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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

C assia opened her eyes, and when she did, she remembered she was not in her bed, in her own bedchamber. Instead, she was curled beneath the thick coverlet on Rolfe’s bed.

So it hadn’t been a dream.

She rolled onto her back and stretched her arms high above her head. She couldn’t remember ever having had such a restful night without the assistance of a laudanum bottle. There had been no nightmares to plague her.

As she thought back on it, remembering the events of the night before, she didn’t know what had possessed her to walk all that way, two doorways down from her own, to Rolfe’s chamber.

She’d been in her chamber, thinking back on the day when she’d returned from ministering to Catherine at Whitehall.

Rolfe had asked her about her plans for the future, and she’d begun to consider a life away from the royal court, even away from London.

Should she travel? Or perhaps settle in the country?

It had taken little time for her to come to the conclusion that whatever she did, whatever course her life would take, she wanted Rolfe to be in it, today and each day after that.

Cassia slid her legs over the edge of the bed. She noticed the splotches on the bedsheet beneath where she’d been lying. She remembered how shocked Rolfe had been, how utterly disbelieving when he’d realized she was not—had never been—the king’s mistress.

And she remembered how he’d regretted having hurt her, even though he hadn’t, not really. For all her neglect and avoidance of parental responsibility, it was the one thing her mother had told her about—“The Punishment of Eve,” she had called it.

Cassia just hadn’t been prepared for the suddenness of it. It had startled her, that feeling of being completely overtaken by him, and she had cried out instinctively.

But then she’d felt things she never had before, feelings only Rolfe could give her. Unlike anything that she could have imagined, now Cassia understood why so many writers and poets filled line after line with tribute to it, this wondrous thing.

Love.

At the idea of that word, Cassia returned to the present.

What exactly was love, she mused, besides a mere word?

If what she had experienced, and what she still felt in the light of morning, could actually be labeled by a single word, surely it should be more significant than just those four letters.

Was love wanting to share things with another, things you would never dare admit to anyone else?

Was it the sense of safety, of peace and freedom you felt when you were held in that person’s arms?

For if it was, if this was what love consisted of, it was surely how she felt with Rolfe—how she’d never felt with anyone else in her life.

Cassia thought of Mara and Hadrian, of the looks the two would exchange as if they were speaking volumes without having ever uttered a word. If all this and more went into that one little word, Cassia thought to herself, smiling, then she supposed she must be in love with Rolfe.

It was thus that Rolfe found her when he came to the doorway, sitting on the edge of the bed, feet dangling just above the floor, a whimsical smile on her face that filled him with more warmth than he’d felt in a long time.

“Good morning, Cassia.”

She looked over to him. She never lost that happy smile. “Good morning.”

She stood, came before him and rose up on her toes, kissing him gently on the cheek.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“For not shooting me last night.” She slanted him a playful glance, adding, “among other things.”

Rolfe pulled her fully into his arms and kissed her soundly. He loved that she no longer stiffened and went cold in his arms. Instead she was open to him, giving, and returned his kiss with a passion that left him wanting nothing more than to throw her back on the bed and make love to her again.

“If we continue along this vein, my lady, we won’t be seeing anyone until well after midday.”

She nibbled at his ear.

It took every ounce of willpower Rolfe possessed to set her back from him.

“Believe me when I say that I would love nothing more than to return with you beneath the bedclothes, but there is still the matter of proving your innocence. It is my duty to bring that matter to a conclusion, and it is a duty I will not abandon.”

“Always duty,” she said.

“Always duty.”

When Cassia and Rolfe arrived at Whitehall Palace later that evening, they did not alight from the hackney coach before the palace gates. Instead they went in through a side entrance near the Holbein gate, one that would lead them more easily to Lady Castlemaine’s apartments.

They came to the closed double-door entrance where a footman awaited, bearing a candle.

“Good evening, my lord, my lady. Welcome to Lady Castlemaine’s private apartments. If you would, please follow me inside.”

He turned the handle to open one of the doors.

The room on the other side was in complete darkness, but beyond, they could hear the faint sound of laughter and the murmur of discussion coming from somewhere farther inside.

