The Pursuit Of Marriage (14 page)

Cassie leaned close to her sister and lowered her voice. “I am going along with this, but reluctantly, and I shall hold you responsible if anything dreadful happens.”

“And you shall give me all the credit if something delightful happens.” Delia grinned. “And I have every hope that it will.”

“Shall we?” St. Stephens said with a decent measure of good grace and offered his arm.

“I do appreciate this, Tony, even if I don’t entirely agree with the reasons behind it.” Cassie kept her voice soft in a confidential manner and allowed him to lead her to their positions for the next dance, all the while meeting the eye of this lord or that gentleman in a constant stream of meaningless flirtation. One of the nicest things about dancing with a relative, particularly a brother-in-law who has been coerced into dancing in the first place, was that one didn’t feel it necessary to keep up a steady stream of pleasant, if usually inane, conversation. One could think about other matters if one wished. One could even dwell on what it might be like to share a highly improper kiss on a terrace under the stars with a very annoying man.

“Could I have a moment, my lord?” A vaguely familiar voice sounded behind him. Reggie stifled an entirely too smug smile and turned.

“Lord Berkley?” Miss Effington beamed up at him, and he was hard-pressed not to grin back like an idiot.

“Miss Ef—” He paused and narrowed his gaze. “No, it’s Lady St. Stephens, isn’t it?”

Lady St. Stephens laughed, a laugh far too much like her sister’s for comfort. “I should have been quite disappointed in you if you had not noticed.” She studied him curiously. “How did you know? Most people don’t, you know.”

“The resemblance is quite remarkable, but you have a dimple in your right cheek. Miss Effington’s is in her left. She also favors her left hand, and I would guess you favor your right. And even more obvious,”

he grinned, “you’re wearing a different dress than she is.”

Lady St. Stephens raised an approving brow. “You noticed what she’s wearing?”

“It complements her eyes,” he said levelly, knowing he was being entirely too personal. And knowing as well this meeting with Cassandra’s sister was probably something of a test. “Your eyes as well, obviously.”

“Obviously.” She smiled and hesitated. “I’m not entirely sure how to say this. It’s not really my place.”

“Are you wondering if my intentions toward your sister go beyond the state of friendship? If my intentions are honorable?” He chuckled. “I must advise you, your brother has already asked me that question.”

“And what did you say?”

He chose his words with care. “At that time, I said I had no intentions other than making her acquaintance.”

“And now?”

He paused and thought for a moment. Just how forthcoming could he be with Cassandra’s sister? “Might I ask you a question before I answer?”

“Please do.”

He drew a deep breath. “If I said my intention was to make your sister my wife, would your loyalty toward her compel you to tell her?”

“Most certainly not.” Lady St. Stephens shook her head emphatically. “My sister would not take such an admission well. She is convinced you will not suit, or at least that’s what she says. Whereas I,” she flashed him a blinding smile, “am convinced you will.”

He stared. “Why?”

“You needn’t look so surprised. I’ve noted the way you’ve watched her all evening when she was not aware of it.”

“I thought I was being discreet,” he murmured.

“You were, unless someone was watching both you and her as I was.” She shook her head. “I’ve seen many men watch my sister through the years. Those gentlemen interested in her as nothing more than a good match always look a bit apprehensive, a touch frightened. She has that effect on occasion.”

“I can certainly understand that,” he said under his breath.

“Those attracted because they mistakenly believe she is prone to scandal have a smug, predatory air about them. You, my lord, look at once intrigued, confident, and quite determined.”

“Do I?” He grinned. “Imagine that.”

“Beyond the way you look at her, there is the way she looks at you.”

“Really?” His grin widened, if possible. “And how does she look at me?”

“I think it would be wise not to reveal all of my sister’s secrets, even if I believe it’s in her best interests.” Lady St. Stephens laughed her sister’s laugh. “This is far and away too private a discussion to be held in public, and I feel the need of a breath of fresh air. Will you escort me to the terrace?”

“I should be delighted.”

He offered his arm and steered her through the French doors to Lady Puget’s terrace. This was an unexpected and quite delightful turn of events. Cassandra’s sister was obviously in his corner. He wasn’t sure why, and he didn’t know that it mattered. With her sister behind him, he couldn’t possibly fail. Why, who would know Cassandra better than her twin, and who better to advise him on the way to win her heart?

