Page 30 of His Tempting Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #4)

CHAPTER 30

B y the time the final guest left, the first light of dawn was creeping over the horizon.

That was to be expected, of course. Cassian had always known that only one of two choices were open to them.

One, the Prince Regent would turn up his nose at the painting or not arrive at all. In that case, people would fall over themselves to leave, probably in the hopes of pretending that they’d never arrived at all.

Two, the Prince Regent would adore the painting, and the Duchess of Clapton would be the leading lady of London, with friends everywhere, drowning in newfound popularity and fame.

Aphrodite in spectacles, indeed.

Cassian suppressed a smile.

The ballroom was now empty, the last guests having finally been ushered out. The room was a mess, of course, with food and spilled drinks littering the floor, empty and half-full glasses and cups of tea everywhere. In one place, the garlands decorating the mantelpiece had fallen down, lying miserably before the hearth.

Eight of Emily’s pictures remained on the walls. The First Day, of course, had been taken by the Prince Regent, as it was his.

Emily stood in front of the empty part of the wall, staring up at nothing at all.

To his horror, Cassian felt his heart swell at the sight of her. He wavered, wondering if it were wise to slip away. Yes, perhaps so.

He still ran through the events of that night in the carriage, cursing his foolishness. If they hadn’t arrived home at that moment, who knew what might have happened? He had been painfully aroused, mad with desire and so hungry for her touch that it had seemed like he might die without it.

It had taken more strength than he cared to admit to tear himself away, to rush up to his room and shut himself in, and then plunge his hand below his waistband to take care of matters himself.

You’re a fool. You know she wants love. Women do, don’t they? They dream of romance, of being adored. Not that men want anything different. She’ll never be satisfied with only your hand. She wants your heart.

Perhaps it already belongs to her.

He dismissed that worrying thought, conjuring up an image of Matthew in his dizzy, hollow-eyed state that night before his death. It gave him the strength he needed to turn away.

However, at that moment, Emily turned around, spotting him at the other end of the ballroom. She gave a faint, weak smile, and to his horror, he noticed that she had been crying.

His legs seemed to move of their own accord, carrying him across the ballroom to her.

“Why the tears?” he asked, as gently as he could. “You’ve been an incredible success, Emily. The Prince Regent adored the painting, and now you’re all but the Queen of Society. You are on top of the world.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” she murmured, sniffling and wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. “I… I spoke to Margaret before the Prince Regent arrived.”

Icy fingers wrapped around Cassian’s chest.

“Oh?” he began carefully. “And what nonsense did she spout this time?”

Emily glanced up at him, meeting his eyes squarely. “She is afraid that you’ll lose interest in Frances. That once you’re married and have children of your own, you’ll forget her.”

Now, that was a surprise. Cassian quite literally rocked back on his heels, as if fending off a blow.

“What madness is this?” he gasped. “Lose interest? Forget Frances? I never could, and I never would. I think Margaret was in her cups.”

Emily shook her head. “She wasn’t. She was drinking alcohol, to be sure, but not drunk. I understand why she might be afraid of it. After all, Frances is not officially your niece. They can never claim any connection. In the eyes of the world, you owe Frances nothing, not even a how-d’ye-do .”

Cassian gave a short, incredulous laugh. “Well, it is nonsense. Pure nonsense. She is my brother’s child, and frankly, I often consider her my daughter. I adore her! Is this what has had Margaret acting so strangely over the past few weeks and months? My marriage? Oh, she is a silly woman. I shall have a sharp word with her about this.”

Emily seemed almost distracted, her gaze somewhat inward-looking. She sighed, shaking her head again. “I already told Margaret that you would never abandon Frances.”

“Thank you,” he said, a little mollified. “I can’t understand why she would believe?—”

“Can’t you?” Emily interrupted, her eyes suddenly blazing. “You really can’t understand why she would distrust you?”

Cassian frowned, suddenly feeling unsteady. The ground seemed to shift underneath him, although that could have been the amount of wine and champagne he’d imbibed.

“I am not sure what you are getting at, Emily.”

