Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she did know him.
She knew he stirred his tea three times before taking a sip. She knew he had a special, silly voice he used only for penitent puppies. She knew he was gentle with a hairbrush and precise about slicing his morning sausage. She knew the birthmark just below his belly button.
She knew how he sighed when she stroked his hair. She knew—
Someone rapped against the door, interrupting her thoughts.
“Leave us,” Harbury growled.
His tone very nearly brought a smile to her lips. Hemustcare. Perhaps not as much as he’d cared for—
“I’m sorry, Edward—”
The cut-glass feminine vowels spoken from just outside the open carriage door sent a chill through Cassie’s blood.
“—I can’t leave.”
Though Harbury continued to hold Cassie close, she felt him turn toward the window. A jolt surged through his body.
She knew who had spoken even before he said her name.
“Viv!” she heard him exclaim. “What the devil are you doing here?”
*
Harbury would havekept on clinging to his wife had she not wrenched herself from his arms while he was still reeling from theshock of seeing Vivianne. Now, short of yanking her back by the crumpled red ribbons dangling from the bonnet she’d just refixed to her head, he could think of no way to keep her by his side.
Circumstance had not reduced him to the level of a primal brute. Not yet.
Emphasis onyet.
She reached for the carriage door.
“Cassandra,” he called sharply.
She glanced back over her shoulder at him but kept hold of the door handle. Her eyes held a warning clear as day—do not give me an order.
He didn’t need to be cautioned. Still, he could not allow his wife’s honor to suffer another blow by his—or anyone else’s—hand.
EspeciallyVivianne’s.
“Give us a moment, please?” he asked Viv.
Cassandra snorted.
“Certainly.” Viv folded her arms. “Settle your little row. Take all the time you require. After all, my father has only gonemissing.”
He swore. Under his breath, this time. And then turned toward his wife with a contrite expression. Behind him, Vivianne spoke again.
“Edward—”
His name coming from Lady Pennington’s mouth acted like a fingernail grinding down slate. He shivered.Literally shivered. Cassandra must have misinterpreted his reaction as one of longing because she slowly shook her head in disbelief.
“—this is a crisis. I need you, now.”
“She needs you,” Cassandra echoed, her voice sickly sweet.
His wife opened the door, then called out for the coachman. The man appeared at once to position the stepping stool and offer his hand. She took it. Holding her head high, she stepped down.
