Realm 03 - A Touch of Cashemere (16 page)

Cashé swallowed her dismay. “Why is it, Your Lordship...that you speak to me differently from the others?”

“I do not understand, Miss Aldridge.” Her eyes misted with tears, and he wanted badly to take her in his arms and to tell Cashé that he would make everything better for her.

“Sometimes...sometimes I suspect you do not like me.” He started to protest, but Cashé touched his lips with her fingers. “That you actually detest me. Then other times, you treat me with tenderness. But whether it is with disdain or with compassion, you have always spoken to me with frankness. I have not consistently appreciated your opinions, but I am aware that your brute honesty is like a dam breaking over me, washing away the woman I have always been.”

“I do not wish to hurt you,” Marcus whispered. “I could not live with myself if I brought you pain.”

Cashé smiled shyly. “It is not exactly painful, but your opinions are important to me, Your Lordship.”

Again, the entrance of one of Marcus’s companions interrupted their conversation. Cashé dropped her eyes immediately, while Marcus cut his ham into smaller bites.

“I am starving,” Lowery announced as he lifted the lid of a warming dish.

Marcus chewed the cheese he had speared with his fork. “Worthing’s staff has prepared an excellent array of hot and cold dishes.”

Cashé suddenly stood, and Marcus obediently followed her. “If you will forgive me, Lord Yardley, I believe that I shall return to my chambers. The day has been quite tiring.” He realized the awkwardness of being in the room with him and Lexford. Too many excuses to make.

Marcus hid his disappointment; he had hoped for a few more minutes alone with her. “Of course, Miss Aldridge. Thank you for your company.” He brought her hand to his lips for a brief caress. Cashé held his gaze but a flicker of a second, but Marcus saw what looked like disappointment in her eyes also. He bowed briefly before she exited.

Lowery joined Marcus at the table. “You should beware, Wellston. Kimbolt will not appreciate your keeping company with Miss Cashé,” he taunted.

Marcus’s hands fisted on his lap. “It is not as if I could avoid the woman,” he snarled.

Lowery’s raised his hands in submission. “Hey, I was just making a poor jest!”

Although to him both still seemed strained, Marcus managed to control his breathing and the tone of his voice. “Miss Satiné asked that I show Miss Aldridge a kindness. Miss Satiné feels her twin is having difficulty adjusting to all the changes of the past fortnight.”

Lowery appeared to accept Marcus’s explanation. “It had slipped my mind that Miss Cashémere is now Miss Aldridge. Does the young lady answer to her new title?”

“Whose new title?” Kimbolt asked as he entered the room with the baron. Marcus watched to see if the viscount would say anything of Cashé’s departure, but Lexford did not seem to notice.

Lowery said, “Miss Cashémere is now Miss Aldridge.”

Baron Ashton accepted the soup a footman served him. “I suppose we will have to adjust to the changes. As it is rightly hers by birth order, Cashémere will assume Velvet’s title of address.”

Marcus realized he should keep his opinions to himself, but he could not let Cashé leave with the baron without having his say. “It seems to me that Miss Aldridge will have many adjustments to make. I have seen the home in which Averette raised the girl. It is much more structured than what I observed in yours, Ashton. Miss Aldridge will need a healthy dose of understanding.”

Ashton eyed Marcus carefully. “It appears that you have taken an interest in my niece, Lord Yardley.”

Marcus could feel Kimbolt’s stare, but he did not turn his head: He looked only at the baron. “You may be unaware, Ashton, that I have an older brother. However, Trevor suffers from mental problems, and I serve as his regent. I must often correct Trevor’s actions because he knows nothing else. I observe the same susceptibility in Miss Aldridge as I do Trevor. Both respond based on limited experiences; both need a compassionate hand. You were right to chastise me for snapping at the lady in Liverpool, but I would encourage you to not forget your own warnings.”

Ashton’s eyebrow arched in surprise. Marcus suspected that the man was rarely called to task. “I can see how you would consider these equivalent situations. I thank you for your insights.”

Kimbolt joined in. “Wellston was always the planner amongst us. Give the man a roomful of files, and he can reduce all the information into the minimalist of facts.”

Although he offered little to the continuing discourse, Marcus lingered at the table. His mind remained on the one room in this great house where Cashé could be found. It was crazy that he had thought he could feel her through the brick and mortar. How had things changed so dramatically in a fortnight?

