Part 21 (1/2)
”I intend to.” He watched her leave, wondering what room Ca.s.sie was in. He could have asked his mother, but it seemed a rather indelicate question.
He considered. As Grey's fiancee, she would have been put in one of the best guest rooms. Probably the Rose Room, which was discreetly distant from Grey's suite.
He set off for the Rose Room, desperate to find his thorn among the roses.
Chapter 34.
The hour was very late, after midnight, so Grey saw no one as he climbed the stairs in search of Ca.s.sie. There was light visible under his father's door, and the soft murmur of his mother's voice. He pa.s.sed by and headed down the corridor. Summerhill was shaped like a shallow U, with wings coming off each end of the main block. He turned right into the short pa.s.sage at the east end.
Yes, a faint line of light under the Rose Room's door. Probably a low-burning night lamp. He turned the k.n.o.b, glad the room wasn't locked, and stepped silently inside. The dim lamplight revealed Ca.s.sie's sleeping form. She lay on her side, a thick braid of hair falling over her shoulder in a rope of dark molten copper.
She was so beautiful his heart hurt. He quietly closed the door behind him.
Before he could announce himself, Ca.s.sie woke and hurled herself off the far side of the mattress with amazing speed. A knife appeared in her hand as she took cover behind the ma.s.sive four-poster bed and evaluated the threat.
He held absolutely still. ”Sorry. I should have known better than to startle you.” After she relaxed and the knife disappeared, he said, ”From your reaction, I'm guessing that Summerhill feels dangerous to you.”
”Apparently so,” she said ruefully as she circled the bed. The nightgown she wore was thick and warm, but it couldn't conceal the lithe grace of her movements. ”I was feeling rather ... alone and vulnerable.”
He winced. ”I'm sorry, I should have stayed with you rather than leave you to carry the full weight of my excited relatives.”
She shook her head. ”It would have been nice to face their curiosity together, but you needed to talk to your father while he's still breathing.”
Reminded of the miracle, Grey exclaimed, ”He woke up! He spoke to me quite coherently. I think he'll be all right. My mother is with him now.”
”That's wonderful news!” She caught his hands in delight. ”And not only because it means you don't succeed to Costain for a while.”
”I'm hoping my father is good for at least another twenty years,” he said fervently as he wrapped his arms around Ca.s.sie.
She melted into him with a welcoming sigh. ”I'm so glad you came. I'll sleep better for seeing you and getting a good hug.”
”I need a good deal more than a hug.” Hungrily he bent to her mouth, wanting to draw her essence into himself. ”Ca.s.sie, Ca.s.sie ...” He peeled off her nightgown, then walked her back to the bed.
”Should we be doing this under your mother's roof?” she asked uncertainly, but her hands were pulling at his coat.
”It's my roof, too.” He swept her onto the bed, then tore at his garments with no thought for Kirkland's expensive tailor. ”I need you far more than I need propriety.”
Ca.s.sie lay on her side watching him strip, a cream and copper G.o.ddess in the dim light, her haunted blue eyes as hungry as his own. When he was down to skin and too many bones, she pulled him onto the bed, saying huskily, ”You're as powerful a drug as opium, my lord.” Then they spoke no more.
His demands were met by her strength, but also a vulnerability he'd never felt in her before. He poured everything he had into her, wanting to return the priceless gifts she'd given him. And together, they found fulfillment.
After the shattering culmination, they lay limp in each other's arms. Her braid had come undone and her hair lay in a s.h.i.+mmering veil over his chest. ”Catherine,” he murmured, as he twined a strand around his fingers. ”You have the most beautiful hair I've ever seen. Coloring it might have been essential for your work, but it's a crime to deprive the world of such splendor.”
”No carroty little girl would ever believe that. And for a full-grown woman, the color is considered vulgar. s.l.u.ttish, even.” Her voice turned wry. ”Not that that doesn't fit me, since I am a slu-”
”Don't!” he said sharply. ”Don't ever say anything like that about yourself! You are the finest woman I've ever known, true and generous and strong. Don't look at yourself as narrow minds would.”
”It's hard not to, especially here,” she pointed out. ”Your mother and sister are good women in every sense of the word. I ... am not.”
”Have they been rude to you?” he demanded. ”I will not allow that!”
