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“And I recall that you laughed delightedly and told me it was a fine idea. You also told me that you were not a featherweight and trusted that I would be strong enough to oblige you. It required a great deal of resolution, Cassandra, not to oblige you.”
A reluctant smile appeared, deepening the dimples on either side of her mouth. “I do not remember how it happened, but you escorted me to dinner. You filled my plate and I choked on my lobster patty because I was laughing at one of your stories. You called me graceless while you thumped me on the back. I thought you very nice, and terribly amusing.”
“Do you not remember what else I said to you?”
She dropped her eyes from his face, and said in a voice dulled with insight, “You told me that you would be delighted to provide me instruction, since one day I would doubtless be called upon to fill a position of importance.”
“Not precisely, but your memory is accurate enough. And the day I offered to mount you on an Arabian mare that I doubted you could handle. You coldly informed me, your eyes twinkling all the while, that you were quite up to snuff and could manage any piece of horseflesh from my stable. I recall that you would have taken a nasty spill had I not, at the last moment, lifted you off the mare’s back.”
“Have you forgotten nothing?”
“Anything that concerns you, I trust not. I think you much liked being held in my arms, though you did not guess what it was that I was feeling for you. You quite artlessly confided in me that it appeared that I was certainly strong enough to oblige you.”
Myriad other memories flashed through her mind, memories that now held new significance. What pained her most was that all the memories were pleasant, all filled with his wit and kindness. Oddly enough, she recalled now how some ladies had regarded her with suspicion, had treated her coldly; she had thought it was her youth, her inexperience. She saw now that it was jealousy, jealousy of her attachment to the earl.
“What are you thinking, Cassandra?”
“Nothing. I don’t wish to speak any more about the past.”
“Doubt it not, Cassandra, I will not change in my feelings for you.”
“Nor will I, my lord.” She saw that his eyes had fallen to her naked breasts, and she clutched wildly at the cover. His hand stayed hers.
“Leave me be. I don’t want you.”
He cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at her and lowered his mouth to hers.
Please, I don’t want to feel anything. I don’t want your passion.
She shoved at his shoulders and bucked her hips upward to push him away from her. Her mind fought him even as his body smothered hers, pressing her into the soft featherdown. His mouth closed over her breast, and his tongue caressed her. She felt her body urging her to surrender to him, to give in to her own senses, and her struggle dimmed, her mind releasing her, more quickly, more easily this time. She tangled her fingers into his thick hair, and tugged at him eagerly to bring his mouth back down to hers. She parted her lips to him and returned his kisses, frantically, urgently.
When he reared over her, she wanted to feel the power of him. He surged deep within her, possessing her, and she sobbed aloud, clutching his back. Shuddering waves of pleasure coursed through her and she could do naught but cling to him, moaning her climax into the hollow of his throat.
“Ah, Cassandra,” he whispered, his breath warm against her lips. He pulled her onto her side, and took his own pleasure.
It was nearly ten o’clock at night. The earl rose from his desk, closed the ledger book, and stretched. He gazed at Cassandra, who was curled up on the settee, seemingly absorbed by the novel she was reading.
A smile turned up the corners of his mouth. Two fingers wrapped and unwrapped a long curl that fell over her shoulder. It was a habit of long standing, one that he remembered from over a year ago. The blue silk gown she wore was cut low over her breasts, with no adorning lace to hide the expanse of rounded white bosom. He pictured her freed from her chemise, and the feel of her breasts in his hands.
He smiled again to himself. During the last several days her struggle against him had become but a nominal reluctance. Actually, he amended to himself, that was not true of the days, only the nights. During the day, she lashed out at him, her temper, it seemed, made more acid because she gave herself to him willingly at night.
He walked over to her and held out his hand. “It’s time to go to bed, Cassandra.”
She shrank back against the brocade cushions and did not reply.
“Cassandra,” he repeated softly, closing his fingers over her bare arm.
She pulled away. “I am not the least tired, my lord, and have no wish to go to bed.”
There was something in her eyes, now resting fleetingly upon his face, that held him silent for a moment.
“You like the novel so very much, my dear?”
“Oh, yes,” she said quickly, too quickly, pulling the slender volume close to her chest. “It is so very interesting, my lord, that I have no wish to put it down until I have finished it.”
“Perhaps I should provide you with a tutor.”
She stared at him, at sea.
