A Regency Invitation to the House Party of the Season (5 page)

‘Of course,’ Cassie said, her eyes bright. ‘You know that I always do.’

Peter had been lingering at the breakfast table far longer than was his usual wont. He would have preferred to be taking a ride about the estate than sitting indoors on so glorious a morning, but he was determined to wait until Cassie had put in an appearance. He wanted to speak with her. He was surprised to find that he felt a little nervous.

He was not certain that the adorable Miss Cassie Ward would accept his proposal of marriage. He had never put his fate to the touch before and he was discovering that it mattered to him a great deal that she should agree to be his bride. A night’s lack of sleep had not caused him to have second thoughts about the marriage. On the contrary, he was anxious to secure Miss Ward as his wife. However, he did want the chance to court her properly. He did not wish her to be forced into a betrothal as a result of their encounter at the inn. He wanted her to want
him
.

The beds at Lyndhurst Chase were supremely comfortable, but Peter had tossed and turned, alternately pricked by conscience and tormented by erotic images of the delectable Miss Ward. Never before had he been struck down by so powerful and instant an attraction. He was not entirely sure what had happened to him. All he knew was that he wanted Cassie Ward herself far more than he wanted her fortune, and if this was his final come-uppance as a rake and a fortune hunter, then he would embrace his fate with gratitude.

Conversation around the table had languished a little while ago. In the absence of a hostess at Lyndhurst Chase, Sarah, Countess of Mardon, was at the head of
the table and was conversing in low tones with her husband, the Earl, who sat on her right. At the other end of the table, with the ancient setter dozing contentedly at his feet, Anthony Lyndhurst appeared engrossed in the
Morning Post
and every so often exchanged a few words with his Cousin William beside him. Lyndhurst-Flint in turn was chatting desultorily with Lady Margaret Burnside. Peter had known William Lyndhurst-Flint vaguely at Eton, although Lyndhurst-Flint had been a few years older. He had never liked him. Lyndhurst-Flint had had a reputation as a bully who forced younger boys to lick his boots and used the Eton Wall Game as an excuse to beat up the smaller pupils.

It was an oddly restricted group for a house party and Peter thought it bore out the rumour he had heard that, along with finding Cassandra a husband, Anthony Lyndhurst was taking the opportunity to appoint his heir. The field was small and it seemed to Peter that William Lyndhurst-Flint must be in with a good chance. However, perhaps the man was not certain of inheriting and that was why he persisted in pushing his suit with Cassie.

The door opened and Cassie came in, pausing on the threshold, her hand on the doorknob. Peter’s heart contracted. She looked outwardly collected and calm, but there was a flicker of apprehension in her eyes.

There was a little ripple around the breakfast table. Peter saw Lady Margaret watching Cassie with a bright, speculative look. She exchanged a glance with William Lyndhurst-Flint and made absolutely no effort to ease her charge’s situation. In that moment Peter saw exactly how Cassie stood with the rest of the family; Mardon and Lyndhurst’s brotherly indulgence, Lyndhurst-Flint’s
speculative amusement, Lady Margaret’s malice…Peter started to feel angry.

‘Cassie!’ Sarah Mardon said, smiling sweetly. ‘Come and join me down here. We can talk about our plans for the picnic.’ She patted the seat beside her.

William Lyndhurst-Flint got to his feet with studied charm. ‘Surely you should sit here, little cousin, beside your betrothed.’ He shot Peter a look. ‘I beg your pardon, the engagement is not yet formal, is it?’

Peter saw Cassie blush at the reminder, though whether with temper or embarrassment he was not sure. His anger hardened as he saw the way the other man was so casually trying to queer his pitch. He put his napkin down and stood up. He was taller than Lyndhurst-Flint and for a moment Lyndhurst-Flint looked intimidated.

‘Allow me, Miss Ward,’ Peter said with immaculate courtesy. He held the chair beside the Countess for Cassie and she slid into it with a slight, unreadable look at him over her shoulder.

‘Thank you, my lord,’ was all that she said.

Once again, conversation languished around the table. Lady Margaret was twitting the Countess over the curious behaviour of her personal maid.

‘I found that odd creature Dent polishing my doorknob this morning! Strange behaviour for an upper servant!’