They stopped at the stone baluster on the edge of the terrace, overlooking the lantern-lit gardens.

“It’s a lovely night, isn’t it?” Lady St. Stephens murmured. “Practically perfect.”

It was indeed a beautiful night, just warm enough to be comfortable, with a promise of the summer to come in the air. The scent of spring blossoms lingered on the breeze. It was a perfect evening to be out of doors, under the stars. Pity the woman by his side was the wrong sister. Lady St. Stephens gazed out over the gardens for a long, silent moment, and Reggie resisted the urge toward idle chatter. Whatever it was she wished to say was no doubt important, and he could wait, regardless of how difficult the waiting was.

“My husband has an unnerving ability to find out all sorts of things other people seem to overlook. He knows people who know people.” Lady St. Stephens directed her words to him, but her gaze remained fixed on the gardens. “For example, until approximately six months ago, the infamous Lord Berkley wasn’t the least bit infamous. In fact, your reputation was not especially worse than most men of your age. Certainly, there have been some youthful misdeeds, but nothing any reasonable person would regard as true scandal.”

“You seem to know a great deal,” he said cautiously.

“Oh, I do. For example, aside from the race with my brother, most of the incidents that have fed the flames of gossip might well have been extremely exaggerated or indeed fabricated altogether.”

“They appear so, do they?” he said weakly.

“So one could conclude for whatever reason that you, my lord,” she turned to face him, “are something of a fraud.”

“I can explain.”

Although in truth he had no idea how to explain what had seemed like such a splendid plan such a long time ago. He wondered if perhaps there had been too much brandy involved when he’d first conceived his absurd project—otherwise how could he have thought that something so ridiculous was a good idea?

And obviously Marcus’s judgment had been seriously impaired that night as well.

“Indeed, I should like to explain.” He raised his shoulders in a helpless shrug. “I’m simply not sure exactly how to do that at the moment. It will come to me, I—”

She held out a hand to stop him. “Oh, I’m certain you can explain plausibly with a bit of reflection, but I’m equally certain I do not need an explanation. Your family, your finances, even your friends are more than respectable. Suffice it to say whatever your reasons for this farce, I am confident they are neither nefarious nor illegal.”

“It was really rather foolish,” he murmured.

“I have no doubt of that.”

“And perhaps not well thought out.”

“I have no doubt of that either.” She blew a long-suffering breath. “My lord, I have three brothers, a host of male relations, Effington relations at that, and a husband who was at one time rather well versed in masquerading as something he was not. I am well aware of the foibles of men.”

“Excellent.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “I cannot tell you how difficult it would be to explain something quite as stupid as—” A thought struck him, and he stopped. “Are you going to tell your sister that I am not infamous?”

“I think not.” Lady St. Stephens paused to choose her words. “My sister might not find it as…amusing as I do. For the time being I think it best to allow her to continue to believe as she does. Right now, she is not averse to having a man of your,” she bit back a smile, “infamous reputation as a friend. And friendship is an excellent way to start.”

“I am more than willing to be reformed, my lady,” he said staunchly.

“Oh, I’m confident you are.” She turned back toward the gardens, her voice casual. “Have you found her Lord Perfect yet?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Frankly, I don’t think he could possibly exist.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t really know yet.”

“Are all your plans this well thought out, my lord?”

He chuckled. “It might not appear so, but on occasion they have worked out rather well.” A serious note sounded in his voice. “Regardless of the wager between Miss Effington and myself, I am quite determined to win her heart and her hand.”

“And I, my lord, am prepared to do everything in my power to help you achieve that goal.”

He studied her profile curiously. “Why?”

“Because my sister has always been completely sure of herself and her decisions and her opinions. She has never felt the tiniest need to keep them to herself.” She slanted him a sharp glance. “You’re aware of her penchant for outspokenness, I assume?”

“Good God, yes.”

“You would have to be dead not to be.” She laughed, then shook her head. “You have made Cassie question herself. Doubt that she is right. I have never seen that before. It’s quite significant.”