Cassia and Rolfe followed the footman as he led them through a series of darkened rooms and hallways until they came to one final closed door.

There awaited yet another footman who, at their arrival, threw open the door and announced them to the assembly.

Their hostess, it seemed, was waiting to greet them. She sauntered forward in a gown that was resplendent and golden. “Good evening, my friends. I am so pleased you were able to come. Please, give the footman your cloaks and come in to the salon to join the others.”

They were led into a large and spacious room, at the center of which was a long table that, at first glance, looked as if it could have easily seated fifty.

Most of the people seated were so engrossed in conversation, they hardly gave their arrival notice.

On the floor, reclining upon a mound of pillows, Cassia noticed Barbara Palmer’s underling, Lord Talbot.

His rounded belly strained at the fastenings of his waistcoat as two young ladies on each side of him fed him morsels of fruit.

A small orchestra had set up in the corner, playing softly. But no one seemed to notice. Most were too busy eating, drinking, or losing their guineas at the adjacent gaming tables, to pay the musicians any mind.

Lady Castlemaine directed Rolfe and Cassia to the far side of the dining table where two places across from one another sat vacant, seemingly waiting for them.

“Lady Cassia, you may sit here,” Barbara said, directing her to the first chair. “And you,” she continued to Rolfe, voice purring now, eyes twinkling in the candlelight, “you can come with me.”

She crooked her finger before she took Rolfe by the hand and led him around the other end of the table, seating him somewhat across from Cassia. In the chair beside him already sat a stunning young blonde woman.

“I believe you are already acquainted with Daphne, are you not, Lord Ravenscroft?”

Lady Castlemaine giggled then, adding, “Excuse me, but it isn’t Lord Ravenscroft any longer, now is it? Aren’t you now the Marquess of Seagrave, for having married our dear Cassia? My congratulations on having so successfully scaled the social ladder.”

Rolfe did not respond, except to say, “I am acquainted with Lady Westcott.”

Barbara smiled knowingly. “Of course you are. And of course you know her husband, the Earl of Westcott...” She searched the room.

“Ah, there he is!” She motioned toward a finely dressed man who was in conversation with Lord Talbot.

“A fine man. Definitely on the rise here at court. In fact, I understand the king intends to name him a Lord of the Bedchamber very soon.”

“My congratulations,” Rolfe said to Lady Westcott. For having already made the lady’s acquaintance, Rolfe seemed less than pleased at being placed beside her, Cassia thought. Yet, he really had no other choice.

Cassia herself was displeased that the seating arrangements would afford them little opportunity to discuss their reasons for being there. Already she was searching the room for sign of her cousin.

The place was growing noisier as more guests arrived and some of them had abandoned the dining table to pursue outside amusements.

A few were dancing. Cassia then spotted the king’s latest—and as yet most unyielding—love interest, Frances Stuart, sitting at a small side table, building a house of cards.

She was surrounded by a trio of laughing young men who were making wagers as to how high she could build the unsteady model before it came tumbling down.

Their cheers rose to a rallying crescendo when she finally placed the last card of the deck successfully at the top.

Their amusement complete, the three men turned and Cassia immediately recognized Geoffrey and with him, Malcolm, the Duke of Manton’s son, among them.

Geoffrey, in turn, soon noticed her.

He immediately came forward.

“Cassia! Good Lord—you are the last person I should have expected to see here tonight.”

Rolfe regarded him from the other side of the table. “Why is that, Montefort?”

Geoffrey’s heretofore gay expression vanished the moment he noticed Rolfe. “Ah, I see you are here as well.”

“Yes, well, being the lady’s husband, one would expect that I would escort her.”

Geoffrey’s nose twitched as if he’d just smelled something foul. “Oh, yes, I had heard rumors to that effect, though, I must admit, at the time, I believed them to be false. From your presence here tonight, I would say I was clearly mistaken.”

Rolfe stood and circled the table, coming to stand behind Cassia’s chair. He placed one hand upon her shoulder. “Clearly.”

There was a moment of tense silence until Geoffrey finally extended his hand. “Well, then, allow me to offer my heartfelt congratulations to you both.”

Rolfe shook his hand politely.