The atmosphere in the breakfast room felt odd and tense with no one quite at ease. Peter watched Cassie as she sipped a cup of chocolate and ate a piece of toast. This morning her glorious copper brown hair had been subdued into a neat braid and no curls allowed to escape. She was dressed in a gown of pink that became her very
well. Peter, an observant man, saw Lady Margaret flick the gown a comprehensive look and her mouth thin with displeasure. He hid a smile. Evidently the chaperon disliked competition from her charge.

Anthony Lyndhurst put down his paper and rose to his feet.

‘I thought to show you about the estate and the stud farm this morning, Quinlan, if you would care for a ride,’ he said. ‘The ladies are planning a picnic luncheon by the lake with boating afterwards, but we have time for a ride out before we join them. I would like to show you my horses. I imagine you are a connoisseur of bloodlines.’

Peter opened his mouth to accept the invitation, but was forestalled. Cassie Ward had also risen to her feet and was facing him, her determined little chin set firm, her golden brown eyes sparking.

‘I must plead a prior claim on my
betrothed
, Anthony,’ she said, stressing the word. There was a thread of steel in her voice. ‘Surely you are not to whisk him away when we are barely acquainted?’ She turned to Peter. ‘Lord Quinlan, I would like to speak to you in the library. Now, if you please.’

‘Lord Quinlan,’ Cassie said, with arctic chill, once the door was closed behind the two of them, ‘allow me to clarify a couple of matters. We are not compromised, we are not betrothed and we are certainly not getting married.’

Peter looked at her. Her eyes were flashing with indignation, but she was standing very stiff and tense. Her voluptuous, vulnerable mouth was quivering, betraying her feelings. Peter felt a stab of compassion for her. She
was very young and inexperienced to be plunged into such a situation.

He wanted to talk to her, but the library was not the place. It felt oppressive and enclosed. He could not reach her here, where duty and convention would squash her spontaneous spirit. She would dismiss him and he would never get a chance to convince her that he wanted her more for herself than for all the fortune in the world.

‘Well?’ Cassie demanded, fizzing with indignation, clearly unable to wait any longer for a response. ‘Are you not going to say anything?’

‘Yes,’ Peter said. ‘Will you come riding with me?’

Cassie looked startled and—he would have sworn—tempted. Then she put her hands on her hips and faced him squarely.

‘What has that to do with the price of fish? Did you not understand me, my lord? I would prefer not to go anywhere with you. I would prefer that you leave Lyndhurst Chase directly. Now. At once! Is that clear?’

Peter could not repress a smile. ‘As crystal, Miss Ward. Indeed it would be difficult to misunderstand you.’

Cassie looked aggravated. ‘Then why are you still here?’

‘Because I would like to speak with you and I find this room unsuited to my purpose,’ Peter said. ‘Hence I wondered whether you would like to come riding with me. It is a very beautiful day and I feel that our acquaintance would prosper out of doors.’ He strode over to the window, then turned back to look at her. He noted that Cassie could not help one quick, betraying glance outside, as though the beautiful morning beckoned to her too.

‘The climate is not the point at issue here, my lord,’ she said.

Peter smiled. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Ward. What is the point?’

‘The point,’ Cassie said, her chin tilting dangerously, an angry sparkle in her eyes, ‘is that you deliberately set out to compromise me yesterday, Lord Quinlan.’

Peter had been expecting this. He suspected that Cassie had come to breakfast with her feelings already ruffled by someone—her chaperon, perhaps—who had intentionally set out to paint him as a ruthless seducer. He remembered that Cassie had told him the previous day that Lady Margaret supported William Lyndhurst-Flint’s suit. And then there had been Lyndhurst-Flint’s calculatedly provocative comment at breakfast. Both of them would take any opportunity they could to ruin his chances, and they had already started.

‘It is rather unfair to accuse me of setting out to compromise you,’ he said mildly.

‘Is it?’ Cassie’s gaze narrowed. ‘I thought it was quite plain. I told you that I had two hundred thousand pounds and from that moment you determined to seduce me.’

Peter drove his hands into his jacket pockets. ‘Now that is
definitely
unfair.’

Cassie looked nonplussed. ‘Indeed? Do you deny it, then?’

