Realm 03 - A Touch of Cashemere (15 page)

“Uncle Samuel did that?” she whispered as he spun her to a stop.

“Yes, Miss Cashé,” he murmured as he led her from the floor. “Viscount Averette made those threats and many more.”

He felt her fingers tense on his arm. When they reached her chair, Cashé turned to him. “Thank you, Lord Yardley, for the dance and for the conversation.”

“My toes survived,” he breathed the words close to her ear.

Cashé smiled sweetly at him. “I had not considered my successful first waltz. You gave me much upon which to think, Your Lordship.”

Marcus brought her hand to his lips as he bowed one last time. With an uncontrollable need to taste her, he actually kissed her knuckles. The feel of her skin under his lips sent a shockwave through him. “It was my pleasure, Miss Cashé.” He walked away slowly with the image of a breathless, happy female implanted on his mind.

“It was good of you to waltz with Cashémere,” Satiné told him as Marcus passed her in a country dance several minutes later.

Marcus circled the other couple before returning to face Satiné. “I did not know it would be a waltz,” he lied.

Satiné placed her hand in his as they passed down the line. “My sister has had a difficult time adjusting to Uncle Samuel’s speedy retreat. Cashémere hides it well, but she is lost.”

As they parted, Marcus considered what Satiné shared. Although both held vulnerability beneath the surface, the girl he had observed in Scotland and the lady at with whom he had waltzed earlier differed in many ways. When he came face-to-face with Satiné again, he said, “Then it is to Miss Cashémere’s advantage that she join you and the baron at Chesterfield Manor.” Unfortunately, for him, that would be the worst place for Cashé. She would be in Lexford’s backdoor.

*

The day of the wedding dawned, but Marcus felt a twinge of regret. Tomorrow, he would leave for his estate, and he would not see the girl who had suddenly become very important to him again. In some ways, he did not know why he still thought of her as a girl, rather than a woman. Maybe it was how he protected her from himself. Maybe it was the undercurrent of susceptibility he had observed in her.

When the others admired Miss Aldridge’s entrance, Marcus found his eyes drifted to the long line of Cashémere’s neck. He could see the star mark at the base, and he wondered what it might be like to run his tongue over it–to kiss his way up her nape–to feel her shiver with his ministrations. A ghost of a smile played across his lips. He imagined kissing her slowly, her slender arms clinging to his neck. He felt his groin harden, and he adjusted his position to cover the evidence of his thoughts. He took a quick note of his friend, Viscount Lexford, but Kimbolt exchanged a quick comment with Kerrington, rather than to enjoy Cashémere’s profile.

Tomorrow, he thought again. Tomorrow, I must leave her. What shall Cashémere do in those months leading up to her Season? Will Kimbolt claim her before then? Marcus frowned with the thought. His friends supposed he had favored Miss Satiné. Little do they know! Last evening’s dance had been the defining element. Satiné had looked the part, but she never challenged him–never made his body feel alive–to feel anything after feeling nothing for so long. He would have to find a way to keep in touch with the baron’s household. Yet, he would need to move slowly–to not sever his friendship with Lexford.

“It was a beautiful ceremony,” Lady Worthing asserted. “I have never seen Velvet look lovelier.” They attended the wedding breakfast.

Kerrington countered, “You were equally as lovely, my Dear.” He slipped his arm about his wife’s waist.

Marcus had learned from Fowler that Lady Worthing was already expecting her first child. “Less than six months ago, it was you, Captain. Now Fowler. Who among us do you suspect shall be next?” Marcus took a sip of his wine as his eyes searched for Cashé.

Lord Worthing glanced about the room. “We suspected that you might follow, Yardley. Miss Satiné is quite attractive. Or, perhaps Kimbolt and Miss Cashé.”

Marcus schooled his countenance to hide his dislike of Kerrington’s assumptions. “It would seem that Lexford has a better opportunity. Lexington Arms is much closer to Chesterfield Manor than is my estate. I am not likely to see either lady again unless I choose to partake of the next Season’s offerings, and that is months away. What of Crowden?” Marcus wished to deflect the attention being given to him.

“The marquis is not ready. He still has too much anger–too much to resolve before he can start anew.” Kerrington looked lovingly at his wife. “I can only attest that marriage to the right woman is the only light to leave burning.”

