Chasing Cassandra

“What about ottomans?”

The tip of the graphite pencil lead snapped and flew off the table with a ping.

Cassandra interpreted that as a no.

12:00 P.M.

“… YOU’LL HAVE TO WAKE up early if you want to breakfast with me,” Tom said. “Most of your kind stay awake half the night at balls and parties, and never arise before noon.”

“My kind?” Cassandra repeated, her brows lifting.

“I arrive at the office no later than half past eight. Working London keeps different hours than aristocratic London.”

“I’ll awaken as early as necessary,” Cassandra said.

“You may not find it worth the effort.”

“Why? Are you grumpy in the morning?”

“No, but I wake up on the go. I don’t like to linger over breakfast.”

“You must not be doing it right. Lingering is lovely. I do it all the time.” She stretched her arms and shoulders, and arched her sore upper back, her breasts lifting with the motion.

Tom stared at her, mesmerized. “I might stay just to watch you linger.”

1:00 P.M.

“WHAT ABOUT SLEEPING ARRANGEMENTS?”

Cassandra felt her stomach flip, not unpleasantly, and her face began to warm. “Perhaps we should have our own rooms, and you could visit?”

“Certainly.” Tom fiddled with the pencil. “I’ll want to visit fairly often.”

She glanced at the empty doorway before turning her attention back to him. “How often?”

Tom set down the pencil and drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “In the past, I’ve gone for long periods of time without … hang it, what’s the polite word for it?”

“I don’t think there is a polite one.”

“During a drought, so to speak, I’ve always focused my energy on work. But when it’s available … that is … when I’ve found the right woman … I tend to be …” Tom paused, mentally riffling through various words. “… demanding. Do you understand?”

“No.”

That provoked a wry grin. Tom lowered his head briefly, then slanted a look up at her. A flicker of firelight caught in his green eye and made it gleam like a cat’s. “What I’m trying to say is, I expect I’ll be keeping you busy every night, for a while.”

Cassandra nodded, coloring deeply. “It’s the husband’s right, after all.”

“No,” he said immediately. “As I said before, your body is your own. You’ve no obligation to lie with me, if you don’t want. Not ever. That’s why I agreed with the idea of separate rooms. But I would ask something of you …” He hesitated.

“Yes?”

A succession of emotions crossed his features … self-mockery … chagrin … uncertainty. “That whenever you’re angry or annoyed with me … you won’t use silence as a weapon. I can’t abide it. I’d choose any other punishment.”

“I would never do that,” Cassandra said gravely.

“I didn’t think so. But I’d like to put it in the contract, if I may.”

Cassandra studied him for a moment. The hint of vulnerability she saw just now … this was something new. She liked it very much.

Silently she extended her hand for the propelling pencil, and Tom gave it to her. She wrote, Wife will never give husband the cold shoulder, and impulsively drew a little picture beside it.

Tom’s thick lashes lowered as he looked at the page. “What’s that?” he asked.

“My shoulder. There’s my collarbone, and there’s my neck.”

“I thought it was a bird smashing into a building.” He smiled at her pretend frown and retrieved the mechanical pencil. “Your shoulder isn’t nearly so angular,” he said, drawing a smooth curve. “The muscle at the top gives it a beautiful slope … like this. And the line of your collarbone is long and straight … tipping upward here … like the edge of a butterfly’s wing.”

Cassandra admired the drawing. With just a few expressive strokes, he had captured an accurate likeness of her shoulder and throat, and the soft line of her neck leading up to her jaw. “Are you an artist, on top of everything else?” she asked.

“No.” His smiling eyes met hers. “But I’ve dreamed of you in that blue dress every night since we danced in the winter garden.”

Moved, Cassandra leaned close to kiss him.

The pencil dropped to the table, rolled, and fell to the carpet.

Time ceased its spinning, the draft of minutes broken, the world itself forgotten. Tom pulled her into his lap, and she curled her arms around his neck the way she wanted to wrap her body around him. To her delight, he let her take the lead, leaning back as she experimented with kisses, dragging her lips across his, then fastening tight and ravening slowly. She loved the silky-wet warmth of his mouth … the way his body flexed and tightened beneath her … the quiet pleasure sounds he couldn’t quite hold back. He took his hands from her and gripped the arms of the chair so tightly, it was a wonder the wood didn’t crack.

“Cassandra,” he muttered, panting. “I can’t … do this anymore.”

She lowered her forehead to his, her fingers sliding through the thick black layers of his hair. “One more kiss?”

Tom’s face was flushed, his eyes dilated. “Not even one.”

“Ahem.” The sound of someone clearing his throat at the doorway caused them both to start. West stood at the threshold, one shoulder braced against the doorjamb. His expression wasn’t disapproving, only bemused and a bit wry. “I came to ask how the negotiations were going.”

Tom gave a savage groan and turned his face against Cassandra’s throat.

Although Cassandra was pink with embarrassment, she sent West a glance of suppressed mischief. “We’re making progress,” she told him.

West’s brows lifted slightly. “Although I seem to have caught the two of you in a compromising position, my moral pedestal is, alas, too short to give me a clear view of who’s doing what to whom. Therefore, I’ll spare you the sanctimonious finger wagging.”

“Thank you,” Tom said in a muffled voice, uncomfortably adjusting Cassandra on his lap.

“Phoebe and I are departing for Essex within the hour,” West continued. “I’ll bid you farewell on her behalf as well as mine. And Tom—” He waited until Tom turned his head with a glance of baleful inquiry. “I apologize,” West continued simply. “It occurs to me I’ve been hypocritical: My past is far more tarnished than yours. God knows you never disgraced yourself in public as I did on a regular basis. You’re a good friend, and you came here with an honorable proposition. I’m damned if I have the right to judge your fitness as a potential husband. If Cassandra decides she wants you, you’ll both have my full support.”

“Thank you,” Tom said again, this time sounding as if he meant it.

“One more thing,” West continued. “Ransom just sent word that Lord Lambert was found and detained in Northumberland.”

Cassandra felt a new tension in Tom’s body. He sat up straighter, his gaze focusing on West. “Is he still there?”