‘Of course,’ Peter said. ‘I wanted to seduce you long before you told me about the money. I wanted you from the first moment I saw you up the tree with that ridiculous banner.’ He took a step closer to her. It brought them a mere two feet apart. He could see the puzzlement and the reluctant curiosity in her eyes. ‘You are utterly seducible, Miss Ward,’ he finished gently.

Cassie glared. ‘And you are outrageous, Lord Quinlan!’

‘I am sorry if I offend you,’ Peter said. ‘I promised yesterday always to tell you the truth and I have been scrupulously careful to do so.’

Cassie drew a deep breath. ‘There are times—surely there are times!—when it is better to prevaricate, or at the very least moderate your opinions!’

Peter laughed. ‘It surprises me to hear you say so, Miss Ward. I would have thought that you of all people are always transparently honest.’

‘I am! I did not expect you to be, however.’ Cassie was looking at him, frowning, as though she was not quite sure what to make of him. ‘Upon my word, Lord Quinlan!’ she burst out. ‘I do not know whether you are the most skilled trickster that I have ever met or…’ She paused.

‘Or someone who wishes to forget all about the damnable money and simply take you to bed?’ Peter suggested.

‘Lord Quinlan!’ Cassie sounded as appalled as an octogenarian dowager.

Peter saw the shock in her face and underneath it, intriguingly, the faintest hint of fascination as she considered his statement. He traced her thought processes with interest. She was remembering the way that reckless desire had ambushed them at the inn; she was thinking of the persuasive seduction of their kisses, she was wanting much, much more…

Then the colour rushed into her face as she realised just how inappropriate her thoughts were. She turned away abruptly. Peter could tell that she was completely flustered that the interview had not gone the way she had planned, but that she did not wish to give him the
advantage of knowing it. He went across to her and put a hand on her arm.

‘Miss Ward.’

There was a flare of nervousness in Cassie’s eyes as though she almost expected him to make good his shocking declaration and sweep her up the wide oak stair to bed there and then.

‘My lord?’ She moistened her lips.

Peter took her hand in his. ‘All I ask is that you give me a chance to court you,’ he said. ‘You knew that I was a fortune hunter. I made no secret of it. You can trust me to be honest with you.’

Cassie’s head was bent. The sun shone through the dusty windows and picked out the strands of copper and gold in the richness of her hair. Peter ached to touch it. She looked up at him suddenly and his senses leapt. Her fingers trembled slightly within his grasp and he tightened his hold.

‘Tell me the truth, then,’ she said urgently. ‘What happened yesterday in the inn…
Did
you plan that, my lord?’

Peter winced. He was pinned in the honesty of her gaze. There was something about such vulnerable candour that stripped away any pretence. He had never met anyone like Miss Cassandra Ward and her very openness brought out all his protective instincts. He wanted to shield her from all the disillusion and disappointment that life could bring on one who had no defences. He wanted to guard her against all comers. A marriage of convenience was not good enough for her. No fortune hunter on earth could be worthy of her. Devil take it, he wanted to save her from
himself
.

‘I did not plan it,’ he said slowly. ‘I promise you that.’ It was difficult for a man of his experience to admit that
he had lost his head, but it was essential to make her understand the truth. ‘I have told you that I find you all too attractive, Miss Ward,’ he said ruefully, ‘and what happened yesterday was the proof. I lost control.’

Cassie was looking at him shyly from under her lashes. ‘I see,’ she said, and, searching her face, he saw that there was pride and amusement under that diffident surface. Damn it, the minx was
pleased
that she could have such an effect on him, and here was he helplessly dangling like a fish on her line…

He reached out to pull her into his arms, but she read his intention and drew away, fending him off.

‘Oh, no, you do not, Lord Quinlan! You have asked for the opportunity to court me and you have it. But—’ she flicked him a challenging glance ‘—that courtship does not involve kissing.’

The air between them was suddenly alive with sensual tension. Peter caught her arm and drew her closer to him. ‘I have conditions too,’ he said softly, his mouth an inch from hers. ‘I am happy to abide by your terms for a little while, Miss Ward, but I will take something on account.’

And he kissed her, swift and hard, letting her go before the urge to pull her closer still and ravish her became too strong. When he released her she was breathing quickly and there was a heat and turbulence in her eyes that almost overset all his good resolutions.

‘You are certain that you will persuade me to marry you, then,’ Cassie whispered. She pressed her fingers to her lips in an unconscious gesture.