His spirits rose. “Then I have a chance?”

“A very good one, I should think.” She turned to face him and smiled in a conspiratorial manner. “I have no idea what the end result will be of this game between the two of you, but it should be most entertaining.”

“For you, perhaps,” he said wryly.

“She doesn’t know it yet—and I’m not at all certain you realize it yet either—but you, my lord, are very much my sister’s Lord Perfect.” She grinned. “And God help you both.”

Seven

The biggest advantage men have over women is that we are not always as stupid as they think we are. It is, however, best not to let them know this.

Thomas, Marquess of Helmsley

“Y ou seem exceedingly on edge this evening, Miss Effington,” Lord Berkley said idly. “Is there anything amiss?”

“Not at all, my lord.” The calm note in Cassie’s voice belied the very real fluttering in her stomach. “If anything, I am not used to walking alone with a gentleman along a darkened garden path.”

“It’s an excellent, well-maintained path. There are any number of lanterns placed along the walk to light the way. We are scarcely out of sight of the terrace and the ballroom windows. In addition, your sister and her husband are but a few yards behind us.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Around that bend, I believe. Out of view for the moment but close enough to come to your assistance should you feel the need to scream for help.” A distinct note of amusement sounded in his voice.

“I doubt that will be necessary,” she said coolly.

“No, of course not. We have already determined that you are probably far stronger than you appear.

Why, if anything, I should be the one grateful to have rescue so near by.”

She resisted the impulse to smile. “I should hate to have to hurt you.”

“I shall do everything possible to avoid that.” He grinned. “Probably.”

She laughed in spite of herself, noting in the back of her mind how quickly he had put her at ease.

“It’s a lovely night for a stroll, under the stars, with a friend by your side.” He glanced at her. “Don’t you think so, Miss Effington?”

“I do indeed, my lord, but,” she drew a deep breath, “I should like to discuss our wager if you don’t mind.”

“Ready to concede defeat so soon?”

“Not at all.” They rounded another bend in the path, and she wondered how far back Delia and St. Stephens were; she wasn’t sure if she wanted them to appear at any moment or not at all. It was an extremely dangerous thought. “I simply think it’s not entirely fair.”

“I see. Having a difficult time finding Miss Wonderful for me, are you?”

“Don’t be absurd.” The path split around a circular plot complete with a garden bench, small fountain, and a tall yew pruned into a spiral to piary.

“Now that’s absurd.” Lord Berkley stared at the tree.

“I rather like it.” Cassie’s gaze traveled upward along the line of the yew reaching toward the stars. “It has symmetry and order.”

“Perfect, would you say?”

“In its way,” she nodded, “yes, I think so.”

“Some would say perfection is already found in nature and the shaping of a tree like this into a confined form is an aberration.”

“Would you?” She cast him a curious glance.

“Possibly.” He nodded thoughtfully. “It seems to me forcing something, be it a tree or whatever else, into a shape it’s not meant to be is rather a pity. Goes against its true nature, its purpose in life, if you will. One should be true to one’s nature I should think.”

“Unless one’s true nature is unacceptable,” she said under her breath.

“Did you say something?”

She started. Had she actually said that aloud? She forced a lighthearted laugh. “I was thinking aloud I fear, but nothing of significance, I assure you.”

“I doubt that.” He clasped his hands behind his back and studied the yew that now oddly seemed considerably less than perfect. “As your purpose here is to discuss our wager, I can only assume your thoughts were directed toward the problems encountered in finding a Miss Wonderful and furthermore how you can gracefully escape our bargain.” He cast her a solemn look, but his eyes twinkled.

“However, I assure you, Miss Effington, I shall still expect my forty pounds.”

“You what?” She stared in disbelief. “If we both agreed to call off—”

“Oh, but I have no intention of agreeing.”

“Very well, then, do be sure to set aside my forty pounds, as I have no doubt as to the winner of this contest. You are far and away too sure of yourself, my lord.” Without thinking, she stepped closer and stared up at him. “I’ll have you know, Miss Wonderfuls are remarkably plentiful. There are a dozen or so who would suit more than adequately in the ballroom at this very moment.” She shook her head mournfully. “I fear your standards are not overly high.”