Miss Satiné and Lady Worthing joined the men. Satiné took the empty place vacated by her twin. That placed her between him and Kimbolt. Marcus took in the woman’s countenance, identical to Cashémere’s but somehow lacking in the brightness he had discovered in her sister’s eyes. “You were missed today, Lord Yardley,” Satiné said sweetly.

“I will have a two-days’ journey as it is, Miss Satiné. I take no pleasure in spending hours in the saddle.” Marcus motioned for more wine.

Lowery complained again about his recent trek across the southern half of England.

Kimbolt taunted, “Yet, today, you wished to see your family home.”

Lowery laughed lightly. “That is because I have had several days out of the saddle. And two hours is much less than what I experienced in Sonali’s rescue.”

Lady Worthing rightly added, “My family appreciates your devotion.”

“What time do you depart, Your Lordship?” Satiné inquired.

“Some time after I break my fast.” Marcus finished off his drink. “If you have no objection, Captain, I will spend some time with Daniel before I leave. I taught him some casting techniques a few days ago.” Marcus stood, all the while thinking he had wasted precious time arguing with Cashémere Aldridge, and now he must leave her.

Kerrington nodded his agreement. “I have heard nothing else. You made quite an impression on my son. Daniel is in the nursery with Sonali.”

Marcus bowed to the room. “I will see everyone a bit later.” As he left, he noted how Kimbolt and Miss Satiné discussed equine bloodlines. He momentarily wondered if he could convince Lexford that he had chosen the wrong twin.

Marcus took the main staircase two at a time and made a sharp left toward the nursery. He really wanted to talk to the boy; he liked children. His late father had laid the groundwork years ago for Marcus to take care of Trevor. Even if Myles had survived, the former earl had set aside an allowance for his older brother’s care. Recently, when he learned of Lady Worthing’s upcoming confinement, jealousy had sprung to the forefront. Kerrington had a wife, a son, and another child on the way, and Marcus wondered if he would ever know such contentment. Of course, his unstated reason for seeking out the boy lay in a need for a few stolen moments with Cashé. She had quickly become an obsession, and this wing also housed her chambers.

He spent twenty minutes with the boy, jokingly teasing Daniel about his early attempts with the fishing rod and also giving Sonali some extra attention. Although she seemed quite hardy, Marcus worried that the child might have suffered from her recent abduction. Obviously, Fowler had similar thoughts. The duke had made arrangements with Lowery to escort Sonali and her governess, Mrs. Carruthers, to Kent. All the Realm members had taken turns attending to the girl since her birth. When Shepherd sent Fowler on a mission, one of the other unit members stayed with Sonali. That was how they all had become her “uncles.”

He hugged Sonali in farewell and ruffled Daniel’s hair before stepping into the passageway. Marcus paused, wondering whether he dared to approach Cashé’s chamber when suddenly a door three rooms away opened, and his imagination had come to life.

“Lord...Lord Yardley,” she stammered when she saw him.

Marcus made himself walk toward her, purposefully pushing away from the doorframe. He spoke softly so others could not hear. “I...I said my farewells to...to the children.” He gestured toward the nursery stairway.

Cashé’s eyes grew in anticipation. “That is kind of you...to think of the children. Most adults would not.” She gulped in a deep breath as he drew nearer.

Marcus stood before her, and he was satisfied just to be close to her. Neither spoke, each letting his eyes fill with the other’s presence, as if memorizing every detail. “Miss Cashé...” he rasped out.

Instinctively, she raised her chin as he inched closer. “Shall you bid me farewell also, my Lord?” Her breathing became shallow. “Shall you offer me a similar gesture?”

A smile turned up his mouth. “I do not believe that you would appreciate my disarranging your hair as I did with Daniel.” As he said the words, images of a disheveled Cashé lying across his bed shot heat to his loins.

Cashé blushed, but she held his gaze. “And you bestowed a like form of affection on Sonali?”

Marcus’s voice came out husky. “No, she I embraced.”

Cashé did not respond, but a dark eyebrow rose in a question.

A deep sigh escaped as Marcus accepted the unspoken invitation. With a swift movement, he backed her through the still opened door, closing it with his boot’s heel before taking Cashé into his arms. A feeling of completeness filled his lungs as he held her, breathing in the jasmine he had craved of late. “Cashé,” he whispered, lifting her to him.

She buried her face in his chest. Her breasts swelled in a prelude to something she did not understand, and her sigh hardened him instantly.

