Page 13 of His Tempting Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #4)

CHAPTER 13

Three Nights To Her Decision

C assian woke up with a jolt, sweat-slicked hair plastered to his head. He wasn’t entirely sure what had woken him at first. The grey light of dawn filtered through the curtains. He blinked sweat out of his eyes.

Am I late for riding with Richard? No, no, that was yesterday. How could I let the days slip away from me like this? The deadline for my inheritance is approaching. I have to marry, and then I can only pray that we can produce an heir immediately.

A narrow hope, really.

Cassian groaned aloud, rubbing a hand over his forehead.

Abruptly, the mattress dipped, and his eyes shot open as he sucked in a breath.

A dim, white figure sat at the end of the bed, knees tucked up to her chest.

He breathed out slowly. “Emily. What are you doing here?”

Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and she wore a flimsy white nightgown. She smiled at him, her expression unreadable, and twined a long lock of hair around her forefinger.

“You don’t sound happy to see me,” she murmured, her voice a low purr. “I am surprised. After all, it’s fairly clear how much you want me. You long for me. You dream of me, don’t you? Just like you’re dreaming of me now.”

Cassian clenched his jaw. “I am a man of logic. I won’t give away my heart. I promised I would not. Just because I find you desirable—and what man would not—does not mean that you have a place in my dreams, woman.”

Dream-Emily pouted. “That’s most cruel, Your Grace. And did Matthew know, I wonder, that he was condemning you to a lonely life?”

Cassian gave a harsh laugh. “Don’t pretend you know anything about my brother or my life.”

She eyed him for a long moment, then abruptly leaned forward, resting on her hands and knees on the bed. Cassian stopped breathing.

Dream-Emily shifted forward, slowly and lithely crawling up the bed towards him. The neckline of her nightgown drooped and gaped, revealing tantalizing glimpses of small white breasts, tipped with pink. Cassian felt as though he were rooted to the mattress as she crawled closer and closer, until her hands were on either side of his hips, her face inches from his, her body hovering above him. He could feel the ghost of her breath on his skin, warm and sweet.

Up close, he could count the colors in her blue eyes. He wondered, irrationally, why she was not wearing her spectacles.

“You want me to stop pretending?” she breathed, tilting her head. “ You first, Your Grace.”

Cassian jerked awake from the hazy, dizzying dream. He half expected to find Emily Belmont still curled up at the edge of his bed, smiling wryly like a mischievous pixie. He sat up, feeling groggy and not well-rested at all.

You’re a fool , dreaming about her as if any of it means anything. You have to marry quickly, and she has to marry if she ever wants to salvage her reputation and live in peace. That’s all there is to it.

Heat still coiled in his gut, and Cassian was dimly aware of a throbbing sensation of arousal. He refused to acknowledge it, throwing back the blankets and getting angrily out of bed.

Let’s see if I’m still drooling like a love-struck boy after a good, cold wash.

He stomped across the room. There was no time for this, not today. The wretched girl might have wormed her way under his defenses, but that did not mean the game was over.

If I marry her, and have her once or twice, she’ll stop lurking in my dreams, to be sure.

He splashed cold water on his face. For some reason, that thought did not reassure him.

A tap on the door made him flinch.

“Yes?” Cassian called, trying to sound as though he’d been up for hours and not sleeping the morning away.

Last night’s ride and subsequent soaking had left him cold and shivery once he returned home.

More than once, he had found himself wishing that he had somebody waiting for him at home, perhaps with a wry smile on their face and a cup of tea in their hand, ready to hear his tale of the day and laugh with him about something or another.

That, of course, was nothing more than weakness. Strong gentlemen did not sit miserably by their fires and consider how lonely they were. Dukes certainly did not.

If Matthew hadn’t had such a soft heart, perhaps he would have been alive by now.

Cassian paused, squeezing his eyes shut. He leaned on the washbasin, breathing in and out and willing his chest to stop aching. Water dripped from his face and into the basin.