“Oh, James,” Lady Worthing blushed and turned her face into his sleeve.

Kerrington laughed. “Now, I have gone and embarrassed my wife. A man cannot tell the truth and not have his words misconstrued.”

“I believe any of our unit would be happy to know what you have obviously found with Lady Worthing. You have set the standard high, Captain.” Marcus raised his glass in a salute.

The Kerringtons had opted for a leisurely supper after such a momentous morning. The servants had set up everything in the morning room. The hosts encouraged their guests to avail themselves of the offerings on their own schedules. Marcus had purposely waited for Miss Cashé’s entrance into the room. “Ah, the new Miss Aldridge,” he stood upon her arrival.

Cashé smiled largely. “I believe you are the only one aware of the change, Lord Yardley.”

Marcus motioned to his place setting. “I was just about to prepare myself a plate. Might I make one for you also, Miss Aldridge?”

Cashé mockingly curtsied. “That would be pleasant, Your Lordship.”

Marcus held the chair next to his setting for her. “Please join me, Miss Aldridge.” He winked at her.

“You are prepared to use my new moniker until I accept it. Is that correct, Lord Yardley?” She placed the napkin upon her lap before returning his wink.

“It is a tedious undertaking, he teased. “But I am up for the task...Miss Aldridge.” The delay brought a genuine smile to Cashé’s face. “You are quite exquisite when you smile,” he whispered close to her ear.

Cashé blushed, but she did not look away. “Thank you, Your Lordship.” She glanced about the empty room. “It appears the household has taken to its bed after such a busy morning.”

“It is my understanding that Lady Worthing has taken Sonali into the village. Lord Worthing, Lexford, Sir Carter, your sister, the baron, and Daniel have chosen to ride part of the way with the Lowerys. I believe they needed the exercise after the last few days.”

Cashé looked closely at him, as he placed the plate before her. “And you chose not to join them, Your Lordship?”

“Please do not tell me that you cannot tolerate my company, Miss Aldridge.” His mood was quite carefree.

Sounding rather pleased, she said, “I only meant that you must have wanted to ride with your friends.”

Marcus could not keep the huskiness from his voice. “I prefer present company. Besides, I spend enough hours in the saddle.”

“I fear I am a poor rider. I have little experience,” she admitted.

Marcus seated himself on her left. “Then someday I will have to teach you,” he declared. “I was successful with both casting a line and with the waltz.”

Cashé held his gaze. “Some might say that you are conceited, my Lord,” she taunted.

Marcus saw her tongue caress her dry lips, and he privately thanked the Kerringtons for providing the napkin for his lap–to cover the sudden rush of blood to his manhood. “Some might say I am talented, Miss Aldridge.”

Something hot flashed between them; it was an understanding and a desire. “Tell me of your estate,” she breathed the words. “I am very interested in where you call home.”

For the next twenty minutes Marcus describe his property and the area surrounding it. “Berwick is really not part of Northumberland,” he explained. “We have had an illustrious history, being literally on the Scottish border. Berwick has belonged to the Scottish and to the English. Richard, Duke of Gloucester captured the village in the late 1400s, and we have been English ever since. Although we were never formally annexed into England, with the Wales and Berwick Act, we officially became British property. Yet, we are a shire in our own right and have our own MPs in Parliament.”

“I believe I would enjoy it,” Cashé said wistfully. “I have spent my whole life in Scotland, and I consider the task of meeting English standards quite daunting.”

Marcus smiled broadly. “And this comes from the girl who propelled herself onto my back to attack me–most soundly, I might add.”

Cashé dropped her eyes in embarrassment. “I suppose I should apologize for my actions.”

Marcus cleared his throat, forcing her attention to his face. “You fought for what you believed in. I cannot fault you for that, but I suggest we simply call a truce. Neither of us were at our best during that time.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” she murmured. After an awkward pause, she added, “Berwick keeps the flavor of both countries. It would be heavenly in that way. I do not imagine Uncle Charles will relish my ideas or my habits. I will appear a hoyden compared to Satiné’s refinement.”

“You will do well, Miss Cashémere. I sense in you a bit of resilience. I have no doubts.”

Cashé tilted her head in an acknowledgement of what he said and then inquired, “And you have sheep on the estate?”