Emily stared up at him, taking a careful step closer. He noticed odd details about her—the lock of hair coming loose and hanging, tangled, to brush against her neck; the faint streaks of dark red on her lower lip from wine; the gold necklace around her throat, twisted and sitting oddly.

Desire tightened its iron fist around his gut. He wanted to step forward, take her in his arms, and brush back that lock of hair. He wanted to fiddle with her necklace so that it rested correctly on her skin.

He wanted to kiss away the wine stains, sliding his tongue along her lip, tasting the fine vintages she’d drunk.

He swallowed thickly, balling his fists. He noticed, then, just how bleak her expression had become. Was it tiredness? Too much wine, too much talking, too much smiling at bland congratulations from people who had condemned her only a day before?

“Margaret has known you since you were a child,” Emily whispered. “She saw you grow up. She loves you, for your own sake and that of your brother. But she still cannot trust you, Cassian. She still isn’t sure what type of man you are. She was afraid you would abandon her and her daughter. She believes that you will hurt me and break my heart into a million pieces. She warned me about it, not out of spite or jealousy, but because it is what she truly believes. She loves you, Cassian, but she has no idea how you feel about her and Frances.”

Cassian rocked back again, the feelings of desire disappearing like dew under a desert sun.

This can’t be true. Margaret would never think of such a thing.

Would she?

Memories crept in, quiet and accusing.

When Richard told me that Margaret was upset about something, I never rushed to console her. I never concerned myself with her feelings, because I suppose I assumed she would always be there.

“You are closed off, Cassian,” Emily continued, a tinge of exhaustion in her voice. “You don’t let anybody into your heart, not even the woman you consider your sister-in-law—not even your niece. What are you afraid of?”

“What do you think I am afraid of?” Cassian rasped. “My brother died for love, quite literally. Margaret drinks herself to death and lives a life of melancholy for love. Frances will always live with a terrible secret hanging over her head because of that love. My father exploited love wherever he found it, and he was proud of doing so. Love gives others power over you, and that is that. It makes you weak, and that was what my brother warned me against.”

Emily gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Is that truly what you believe? I love my mother and my sisters, and it never makes me weak. If anything, it makes all of us strong. Do you know what Margaret said about her love for Matthew?”

“Emily…”

“She said that she doesn’t regret it. She said that it was the thing people spend their lives searching for, and she wouldn’t do anything differently.”

“I can hardly believe that,” he snapped.

Emily laughed again—a high-pitched, incredulous sound. She held out her arms to either side.

“You were right, Cassian,” she said, letting her arms fall back. “I can’t reach you. I’ll never have your heart. Nobody will, because you’ll never let them in. Even though I love you. I love you, Cassian.”

“Emily—”

“Let me finish, please.” She breathed in deeply, rubbing a hand over her face. “Here is what I have decided. I am going back to my mother’s house. Right away, we’ll begin trying for a child. I will come here every evening and stay for one hour.”

Cassian gave a harsh laugh. “How romantic.”

“There will be no romance in it. I know you need a child for your inheritance, and that was part of the bargain. I’ll fulfill my end of that bargain. As soon as I am with child, we will stop seeing each other. Once the baby is born, you can raise it as your heir. You promised me an independent life, and I’ll have it.”

Emily smiled bleakly at him. “This is how it must be, Cassian. I can’t live a loveless life. I can’t go on spending time with you every single day while knowing full well that you’ll never love me the way I love you. I’ve thought long and hard about it, and this is what I will do.”

“I will not bed you like that,” Cassian growled, taking a step forward.

She shrugged. “You will, or else you won’t bed me at all. Those are my terms. I have already ordered the maids to pack my things. My mother is expecting me. In fact, I believe she’s still here, waiting outside in the carriage. This is goodbye, Cassian.”

He stared at her numbly. “You cannot be serious. This is just a threat.”

“It’s no threat. It’s simply a promise.” She hesitated, looking up at him with a tearful smile. “I wish things had ended differently, Cassian. I truly do.”