“Only me, Your Grace,” came the voice at the door again. It was, of course, Cassian’s valet—a spry dandy called Angus. “A note arrived from Mr. St. John. He wished to know if you wanted to have an early lunch with him at White’s.”

Cassian paused, thinking it over. Really, he had a good deal of work that he ought to get done before tonight. If all went to plan—and he hoped that it would—it would be a long night.

The day stretched out before him, long and quiet.

He sighed. “I’ll join him, Angus. Write back to tell him so.”

“Very good, Your Grace.”

* * *

Richard was waiting in the lounge area of White’s, puffing on a cigar. A glass of brandy sat in front of him, filling the air with a sweetish scent.

At this time of day, of course, White’s was not very busy. Around the proper lunchtime hour, it would grow busier, and busier still as the afternoon wore on towards supper and the evening.

Richard glanced up as Cassian approached and hastily stubbed out the cigar.

“Apologies, I forgot how much you hate smoking,” he remarked.

Cassian sighed, throwing himself into the seat opposite. “Don’t worry about it. You can do as you like, here. I take it the Duchess of Thornbridge recovered nicely?”

“Miss Belmont’s sister? Yes, she did. I don’t know what possessed her to go walking on such a cool day—in the rain, no less. But then I’ve heard that she is rather fearsome.”

Cassian chuckled. “Not unlike her sister.”

Richard paused, brandy half lifted to his lips. “Are you talking about Miss Emily Belmont? Fearsome ? Oh, I don’t think so. From what I’d heard, she’s as mild as milk.”

“I think anybody who thinks such is mistaken. She has a placid enough exterior, to be sure, but push beyond that and you’ll find steel.”

Richard didn’t seem convinced, but neither did he seem to want to argue the point.

“If you say so.” He shrugged, taking a gulp of brandy and replacing the glass. “How does the wooing go, by the way? Are you ready to give up yet?”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Cassian responded.

He hesitated, wondering if he should tell Richard about the outing planned for that night.

He decided against it. Even considering such an offer would destroy Miss Belmont’s reputation beyond what even her powerful family could repair, and he too would suffer for making it. Richard would certainly disapprove. He did edge towards prudishness a little at times, much to Cassian’s amusement.

He glanced up, catching Richard watching him with narrowed eyes.

“You’re up to something, aren’t you?” Richard murmured. “What is it?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Cousin. I think you are seeing plots and subterfuge everywhere.”

“And I think you are up to something. And it has to do with Miss Belmont, I’d wager. Really, Cass, I do not understand why you’re so fixated on her. Why can’t you just marry someone else? It’s not as if you’re in love with her.”

Cassian flinched. “Of course I am not. I am never going to fall in love, because I am not a fool, and I thank you to remember that.”

There was a brief silence after his sharp words.

Cassian could have bitten off his tongue. He often forgot how soft and easily hurt Richard could be.

Too late to change it now. That’s the thing about words—once they’re spoken, they can’t be taken back.

A footman appeared during the pause that followed and politely took Cassian’s order.

“I didn’t mean to snap,” Cassian muttered, once the man had gone. “You know my history, Richard. You know why I must avoid love like the plague.”

Richard sighed, rubbing the space between his eyebrows. “I know, I know. But sometimes, love just sneaks up on you.”

“And how would you know?”

He smiled faintly. “Never mind.”

The brandy arrived, and Cassian took a fortifying sip.

“Now,” he asked, “did you invite me here just to chat, or is there something you wished to discuss?”

Richard sighed, setting his drink aside. “There was something I wished to discuss. It’s about the baroness.”

Cassian frowned. “I spoke with her recently. I thought all was taken care of.”

“Apparently not. She wrote to inform me—and therefore you, of course—that Frances has returned from finishing school.”

“Earlier than planned, but I suppose that’s her business.”

“There’s more,” Richard added, leaning forward. “She wants the money you promised to set aside for Frances’s dowry. She wants it now .”

Cassian blinked, taking a moment to absorb this. “What? Whatever for? Frances’s coming out isn’t till next year. I promised the girl that money, of course, but why the urgency? Is Margaret struggling financially?”