He laughed. “And yours are too high.”

“I agree.”

“You do?” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why?”

“Because you’re right.” She shrugged in a nonchalant manner. “I am more than willing to admit when I am wrong.”

He studied her for a moment, then shook his head. “You are not.”

“I am not what?”

“We have not known one another very long, but you do not strike me as the kind of person who admits when she’s wrong or even admits the possibility that she could be wrong. Ever.”

“What I am willing to admit right now, my lord, is that I am usually correct, and I do detest having to acknowledge those rare moments when I’m not right. This, unfortunately, is one of them.”

“What, precisely, are you wrong about?” he said slowly.

“Lord Perfect. I’m not at all sure such a man could possibly exist.” She sighed in resignation. “Men, by their very nature, are not perfect.”

“We aren’t?” He raised a brow. “Are you sure?”

“I have it on good authority.”

“Do you?” He stared down at her, and at once she realized how very near to him she stood. “What of women?” His words were light, but an odd intensity underlay them, as if he too now realized how close they were. “Are women perfect?”

“Of course not.” She should step away, put distance between them, but she couldn’t seem to move. Or didn’t want to. “Well, not all of us.”

His gaze slipped from her eyes to her lips and back. “Are you perfect, Miss Effington?”

She swallowed hard. “I fear I have a great many flaws.”

“What are they?” His voice was mellow and seductive.

“My flaws? I…” I want you. You are entirely wrong for me and will lead me irrevocably into scandal and I don’t care. I want you and all wanting you means. “I…”

“Yes, Miss Effington?” His voice was a caress and shivered through her blood. She drew a deep breath. “You do realize this is highly improper, don’t you?”

“What is highly improper?” His eyes reflected the light from a nearby lantern.

“You are standing entirely too close to me.”

“And I thought it was you who were standing entirely too close to me.”

“One of us should certainly step away.” She couldn’t move.

“Indeed, one of us should.” He didn’t move.

“You are not employing your rakish ways on me, are you, my lord?” It was oddly difficult to breathe, as if they stood in a confined enclosure instead of under the stars. “I assure you they will not work.”

“You offend me greatly, Miss Effington. We have agreed to be no more than friends.”

“Do you always stand so close to your friends?” She resisted the urge, the need, to reach out and lay her hand on his chest to feel the rise and fall of his breathing.

“Whenever possible, Miss Effington,” he murmured, his voice low and altogether too intimate for mere friendship, “whenever possible.”

Brush her fingers along the side of his face to feel the warmth of his skin. “You have me at a disadvantage, my lord.”

“I can’t imagine any man ever having you at a disadvantage.”

Press her lips to his to feel his breath mingle with hers. “Nonetheless, you do.”

“Good.”

“Good?” Fling her arms around him and revel in the heat of his embrace.

“I like having you at a disadvantage. It’s second only to having you quiet.”

She drew a ragged breath. “That’s one of my flaws. I talk entirely—”

“Yes, yes, I know. You are also stubborn and opinionated and no doubt have a host of other faults but,”

determination snapped in his eyes, “damn it all, Miss Effington, Cassandra, there is something about you and I cannot endure this charade another minute.”

Without warning, he grabbed her, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her hard. His lips pressed firmly against hers in a manner hungry and demanding and altogether proprietary. As if he were claiming her for his own, marking her as his. He tightened his arms around her, slanted his mouth over hers, and deepened his kiss. He tasted of champagne and all things delightful and forbidden. Her knees weakened and her toes curled inside her slippers and she wanted to stay in his arms forever and plunge with him into scandal and ruin.

He pulled his lips from hers and stared into her eyes. “Do forgive me.” He held her a moment longer as if debating with himself, then nodded firmly, released her, and stepped back. “That was most improper.”

She swayed slightly on her feet and struggled to maintain her balance and catch her breath. “I don’t…

well certainly…that is I’m not…”

“My apologies, Miss Effington.” He adjusted the cuffs of his coat. “Now, slap me.”

“Slap you?” She could barely stand, scarcely breathe properly, and all she could think about was whether he would kiss her again or, better yet, when—and he wanted her to slap him? The man wasn’t just infamous but insane.

