” Kerrington walked around the table’s edge.

Marcus continued to mull over his response. “You remember Maggie.”

“I recall what you have shared.” Kerrington no longer pretended to be interested in the game. It had been an often-used ploy with the men who had served under him.

In some twisted sense of reality, the normalcy of his former captain’s gambit had provided Marcus the safety of sharing his thoughts. “Maggie used to irritate me beyond belief. Sometimes I wished to throttle her. She was opinionated and determined and downright stubborn. Yet, she was easily persuadable and needed my protection.” Marcus stopped suddenly–the pain of how he had failed Maggie remained hauntingly clear. “And she...” But Marcus did not finish. He could tell no one that Cashé was just like Maggie.

When the earl stopped, Kerrington thought he had understood. “You blame yourself for something you could not prevent.” His friend still spoke of Maggie while Marcus had thought only of Cashémere.

An image of the woman materialized: her heart-shaped face and mesmerizing eyes. “Some ghosts are hard to lay to rest.”

*

Starting with the evening that the viscount had kissed her, Cashé had begun a close observation of Satiné and the earl. Lord Yardley had paid his attentions to her twin. They had sat together during meals and the various evening entertainments, but Cashé could detect no genuine interest on either’s part. They had laughed and had played cards together: yet, Cashé observed nothing, which had convinced her to believe they were anything more than friends.