“Not that I know of. Here, I brought the letter.”

Richard handed over a small, crumpled piece of paper with a terse note written inside. Cassian unfolded it and read, frowning faintly.

My daughter and I would be most obliged if you could send over the sum of money that was agreed upon. Frances may not choose to marry next Season, or at all, and I would not like for her to be doomed to poverty as well as spinsterhood.

I do not mean to sound grasping or greedy. I only wish for my daughter to have the same prospects next year as she has now, before other matters distract you. I know the money has been set aside, so I do not believe I am asking too much.

Write back soon.

“Well, it’s clear that something has upset her,” Cassian murmured, tossing the letter aside. “She’s underlined so fiercely that her pen has almost torn the paper. And what does she mean by my being distracted by other matters? What matter would distract me enough that I would neglect my niece?”

He spoke the final word in a whisper. He could not, of course, ever admit to anyone that he had a niece at all. It would do Frances no favors if it were revealed that she was illegitimate, and she would certainly be cut out of her inheritance.

Such as it was, of course. The Baron had been known to gamble, and at the time of his death, he was not as rich a man as he had led Society to believe. Without Cassian’s help, Frances would have been in no position to come out or attract any decent man.

Beauty was not, after all, everything that counted in Society.

“I really have no idea.” Richard sighed. “Unless she believes that your marriage will affect your care for her and Miss Frances.”

Cassian opened his mouth to give a staunch denial, but his mouth closed as his thoughts progressed.

Might Margaret feel that way? She had led a hard life. Her love had been torn away from her in the worst way. She had lived with fear, terrified that her beloved daughter would be exposed and ruined. She cared for Cassian, of course, but she had long since learned to push down and ignore her feelings, and concentrate on what was practical and logical.

Cassian had always admired that about her.

“You should assure her that you won’t leave Miss Frances out in the cold,” Richard murmured.

A gaggle of gentlemen had entered, talking and laughing, and Cassian and his cousin were forced to lower their voices to avoid being overheard.

“I don’t want to make the matter worse,” Cassian responded decisively. “Write a note back to her on my behalf. Tell her I’ll consider her request, but that she risks the money being eaten up by other things. Not the Baron’s debts, of course—I took care of those myself. But still. I don’t object to Frances possessing her dowry, whether she marries or not. I’d hoped she would marry—it provides security—but I’d be the last man in the world to insist.”

Richard nodded slowly, thinking it over. “The Baroness is a fine mother, to be sure. Miss Frances is lucky to have such a woman to care for her. I still think you should visit them and straighten things out.”

Cassian said nothing for a moment, drumming his fingertips against the brandy glass.

“I don’t want to create an issue out of nothing,” he said, at last. “Margaret can be… well, she can be a little paranoid. If she’s afraid I will shirk my duty to Frances, then only time and my good conduct will disabuse her of that notion. I shall let my actions speak for themselves.”

As he spoke, his gaze flitted to the heavy grandfather clock in the corner of the room. It was barely half past twelve. He had nearly twelve hours to go before he could see Miss Belmont again.

That brought up another worrying question—would she even be waiting for him?

It was a real possibility that Cassian would arrive on the rain-washed streets that night and find nobody waiting for him. He might find out that Miss Belmont was inside, safely tucked up in bed and determined to ignore the roll of carriage wheels on the road outside. He might even find a furious Lady St. Maur waiting for him.

And then what? Ignoring him would be the most proper thing for Miss Belmont to do, of course.

Lord, I pray that she waits for me, he thought with a shiver. That shiver was a little too close to being out of control, and he cleared his throat, glancing at the clock again.

Two minutes later than the last time he looked. Wonderful.

“But surely a little call wouldn’t do any harm?” Richard tried again.

It took Cassian a moment to recall what they were speaking of.

“Margaret will be fine,” he said firmly, “and so will Frances.”

“But—”

“Let me handle this, Richard. I know what I am doing.”

Richard sighed, clearly disagreeing, but he dropped the subject.

Cassian picked up his brandy glass and glanced at the clock one more time.

Heavens, how time can drag.