Her hand snaked out before he could react, her fingers skimming across his cheek. Just as swiftly as it had come, the feather-light touch was gone. She lowered her head and ducked past him, scurrying across the ballroom.

Go after her, screamed a voice in the back of his head. Quickly!

It was as if his feet were rooted to the floor. He stood exactly where he was, dumbfounded, watching his wife, his duchess, disappear. Once she was out of sight, a minute or two ticked by before his paralysis seemed to lift.

Sucking in a breath, he raced forward, darting out of the ballroom and skidding down the hallway. He stepped out just in time to see Emily climbing into a carriage waiting beneath the front steps.

The paralysis came upon him again. Instead of racing forward into the night, Cassian stood motionless, watching the carriage door slam shut and the vehicle lurch forward, carrying Emily away from him.

What have I done?

* * *

“The baroness is having breakfast, Your Grace. Perhaps—hey!” the butler yelped indignantly as Cassian darted past him.

Cassian hurried down the hallway to the morning room, where he knew Margaret always took her breakfast. Sure enough, there she was, sitting coolly at the table. She did not seem surprised to see him.

“Goodness, Cassian,” she remarked, sipping her tea. “It is…” She paused, glancing at the clock. “Nine o’clock. Your party only ended three or four hours ago. Have you even been to bed?”

He gave a harsh laugh. “Of course not. Can you tell me why you told my wife that you did not trust me and that I love nobody? And do you truly believe that I would abandon Frances, my own niece? How badly must you think of me.”

Margaret held his gaze for a long moment. She did not seem shaken or even put off by his outburst.

Behind him, the butler came shuffling into the room. “Forgive me, My Lady,” he murmured. “He pushed past me.”

“It’s quite all right, Jacobs. It’s a rare man who can defy His Grace at a time like this. You can go, we shall talk here.”

Jacobs pursed his lips, bowed, and retreated.

Silence fell over the room.

Margaret set down her teacup with a clink .

“Let me be frank with you, Cassian. You have isolated yourself and shut out the world for as long as I can remember. What did you think would happen? That woman, your wife , loves you, and all you can do is flee from her like a frightened boy. I will admit, I was jealous for Frances’s sake. But then again, I have never seen you love , Cassian. All I have seen is how you push away those who care for you when they grow too close. How was I to expect that Frances would not suffer the same fate? That Emily would not suffer the same fate?”

Cassian growled, jabbing a finger at her. “This was my promise to Matthew!”

Margaret rose to her feet. “Do not invoke his name with me! Don’t you dare . You were just a child when he died, but I… I knew him like you never did. I know he wanted desperately to protect you, and I’m sure he told you what he thought was best. But my dear man, you cannot live like this.”

Cassian stood there, feeling—there was no other word for it—flabbergasted.

“How dare you speak to me like that?” he bit out.

Margaret gave a short laugh. “Oh, do give over. But let me tell you this, my dear. That girl cares for you, and you are taking it for granted. How can you not see what a gem you have in front of you?”

Cassian held her gaze for a long moment. Then, at last, his knees seemed to buckle, depositing him directly into a chair. He slumped forward, burying his face in his hands.

“She left me, Margaret,” he whispered, his voice muffled. “She packed up her things and went back to her mother’s. What have I done? Is it already too late?”

Margaret sighed deeply. “I don’t know, Cassian. I hope not.”

“Uncle?”

He flinched, spinning around at Frances’s voice.

The girl stood in the doorway, sleep-rumpled and tired, staring at him. She looked younger than ever with her hair down and a loose, plain gown billowing around her.

“Frances, I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he murmured.

She took a tentative step forward. “Did… did you say that you and Aunt Emily are quarreling?”

“Yes, we are. She is angry with me, and I suppose… I suppose I deserve it. I don’t know how to fix it. I could tell her that I care for her, but I am not sure that she would believe me. I… I don’t know what to do.”

Frances bit her lower lip, her brow furrowed in thought.

“You should make a grand gesture,” she said, nodding gently. “Do something to show her that you truly care.”

Cassian frowned. “A grand gesture?”

And then, not unlike a runaway cart crashing directly into him, an idea struck him.