Page 15 of Memories Made At Midnight (Chronicles of the Westbrook Brides #9)

The main turnpike near Stoke-on-Trent

TWELVE HOURS AND FIVE TEAM CHANGES LATER

C assius stretched his legs until his feet touched the opposite seat, then flexed his thighs. Every muscle in his body screamed for him to leap from the lumbering conveyance and stretch. God, how he despised traveling by coach, even if the company was quite exceptional.

Across from him, half turned into the seat and holding Teddy on her lap, Beatrice slept the fitful sleep of the tormented and the ill. She moved often, speaking or moaning or coughing.

Hell’s clanging bells .

It hadn’t occurred to him she might have contracted the same ailment that had sent her companion to bed.

A swift glance at his watch revealed the time was nearly half-past twelve.

The August sun shone high in the clear sky, unhindered by clouds.

Firming his mouth, he tried not to worry about why Layton hadn’t caught up to the coach yet. An experienced soldier for over two decades, his eldest half-brother knew how to take care of himself.

Cassius arched his back and flexed his arms.

This bloody coach was far too cramped.

He asked Layton to bring an extra horse for him to ride.

Confinement in a small conveyance with Beatrice proved far too provocative and tempting. His mind kept wandering to forbidden areas, and more than once, his traitorous body had betrayed him with his growing desire for her.

He despised that weakness of his flesh.

No doubt, Beatrice would appreciate having the coach to herself, and he certainly would welcome a break from the conflicting emotions assailing him regarding her.

Lucius and Cousin Torrian had dug up more information about the Earl of Highbury and, given the implications of the evidence he’d uncovered, Father had sent Layton to Brighton at once to dispatch the recent findings to Cassius. That was why Layton was at The Frolicking Fox Inn, a stroke of luck, to be sure.

Not only was the Earl of Highbury on the brink of bankruptcy, but he’d also reached out to known nefarious individuals of London’s underworld. That disturbing information had come via Fletcher, whose contacts were vast and diverse.

What purpose Highbury had in contacting known criminals, no one knew just yet.

Cassius hadn’t pieced the puzzle together, but a picture had begun to form, and it didn’t bode well for Beatrice.

She would have to be told about this new revelation, of course.

But not now.

Not until she was safe and sequestered at Hefferwickshire House and was well away from Highbury’s clutches. In truth, Cassius didn’t think she should be told about her uncle’s perfidy until she’d claimed her fortune. She would feel more in control then. Less vulnerable to her uncle’s schemes and wiles.

From beneath hooded eyelids, he allowed himself the pleasure of watching her sleep. Her eyes moving behind her ivory eyelids, she breathed through her parted peach-tinted lips, snoring softly every so often.

Probably because of her cold, but her snoring was rather endearing.

What did she dream of?

A safe and secure future?

She claimed she wasn’t interested in marriage, but was that due to past unpleasant experiences, her mother’s unfortunate fate, or truly the desire of her heart?

Cassius didn’t know her well, but from what he’d learned during their brief acquaintance and given her capacity for love and compassion toward her pets, he doubted she’d find contentment as a childless old tabby despite her protestations otherwise.

Would he be happy without children?

The point was moot.

He was determined to continue on the path that Providence had steered him down.

Sighing, he laid his head against the relatively clean seat back but didn’t permit himself to sleep. He must remain alert. Highbury’s man had found them far too easily, which confirmed Cassius’s suspicions that the earl spied on his niece.

His stomach tightened at the repugnant thoughts.

Likely, the wretch had bribed someone at the coaching inn too.

Should he ever have the misfortune of meeting the Earl of Highbury again, he’d plant the blackguard a facer, that would break his perfectly straight aristocratic nose. Not usually given to violence, Cassius shook off the unpleasant musings and directed his focus to the passing bucolic scenery.

Black-faced Shropshire sheep and white-faced, rusty-colored Hereford cattle dotted the Midland’s verdant meadows and rolling hills. Occasionally, a low moo or bleating baa sounded in the distance. A pair of turtle doves took to wing as the coach lumbered past. The distinctive whir , whir of their flight, only enhanced the early afternoon’s tranquility.

Beatrice murmured something in her sleep, and he caressed her face with his gaze.

It was the only caress Cassius would ever give her.

She wasn’t his obligation, but how could he leave her to Highbury’s evil designs?

Cassius considered himself a godly man who tried to do what was right. He wasn’t perfect by any means, but who was?

To abandon her was unthinkable. Unpardonable. Unconscionable.

Many men would have done so without a qualm.

The truth of it was, he could never forgive himself.

Regardless, once they arrived at the Latham ducal estate, he meant to turn her over to his parents’ care and wash his hands of her. Mother liked nothing better than coming to some unfortunate soul’s rescue. Father would use his considerable influence to ensure Beatrice not only claimed her inheritance, but Highbury left her alone.

Cassius’s major regret in passing Beatrice’s care to his parents was he would not finish her portrait.

Keep telling yourself that lie, and you might just come to believe it .

Nevertheless, nothing could compel him to risk his heart again, and the more time he spent with Beatrice Fairfax, the greater that possibility became. In the last few days, there’d been too many moments with her, where something tried to take root and sprout into an emotion beyond sympathy and compassion.

He curled his hands into fists.

By God, he could not allow that.

No, he would not open himself to that kind of pain and suffering ever again.

Beatrice is not Constanza .

He shoved the unwelcome thought aside.

It didn’t matter.

Besides, hadn’t he already done far more for Beatrice than most people would have done?

Indeed, Cassius had.

He owed her nothing else.

Given this unexpected interruption to his painting schedule, he’d likely not have enough paintings completed for the exhibition.

He accepted the situation for what it was rather than become vexed or disappointed.

There would be other shows.

And it wasn’t as if he’d hung his career on the British Institution’s art show.

“You look rather serious.” Beatrice’s sleep-husky voice drew Cassius’s attention back inside the conveyance. Or had her cold made her voice hoarse?

Her drowsy hazel eyes reminded him of a sleepy kitten.

She coughed into her handkerchief, her narrow shoulders shaking.

Teddy yawned and blinked his one good eye.

“I’m a good listener if you care to talk about whatever is troubling you, Cassius.”

She was troubling him, but he could hardly tell her that, now, could he?

Instead, he produced a flippant grin.

“You snore, Beatrice.”

Rather than become affronted, she raised a reddish-blonde eyebrow and gave an arch look, humor twinkling in her eyes.

“A gallant gentleman would never say so,” she said without a hint of her stutter.

He couldn’t control his shout of laughter, which caused both dogs to cock their heads and thump their tails. “Are you suggesting I’m not chivalrous?”

“Oh, my heavens, not at all.” At once, Beatrice pressed a hand to her chest, and her expression grew contrite. “Forgive me. You have more than proven your chivalry, Cassius. Please know, I meant no offense.”

“I’m not offended, Beatrice. I was but teasing.”

Leaning forward, he took her hand in his and gave her fingers a light squeeze. A lifetime of abuse at Highbury’s hands likely caused her unnecessary contrition. “You mustn’t take everything to heart.”

She raised her focus from her hand cradled in his, and their gazes locked.

Just like an enchanted moment from a fairytale, time stood still—suspended in a magical haze. He couldn’t have torn his gaze from hers if a score of armed highwaymen had descended upon the coach.

Her rosebud mouth parted, and emotion softened the corners of her eyes.

Stop this insanity !

Do not encourage her feelings or give her false hope.

Dropping her hand a trifle rougher than was necessary, Cassius reclined against the seat once more.

You’re an unconscionable cad, Cassius Nathan Everett Westbrook .