The conviction in his tone encouraged her to yield. His scent surrounded her, the mint of his tooth powder, faded cedarwood and musk. He didn’t move an inch, not until the fire crackled as a log split, and with the snapping noise he flinched, and Colonel Bishop’s warning rang in her mind.
He’s dangerous.
But he wasn’t dangerous. Not to her. The danger lie in what would happen if someone found them together. The two of them alone in a glasshouse was even more dangerous. Taking the risk with him, knowing the many ways the night could end.
She met Seth’s earnest eyes, set aside her pride, and asked, “We won’t get caught?”
He beamed when she placed her hand in his.
“I promise.”
Chapter Fifteen
When Cassandra met Seth for the first time, she was eight and he was twelve. As a young girl without the opportunity to meet other children, she was curious about Matthew’s new friend. A strange black-haired boy with bright eyes that overlooked her. He talked too loudly and played too hard, running in and out of the house with mud on his shoes. Matthew wouldn’t let her play with them. No one wanted sisters on frog hunts. So, she decided she wanted nothing to do with frogs or boys.
But when she was twelve, and he was sixteen, she thought maybe boys weren’t too bad. Especially not boys wearing the uniform of a Royal Military Academy cadet. Seth exuded confidence, preening in her family’s sitting room, striking in a dark blue tailcoat with glimmering silver buttons and mirror-polished hessian boots. Like a frog that turned into a prince from a fairy tale. On the settee, her mother clasped her hand and whispered,“My, isn’t he handsome?”Cassandra’s young heart filled with girlish daydreams of a soldier fighting valiantly for her honor, though she hadn’t known then what that meant.
When she was twenty-two and he was twenty-six, she learned what it meant for a soldier to fight. War took the brightness from Seth’s eyes and replaced them with shadows underneath. In some ways, he hadn’t changed at all. He still talked too loudly, was always filthy, and spent all of his time with Matthew. In other ways, he was quite different. Hehad a beard. His princely handsomeness replaced with rugged masculinity. The same eyes that used to overlook her studied her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention.
One quiet night while reading, she caught him lingering in the doorway, watching her with the expression of a man that had glimpsed heaven, only to be turned away at the gate. No one had ever looked at her that way. Flushing, she smiled at him, and the brilliant smile he gave her in return set the world to rights. The light in his eyes restored, and her mother’s words came to her mind.
“My, isn’t he handsome?”
When those childhood dreams came knocking, they too had grown up, and she was as powerless to fight them as she was to act on them. In a moment of weakness, she had foolishly written them down.
All of them.
He had them in his pocket.
“Did you steal the key?” she asked as he fidgeted with the lock to the glasshouse.
“You believe I would do such a thing?”
“Yes,” she quipped. “I absolutely do.”
He shushed her and lowered his voice.
“I borrowed it. Does that make you feel better?”
The lock clicked open.
“Without permission?”
“Am I allowed to do something nice for you, or not?”
“I would prefer it if the nice things you do for me are legal.” Cassandra looked over her shoulder for the third time. “I’ve never broken into anything before.”
Behind her, the manor emanated dim orange light from a handful of windows. If anyone were to look out, they would see two shadows alone in a clearing next to a cathedral of wrought iron and glass, illuminated by moonlight.
“Well you’re doing a poor job of it.” He brought his finger to his lips. “The first rule of stealth is silence.”
“You sound like Caroline,” she grumbled.
Seth held a hand to his chest with a winsome smile. “She is my second favorite Cooper sibling.”
The double doors to the glasshouse opened, greeting Cassandra with a gust of warm, humid air that carried with it the scent of wet soil. Inside, stone steps led through rows of raised beds with sleeping plants. Blooms abounded, roses, orchids, peonies. Young trees lined the walls as vine plants stretched skyward, trained along the support beams to give an orderly appearance. Everything pruned with precision, not a spare leaf on the ground.
What she wouldn’t give to have something like this at Cooper House. Enough garden space to feed the estate year round. They had the water for it. With a frown, she reminded herself that Lincolnshire wouldn’t be her home for much longer.
