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He narrowed his eyes. “You will have to learn that there are consequences to your behaviour, Cassandra.”
She guffawed in disbelief. “You’re one to talk! Your behaviour towards me has hardly been ethical.”
He shrugged dismissively. “I think you got just what you deserved, perhaps not even quite enough of it.”
Everything he said served to further convince her that what they’d shared had come about purely because of his need to avenge his cousin. She closed her eyes against the hurt of that realisation and then opened them, locking her stare with his. And in that fierce blue gaze she communicated all of the hate she felt for what he had done. “You met me three months ago. Why has it taken you so long to get to this point?”
His expression was unapologetic. “Use your imagination, Cassandra.”
She arched her brows disdainfully, but inside, she was aquiver with feeling. “Sex?”
“I admit, that part of our scenario was an unexpected bonus.” His lip twisted into a cynical smile and Cassandra cringed inwardly. She had seduced him, after all. He had been a perfect gentleman – or so she had thought at the time! Now, in retrospect, she realised he had probably loathed spending every minute with her on that first date. Afterwards, she’d practically made it impossible for him to say no. She’d never felt anything like that desire before, and she had believed they were both on their way to being deeply in love. What a mad, stupid fool she had been!
“You knew everything you needed to know about me after our first date,” she coloured, remembering that night that had ended with such wild abandon. “You should have called Peter and Alyssia then,” she remarked stiffly.
“You’re right.” He shrugged, as if it had been no skin off his nose either way. “I admit, that was rather selfish of me.”
She raised an eyebrow quizzically.
“I had always wondered about the spoilt little Lady Cassandra Hervey, who’d been such a first-rate bitch to my cousin. Alyssia is all that is kindness and love, and yet, you treated her like a sewer rat.” His face was suddenly tight with emotion. “I wondered what you were really like. I swore that I would give you a piece of my mind, if ever I had the opportunity. And then, I had a chance to get to know you for myself. I thought you might speak about your father and your stepmother, but you were resolutely silent on that matter.”
Her eyes flashed with remorse as she recalled his various attempts to question her family background. She rarely spoke of her old life, Before Sydney, and so it had just become second nature to her to deflect questions about her past.
He was looking into the distance, his handsome features awash with memories. “As the days went past, I couldn’t reconcile Kate Harris to Lady Cassandra Hervey. I realise now what an incredible adept liar you are. Even better than I had imagined. I wonder, is there a history of psychopaths in your family?”
She sucked in a deep, shaking breath, spinning away from him. “Go to hell,” she muttered, and stalked off towards the kitchen. She stifled a cry as her ankle sent up a sharp pain and, with hands that shook slightly, she flicked on the kettle. As the water slowly heated, she sagged against the counter, emotionally drained from the revelations of the morning.
She could still run. He couldn’t watch her constantly. Benedict Savarin was a busy man. She’d have an opportunity to sneak out at some point. And she knew wiry old Frank in the lobby would pose little opposition. If she had to, she’d wrestle him out of her way. Or bribe him with Bingo tokens.
An image of her fath
er flashed into her mind and she almost cried out with the sadness she felt. It hadn’t been easy, running away from her dad. But when her mother had died, he’d done everything he could to distance himself from Cass. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to forgive him for being so insensitive to her needs, but he was still her father.
Benedict had started keeping a stock of peppermint tea bags when they’d first began to date. The New Cassandra rarely drank alcohol, or caffeine, and he had gone out of his way to oblige her clean living lifestyle. He’d even gone jogging with her most mornings, despite his declaration that running on the pavement seemed like a pointless waste of time when you could just as easily drive. When she’d countered that it was about staying in shape, he’d responded suggestively that there were far more pleasurable measures of maintaining fitness at their disposal.
They’d done plenty of that together, too.
She watched as the teabag stained a dark green colour into the water. Meeting Ben had seemed like kismet. Right from the beginning, she’d felt the strangest sense of connection with him. It had shaken her to the core to feel so strongly about a stranger. Now, she felt disgusted. Disgusted in him, for hiding their true connection, and disgusted in herself for being such a naive twit. She’d been hurt by enough people in the past to know better. When you trusted someone with your heart, you were asking them to hurt you.
Her heart.
Her damned heart. It still loved him. Despite his duplicity. Despite the fact he obviously shared his cousin’s opinion of her. Despite the fact he had betrayed her to the press, and her family, she still felt her heart throb painfully with love for him.
What would he do if she fled? He really couldn’t keep her locked up in his penthouse apartment indefinitely. Her temper back under control, she carried her tea cup through to the open plan living area. Not wanting to show how her ankle hurt, she leaned against the door jamb and cleared her throat. Benedict was at the table, flipping through the morning’s papers, looking to all the world like he hadn’t a care in the world.
He flashed her a distracted glance that showed he had barely registered her intrusion, then returned to the article he’d been reading.
“I’m curious,” she said, to get his attention.
“About what, Cassandra?” He sighed heavily.
“How exactly do you plan to keep me here?” She sipped on her tea, regarding him over the glass rim.
“I took your passport out of your handbag while you were in the kitchen,” he said pragmatically, not looking away from the paper.
“You did what?” She shouted, storming over to him regardless of her tender ankle and slamming her cup down on the table.
“And your purse.” He added, as though he was simply listing things they needed from the grocery store.