”You're fitting back into your lordly role very quickly,” she said with amus.e.m.e.nt. ”Your sister was charming and happy to meet me because she a.s.sumes we'll be neighbors and she wants to be friends. Your mother ...” Ca.s.sie hesitated. ”She wasn't rude, but she is naturally concerned for you and wanted to a.s.sure herself that you hadn't fallen into the talons of a fortune-hunting harpy.”
”How dare she!” he said angrily. ”I shall speak with her.”
”No,” Ca.s.sie said firmly. ”Your mother's concerns are legitimate. I'm no one's idea of an innocent virgin bride.”
”Why the devil would I want one of those?” he retorted. ”Sounds deucedly dull.”
”Many men wors.h.i.+p the purity of innocence. I'm glad you're not one of them,” Ca.s.sie said with a laugh. ”But any mother would worry when her long-lost son shows up with a strange woman.”
”You're not strange.” He cupped her breast with one hand. ”You're magnificent.”
Ca.s.sie gave him an intimate, teasing smile. ”Your return has gone better than expected, hasn't it? With your father recovering, you can take your time rather than being forced into major responsibility before you're ready.” She brushed her lips on his cheek in a feather kiss. ”I'm not needed here, so I can return to London right away.”
Her words were like a drench of ice water. ”No! You can't leave, you just got here.” He drew a deep breath as he struggled with his panicky reaction. ”Of course you want to return to your real life, but no urgent mission awaits you. Stay a week or two. Relax, ride good horses, let yourself be cosseted and treated like a fragile flower. You deserve that.”
He held his breath as he waited for her response. He knew she would leave, but please G.o.d, not immediately!
”Very well,” she said. ”I'll stay a week.” Her hand began to wander down his body. ”I shall certainly miss this.”
She cupped him and pure fire shot straight through his veins. ”So will I,” he said raggedly. As he bent to the rich nourishment of her mouth, he wondered if he could survive without this sweetness and fire.
Despite her fatigue, Ca.s.sie lay awake for a long time after Grey fell asleep in her arms. She wanted to cherish every remaining moment with him. She'd been too weak to refuse to stay longer, but a week must be the limit. Lady Elizabeth had been so friendly and welcoming that Ca.s.sie was ashamed of being at Summerhill under false pretenses.
There was also the stark fact that the longer she stayed with Grey, the harder it would be to leave. She'd never felt such closeness with another man. He was willing to open himself to her as no one else had.
As she thought back to the night's intense lovemaking, she realized that there had been a s.h.i.+ft in the balance between them. At the beginning, he'd needed a woman, any woman, and she had accepted that in return for the simple delights of pa.s.sion.
That had changed as they'd grown to know each other better. She'd become special to him, and he'd become special-incredibly so-to her. In the past, she'd given him healing intimacy in return for pleasure. Tonight, he'd returned healing and wholeness to her. It was time to leave. While she still could.
Much as Grey would have liked to sleep until noon with Ca.s.sie, he'd regained enough gentlemanly discretion that when he woke and saw the first faint light of dawn, he groaned and swung himself out of the bed. ”Time to leave.”
He leaned over and kissed Ca.s.sie's bare shoulder. He noted with amus.e.m.e.nt that she was now so relaxed that she only made a sleepy sound of acknowledgment rather than leaping from the bed with a knife in her hand.
He pulled the covers over her bare shoulder, then dragged on enough clothing to be decent. Carrying his shoes in one hand, he slipped out into the corridor. It was still very dark inside the house, but it wouldn't be long before busy maids were stirring.
Now that he was back at Summerhill, his profound reluctance to return had almost vanished. Before, facing the demands and commotion that would be aroused by his return from the dead had seemed an insurmountable barrier.
He'd been right about the commotion. His return would have been easier if his mother had opened Kirkland's message and been prepared for him. But now that was over, and he was feeling ... like himself.
That self wasn't the callow Lord Wyndham who had flitted off to Paris for amus.e.m.e.nt, but an older, knocked-about, and hopefully wiser man. A man who belonged here at Summerhill. This house, this land, these people were his. He felt like a flower that had been jerked from its native soil and withered away in the rubbish for years. Now he'd finally been replanted where he belonged.