Marcus placed his fingers under her chin and raised her eyes to his gaze. “This is madness,” he growled. “Everything about this is wrong. Kimbolt is my friend, and I know he has kissed you. I observed his doing so in Worthing’s garden.” He felt the heat of her blush. “Yet, I find I can think of nothing else.” As he professed his desire, Marcus brought her inexorably nearer, where she might feel his erection against her stomach.

A frown appeared between her eyes. “A woman does not consider it a true kiss unless she willingly seeks it,” she said faintly.

Marcus chuckled lightly; she wielded a power over him of which she had no knowledge. “Might I assume that you seek my attentions, Ma Chère?” He spoke in hushed tones. Excitement flooded his veins.

As Marcus lowered his mouth to hers, he rasped out one word, “Madness,” before his mouth took Cashé’s hungrily. He forced himself not to devour her, as he so wanted to do. With her finally in his arms, his heartbeat skittered frantically. He loved the taste of her mouth, and he slid his tongue along the line of her lips. Thankfully, Cashé allowed her mouth to open ever so slightly, and Marcus swallowed her gasp as he deepened the kiss.

In some far off place in her mind, Cashé could hear her uncle and the church leaders describing this moment as one of lasciviousness, but she could not believe anything that felt this exquisite could be wicked. All she wanted to do was cling to Marcus Wellston and never let him go. His mouth had to be one of the seven deadly sins–the sin of over indulgence, for she would die if she could not have this forever.

Finally, he began to ease his grip on her and lessen the pressure on her mouth. Marcus’s breath came in short gasps as he forced himself to not escalate the situation.

“Oh, my Goodness,” she breathed the words without opening her eyes or releasing her fisted hold on his lapels.

Marcus smiled confidently. Kimbolt may have kissed Cashé first, but the lingering desire he recognized in her body said she belonged to him. He kissed her temple before brushing his lips over her ear. He murmured, “I sincerely hope that is approval I hear in your voice.” He sucked on her ear lobe before peppering her neck with a series of light kisses, taking a moment to circle his tongue around the beauty mark.

Cashé sucked in a deep breath. “It...it was like nothing of which I ever dreamed.” She shivered.

“Then you have dreamed of me?” He breathed the words into her hair. The resulting flood of heat told Marcus all he needed to know. “You do not need to say the words, Ma Chère. I feel it also.”

Cashé’s hands leisurely stroked his chest muscles. “I have dreamed, my Lord,” she confessed.

Although he continued to feather kisses across her face and neck and shoulder blade, he insisted, “I must leave. We cannot be found together.”

Cashé slid her arms about his neck. “I do not wish you to leave.” She kissed along his chin line.

“Ah, Ma Chère, you must know it will take a Herculean effort.” Marcus lifted her chin again where he might brush her lips with his. “Yet, we have no choice. I must return to Berwick and tend my estate and my brother, and you must recapture your family.”

Cashé loosened her hold, but she still rested against his body. “Will you call in Manchester, my Lord?”

Marcus intentionally stepped away from her. “That might be a bit awkward with Lexford’s regular appearances.” He hated the sound of jealousy ringing through his words. “Kimbolt is still one of my best friends, and I will not see him hurt again. I will remove myself from the picture before I allow that to happen.”

Cashé wanted to argue with him, but beyond anything else in her life, she knew this man meant what he said: Marcus Wellston would never betray his friend. “Come to London,” she said, a plan hatching as she watched him chastise himself. “Lord Lexford will look elsewhere,” she asserted.

“I mean what I say, Cashé. I will not have Kimbolt hurt; the viscount suffered greatly when he returned to England.”

“Promise me that you will come to London.” She caught his hand and kissed his palm. “I will find a way to divert Lord Lexford’s attentions without his feeling the loss.”

Marcus cupped her cheek. “If it were so...”

“You will come?” she demanded.

“Yes, Ma Chère, I will come.” He bent to kiss her lightly. “For the short Season–before the weather changes.”

“Thank you, Marcus.”

The sound of his Christian name on her lips renewed his desire, and he recaptured her lips. Marcus realized this could be the last time he kissed her so he went slowly, savoring every moment–implanting the feel, the smell, and the taste of her in his memory. “Cashé,” he breathed her name. “I can stay no longer.” He kissed her temple. “Freshen your looks, Ma Chère. You look thoroughly delightful, but thoroughly kissed.” He reached for the door handle. “I will see you downstairs with the others for the evening entertainment.”