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Cassandra kicked him in the shin. “Whose bloody fault is that?” Unlike the others, her temper was soaring and her ability to give voice to it was rampant.
She didn’t see the rakish grin that spread across his face. “You and I could have fun living under the same roof.”
“Like hell,” She retaliated crossly. Then, trying a different tact, “Let me go and I’ll disappear. Problem solved.”
“Not quite, my dear Lady Cassandra. There’s still the question of my cousin’s missing jewellery, and your father is, understandably, eager to see you after four years apart.”
“Put, me, down,” She demanded, her voice filled with all the haughty assurance of one born to her position. Benedict merely laughed.
“Timothy, perhaps you’d be so kind as to carry the Lady’s suitcase to the garage?” He didn’t wait to see that the flat mate was doing as instructed. He didn’t need to. Benedict Savarin was used to being obeyed, and he fully expected to be in this instance as well.
She was medium height but with a slender build, and he carried her easily down the stairwell, ignoring her shrill cries of protest, until they reached her small, beat up Ford. He put her down but kept within easy reach of her. “Keys?” He demanded with an air of calm authority.
Cass, her cheeks flaming, feeling impotent and furious, handed them to him with a snarl. Her old car didn’t have a button to unlock it, so when he paused to insert the key into the driver door, she seized her opportunity. She brought her knee up to deliver a swift kick to his groin, but he was too fast. He’d grown up on the back alleys of outer Paris and he had the street fighting skills to show for it. He sidestepped her in a nanosecond, and she lost her balance, falling to the ground awkwardly. “Bloody hell,” she exclaimed, feeling pain shoot up from her ankle.
Benedict crouched down on his haunches, his face impatient and unsympathetic. “You’re fine.” He said after a cursory examination of her ankle. “It’s just a sprain. Some would call it justice.” He tacked on with a sarcastic drawl.
She looked pleadingly up at Timothy, but he obviously wanted to get as far away as he could from the situation unfolding. “Call us, to let us know you’re okay,” her flatmate said as he dropped the suitcase and loped back towards the bank of stairs.
“You’ve ruined everything,” she accused bitterly, angrily shaking off Benedict’s attempts to help her up. Her ankle was miserably painful but she refused to let him see just how excruciating it was to hobble over to her side of the car. Given the circumstances, she felt she had little option but to fall in with his plan. For now, at least.
“It seems to me you did a pretty good job of that yourself, the day you chose to steal from your stepmother and flee to the other side of the world.” He condemned harshly, opening the front passenger door for her. She shrugged off his hand as he went to guide her into the seat. She felt churlish, humiliated and betrayed.
He really thought she was a thief.
His accusation exploded in her brain. This whole time they’d been dating and making love and discovering each other, he had believed the worst of her. They had been almost inseparable for three months, but he’d just been using their relationship to keep tabs on her. She bit down on her lower lip. He had suavely convinced her that he felt just as she did, all the while he believed her capable of criminal behaviour. A burning need to throw the truth in his face festered, but she couldn’t do it. The lie she’d kept for four years held her silent.
If it had been anyone else she was protecting, she might instead have chosen self-preservation. But wild horses wouldn’t let Cass betray Nanny Kline. No one else would understand why a trustworthy family employee, a woman in her late forties, had suddenly developed a penchant for kleptomania. No, Nanny Kline’s secret was safe with Cass, and would be until the day she died.
She sat, mute, in the car, waiting for him to slide into the drivers’ seat. Except that she felt her world was collapsing around her ears, Cass could have laughed. Benedict Savarin was undeniably virile, built like an athlete, tall and strong. The sight of his large frame, beetled behind the steering wheel of her unreliable little rust bucket, was slightly ridiculous.
He turned the key in the ignition and shot her a fulminating look when it didn’t start. Again, he turned the key, and this time, the car made a sad little splutter and then stopped. “This is a joke,” He muttered. “Lady Cassandra Hervey, one of the wealthiest heiresses in Europe, serving people snack food and driving a bombed out old shit box.”
“I wouldn’t have had you pegged as such a snob,” she retorted, smarting from his condescending statement. Setting herself up with a whole new life had not been easy, but she’d done it, and she was proud of what she’d achieved, all without dipping into her family’s money.
He compressed his lips and twisted the key again. This time, the engine started with a low rumble.
“How long have you known?” Cassandra’s voice was devoid of emotion.
At least he had the decency to look discomfited by her question. “Long enough to be sure it’s you. Not long enough to understand why you did it.”
“If you knew me for ten years, you’d never understand that,” She told him truthfully, for she hadn’t done what he believed. What everyone believed. What she’d let them believe.
He navigated the small group of photographers easily enough, then pointed the car into the direction of his temporary home.
“So...” she swivelled in her seat so that her whole body faced him, and cringed as her ankle gave a burst of painful protest. “So,” she tried again, “What was the point of seducing me?”
He didn’t look at her. Nor did he speak. Cassandra persisted. “I want to know. I mean it, Ben. Or should I call you Benedict now?”
He raised his eyebrows. “You’re a fine one to talk, Kate.”
Colour stole into her cheeks at his retort.
“Tell me.” Her words were laced with a despair she could no longer hide. “What was the point of pretending to care for me? To sleep with me,” her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. An unpleasant thought occurred to her and cold fingers of dread squeezed her heart. “Was this always about revenge for you?”
“Explain that, Cassandra.” He commanded icily, nosing the car into the cavernous underground carpark of the upmarket complex he was living in.
“Those jewels...”