“Yes, at once. That’s what you said you would do if I kissed you.”

“I know, but—”

“I insist,” he said firmly.

“No.” She hid her hands behind her back. “I won’t.”

“You must.”

She shook her head slowly. “I do appreciate the offer, but I would prefer not to.”

“Nonetheless, you declared you would slap me, and I think you should.”

“I have changed my mind.”

“Miss Effington, there is a principle involved here.” An unyielding note rang in his voice. “I would not want to be the cause of you going back on your word.”

“It wasn’t a solemn vow,” she scoffed. “I did not take a blood oath, after all.”

“Nor did you spit on your finger, but it did seem like a promise to me.”

“Nonetheless, I did not mean it to be.”

“But you did say it.”

“Well, yes, I suppose—”

“And you did mean it, did you not?”

“Certainly at the time I may—”

“Then you should. Indeed, I would be doing you a disservice if I allowed you to—”

Without thinking she cracked her gloved hand across his face, the dull smack echoing in the night air. He sucked in a sharp breath.

She clapped her hand over her mouth.

“I see I was right,” he said slowly. “I suspected it would be painful.”

“I am so, so sorry.” She stared in horror. How could she? “I can’t believe I just did that. I don’t know what came over me. I have never hit a man before. I have never hit anyone before.”

“Really?” He rubbed his cheek gingerly. “I can scarce imagine what you might accomplish with a bit of practice.”

She winced in sympathy. “Does it hurt a great deal?”

He huffed. “Yes.”

“It’s your own fault, you know.” She pulled off her gloves, laid one over the back of the bench, and dipped the other in the fountain. “You made me do it.”

“I didn’t know you would do it with quite so much enthusiasm.” He eyed the wet glove. “What are you going to do with that?”

“Sit down.” She nodded at the bench and wrung the water out of the glove.

“Why?” Suspicion sounded in his voice, but he sat. “Will you be hitting me with a wet glove now as well?”

“Don’t be absurd.” She settled beside him and carefully patted his cheek with her glove. “Does that help?”

“Somewhat.”

“I didn’t want to hit you in the first place.”

“I didn’t really think you would,” he muttered.

“Neither did I.” She sighed. It was difficult to see in the dim light cast by the lanterns, but there was a faint red mark on his cheek that would no doubt fade momentarily even without her ministrations. Still, she rather liked patting his face and sitting this close to him. “I feel quite badly about this.”

“As well you should.” His brows pulled together. “I’ve never been slapped before.”

“Never?” she said mildly. “I would think a man of your reputation had been slapped on more than one occasion.”

“You would be wrong.” The corners of his mouth quirked upward in a reluctant smile. “Again.”

“I never used to be the kind of woman who would slap a man over a mere kiss.”

He raised a brow. “Mere?”

Heat rushed up her cheeks and she ignored him. “I used to be rather more, well, fun, than I am now. In truth, I was the twin everyone expected would become embroiled in scandal.”

“I know. Because you speak your mind.”

She nodded. “Yes, but beyond that I’ve always been more impulsive and adventurous than Delia. She’s always been the quiet sister.”

“The quiet ones are usually the ones who surprise you,” he murmured.

“Probably because no one watches them as closely and therefore they have a greater opportunity,” she said wryly. “Do you know about my sister?”

“No more than the usual gossip. If I remember correctly, she unexpectedly and hastily married a rather scandalous—”

“Infamous.” Cassie smiled.

“Infamous baron who died shortly thereafter, and I believe she married St. Stephens far sooner than propriety dictated. Is that right?”

“For the most part.” She should probably stop patting his face with her glove, now merely damp more than wet, but it did seem like the very least she could do. “I have been rather more concerned with my own behavior ever since.”

“Do you think the scandal surrounding your sister ruined her life and resulted in her spending the rest of her days in dire distress? She certainly does not seem especially unhappy to me.”

“She’s not.” Cassie laughed. “Delia is blissfully happy.”

“So, she did everything she wasn’t supposed to do, everything considered quite improper and highly scandalous, yet her life has turned out well?”

“I know what you’re trying to say.” She pulled her hand away, but he caught it in his.