But having been proven right didn’t provide Cassie much comfort. Slightly more consoling was the fact that, during that brief period of uncertainty, she had taken control for the first time in her life. Taking control had felt good.
Amazingly good.
Everyone had been pleased with her choice, too. Only Eliza had tried to change her mind. Her godmother, Lady Asquith, and Harbury’s sister, Lady Sarah, had each separately suggested Harbury neededher.Harbury needed calm-spirited, dutiful Cassie. Virtuous. Respectable. Accommodat—
Get out of my damned bed.
She covered her mouth with her free hand, as if she could hold in her fury. Because if she let him see, let him know, he might refuse to keep his end of their marital bargain. He was to do everything in his power to help her younger sisters establish themselves in the coming Season.
“Thank you, Cassandra.”
Oh Heavens. Guilt, bitter as bile, poisoned her tongue. If he only knew the horrible things she’d been thinking, he’d never have said hername in such a soft, caressing tone!
“I ought to have asked before.” He chuckled to himself. “MayI call you Cassandra?”
Well, she wasn’tMiss Cassandrato him anymore, was she? She forced a noise she hoped sounded like assent.
“There is still steam rising from the water left by your maid,” he said. “Shall I help you clean—”
“No!” she interrupted, horrified. She just wanted to be alone.
His thumb stopped moving. He frowned. Something like victory surged through her veins.
Victory followed immediately by regret.
“No, thank you,” she amended. The anger within her was not appeased. “Please ring for Sally before you return to your chamber.”
There. She’d done it.
She’d politely let him know she wanted him to leave. Only he didn’t get out of her bed. Instead, he placed his cumbersome, very male palm against her cheek. She could smell her own scent on him.Revolting!
Well, a little revolting.
But, perhaps, also averytiny, minuscule-morsel bit intriguing, too?
“Are you asking me to leave?” His frown deepened. “Do you truly want me to go?”
No. Tell him how you have felt about him since the moment you laid eyes on him.
Tell him you’d like to try again.
Oh,good heavens. She closed her eyes. Now she hadtwoopposing voices competing in her head. Wasn’t she vulnerable enough?
Why should she give him even more ammunition by telling him the secret feelings she harbored for him, especially since that feeling—that curious, fledgling longing—was currently making her furious?
And why had she gone from bracing herself against his onslaught, toenjoyingthe feel of him moving inside of her, to furiously orderinghim out?
The distinctions between sacred, scared, and excited had blurred.
Which was she now? Scared? Excited?
Both?
Or perhapsshewas scared, becausehewas exciting.
Carnal knowledge had certainly smeared the carefully negotiated boundaries between them.
Covertly—she hoped—she moved her gaze over his features. His color was still high from exertion. His eyes, bright. His nightshirt crumpled, askew.
