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Chapter 14
That night, Cassandra lay in bed, watching the candle burn down, tensing at every sound.
Until finally she heard footsteps, the door of the next bedroom opening and shutting, and her body came alert like a cat.
She tugged off her nightcap, eased out of bed, and pressed her ear to the connecting door, listening to the sounds of Joshua moving around. A thunk—a boot hitting the floor?—and a second thunk. The clang of the poker as he tended the fire. And then—silence. No movement. No footsteps. Nothing.
He was not coming to her.
No surprise, really. After all, her day had been marked by failure—failure to persuade Lord Bolderwood to drop the case, failure to persuade Joshua to make love to her, have children, accept Isaac. Yet amid the day’s disappointments had been a world of delight: seeing him with the children, tying his cravat, their intoxicating camaraderie, the thrill of misbehaving, of laughing together, of their near kiss.
We are husband and wife, she reminded herself,however he tries to deny it. Their marriage was not what either of them wanted but it was what they had.
She tapped lightly, opened the door, and slipped into his room. He stood by the fire, his banyan tossed over breeches and shirt, staring at nothing. His hair tumbled over his forehead and the firelight licked at his features and the shadow of his next day’s beard.
“What?” he said without looking at her. “I’m busy.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
She felt like an intruder, but went to his side anyway. Perhaps he would send her away, but her longing to recapture that day’s closeness made her stubborn. Besides, if she hesitated every time she risked failure, she would be like Mama and stay in bed all day.
Finally, he shifted and inspected her with narrowed eyes. Her body responded to his gaze and she tried to ignore it. That was not what she was here for, not this time.
“That is an ugly bed jacket,” he said. “What possessed you to buy such a thing?”
“Notions of warmth and practicality, mainly.”
From Joshua, she decided, that was almost an invitation to stay. So she adjusted the lapels of his banyan, her fingertips sliding over the warm silk as her knuckles bumped against his hard chest.
“How was your day?” she said.
“You’re using polite-speak on me now?” he said. “If you’ve come to seduce me, just bloody well say so.”
Yet he did not move away. His eyes dipped to look at her mouth, before fixing on some point over her shoulder. She resisted the urge to slide her arms around his neck, to inhale his clean, spicy scent, taste his mouth again, press her body to his.
“I came to talk about Isaac,” she said.
At that, he pulled away, but she gripped his lapels and he came back to her. It felt like a prize. She flattened her palms over his chest. The heat of his skin radiated into hers and there—there—the beating of his heart. Her own heart beat faster in response and she reminded herself to breathe.
“I don’t want to talk about Isaac,” he said. “I want to talk about your bed jacket.”
“My bed jacket is not important. Your brother is.”
“No.” He frowned at her bed jacket, as though it were a puzzle he had to solve. “You have your priorities all wrong.”
“He told me he is looking for your mother and sister. I had not realized you never heard from them after they left.”
“Everyone left,” he muttered. “I think it is the bow that makes it ugly.” He fingered the offending bow and his knuckles brushed the underside of her chin. A frisson danced down her spine and rested below her belly. “It must scratch your chin. That is entirely ridiculous.”
“The fabric is soft. It doesn’t bother me at all.”
“It bothers me.”
He tugged at the bow, and she felt it loosen. He was undressing her! Oh heavens. She dragged her attention back to his family; it was more important than seduction. For now.
“It must have been difficult for you,” she managed to say. “For your mother to leave without saying goodbye.”
All his energy was directed toward untying that bow. “She had just been demoted from countess to mistress. Funny how women get upset about that kind of thing. There, much better without that bow.” He smoothed open the top of her bed jacket. His hands briefly rested on her chest, an inch above her breasts. Yet if he noticed that, or her ragged breathing, he gave no sign.