“My father, who passed but months ago, began breeding our region’s Teeswater sheep with Bakewell Dishleys. The result has been quite productive because they can be fattened quickly. We also have some Shorthorn cattle. Since my taking over the title, I have invested heavily in a railroad system to replace the canals, as well as both a shipbuilding business and the production of brine from the Walker pit.”

Cashé sat mesmerized. “You are a man with a vision.”

Marcus laughed good-naturedly. “I do not know about a vision, but I am a man who does not believe that the aristocracy will survive if it does not make changes. The wealthy middle class will no longer accept being treated as an insignificant entity.” He motioned to a footman to refill Cashé’s wine glass. “Those of us from northern England see things differently from those in London. Maybe it is the land’s wildness and the harsh weather. We breed a different type of Englishman in Berwick.”

“I now understand how you traversed the Scottish back roads so easily, Your Lordship.”

“I am ashamed to admit that in my youth that I spent too much time carousing about the bordering villages.”

Cashé smiled sweetly. “You learned from your mistakes. Not many men do.”

Marcus thought the conversation had taken a serious tone, and he wanted desperately to see her smile again; therefore, he returned to his teasing, “And you have known many men who suffer from repetition, Miss Cashé.”

“Do not bam me, Lord Yardley. You are aware of my upbringing. Out of all the guests at the wedding, only you and Velvet have seen my home.”

Marcus kept the tone light, despite feeling a twinge of guilt for flirting with Cashé behind Kimbolt’s back. “I believe I prefer it that way. I was the first to teach you to fish, to waltz with you, and the first Englishman to spend time in your Scottish home. I propose I start a list of firsts to accomplish with Miss Cashé.” Marcus did not want to consider her first kiss.

“And when might I reciprocate and have you offer me a first,” Cashé countered.

Marcus lowered his voice and leaned close. “Let me provide you a bit of advice, Miss Aldridge. Never throw down the gauntlet with a man who has seen the world as I have. I have very few firsts left in my life to share with anyone.” He immediately thought he had never had an innocent in his bed, but he did not say it.

Before she could respond, the riders returned. Their voices could be heard in the opening hallway, and although they had done nothing untoward, she and Marcus set further apart.

“Look who did not wait supper for us,” Kimbolt announced as he entered the room.

Marcus forced himself to meet his friend’s gaze. “We had no idea of your plans.”

Kerrington suggested, “Let us wash up and join the earl.” He gestured to the main stairway. “Has Lady Worthing returned?”

Cashé responded, “I overheard Mr. Lucas say that Eleanor was in the nursery with Sonali.”

Kerrington nodded his understanding. “I will check on my father and find my wife. I will see you in a few minutes.”

“I may try to convince Miss Cashé to join me in the garden,” Marcus explained. He noted Kerrington’s raised eyebrow–the second time his former leader registered a visual objection.

When they were all gone, Cashé whispered, “Were you aware of Eleanor’s future confinement?”

Marcus thought it unusual that the girl spoke so openly to him. “I have recently been informed of the happy event.”

“What do you think of it? It seems a bit odd that Lady Worthing is with child so soon. Of course, with William Fowler as her father...”

Marcus scowled. “Miss Aldridge, I am honored that you feel comfortable in asking me about subjects not often shared between a man and a woman, but let me offer you a warning. First, a woman’s confinement is not a subject for an innocent, and, secondly, as we have discussed previously, Lady Worthing is your cousin. Protect her reputation because indirectly it affects yours. That is the way of the ton.”

Cashé flushed. “But is it not unseemly?”

He deliberately paused, drawing her full attention to his words–making certain Cashé understood the importance of what he shared. “James Kerrington lost his first wife in childbirth. I would hate for the delivery of this child to be marred by silly gossip. Whenever the child was conceived, it was formed in love, and that is more important than the date. To think in our society how many children are abandoned to their nurses, I celebrate a child who will know the love of both his parents.”

Cashé blinked back her tears. A stilled moment held their thoughts, and then she said, “I have never considered the end result, my Lord. I have been taught only how the life begins in reference to children.”

“I truly do not offer you censure, Miss Aldridge,” he buffered his tone. “I have seen countless children during the war who were orphaned by the battles. I suspect most of them would have traded legitimacy for the embrace of a loving parent.”