The Complete Regency Bestsellers And One Winters Collection. Rebecca WintersЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Chapter Twelve

      Cassie could barely settle to anything for the whole of the next day, a sort of wild excitement that verged on panic underlying everything she did.

      Jamie was so much better, leaving his bed and eating large plates of whatever the cook tempted him with. Maureen was astonished at how much improved he seemed, though it was another matter entirely that she quizzed Cassandra about.

      ‘There is word you had a visitor late last night, Cassie. Lord Nathaniel Lindsay was an unexpected caller?’

      Cassandra knew her sister’s ways. Maureen obviously had found out a lot more about the unusual happening and was waiting for Cassandra to unravel it for her.

      ‘Lord Lindsay looks familiar somehow. I cannot quite put my finger on how I should know him, but...?’

      At that precise moment Jamie ran past playing with a small train, and it was if a shutter had suddenly been raised.

      ‘Oh, my goodness, Lindsay is Jamie’s father? Nathanael is his second name?’

      Horror stood where a humorous playfulness had lingered a moment before. ‘He ruined you?’

      ‘No. We were married, Reena. In France, almost five years ago. Everything is perfectly legal.’

      ‘Then why...?’ She could not even formulate her next question.

      ‘One day I will tell you everything, but not at this moment. If you could keep my confidence for a little while longer, I would be most appreciative.’

      ‘He will not break your heart again?’

      ‘Again?’ She could not quite understand what her sister alluded to.

      ‘You came home from Paris like a half person and never looked at another male with any thoughts of interest although there were many good men who were offering. I knew there was someone. I just thought he was dead.’

      There are worse ways to be separated than in death, Cassie thought as Jamie came over to her to demand a cuddle. Her sister’s dark eyes watched carefully.

      ‘Kenyon likes him. I do, too.’

      ‘Who does he like?’ Jamie’s voice put paid to any further conversation.

      * * *

      In the late afternoon Cassie fussed about which gown to put on and finally decided on a dark yellow silk, a little outdated but beautifully cut. She fashioned her own hair into a bun at her nape, decorating the sides with two ornate tortoiseshell combs she had procured in the Marais. Cassie reasoned that if the night was to play out as she hoped she needed a style that would be easily unpinned and quickly redone when she left in the early hours of the next day.

      Even the thought of it all made her apprehensive. Such a premeditated and deliberate choice. The hands of the clock seemed to race towards eight, and her stomach felt agitated and jittery.

      She was twenty-three and she had had just one lover for only a short time. She did not count the Baudoins’ rough handling of her in the first days of Nay, preferring to forget about the violence and hurt of the place. No, all she remembered now were the weeks between Saint Estelle and Perpignan, and the utter need they had felt for each other, the desire and the passion.

      Breathing, she held in her hope as an aching desperateness. Could this happen again or had she ruined it with her choice of sacrificing others so that they might live?

      She turned to the mirror and looked at herself. She was not a bad person or a deceitful one. She had done her best ever since the betrayal at Perpignan to make amends for the harm that she had caused. Would Nathaniel see that of her? Would he be able to look beyond the past and see a future?

      ‘Please, God, let it be so,’ she whispered and hurried to find shoes, stockings and a coat to match her gown.

      * * *

      Cassandra arrived on the dot of eight-fifteen, the ornate clock in the corner of the front entrance still calling out the quarter-hour. She had come. Dismissing his man, Nat went out to the carriage to open the door, the large black cape she wore hiding much, though her eyes shone through in the dark, anxious and fearful.

      ‘Is Jamie better today?’ A topic other than this want that hung between them was welcomed, and she smiled.

      ‘He is, my lord.’ She allowed the Lindsay servant to take her cloak.

      ‘So formal, my lady.’

      At that she blushed heavily, and would have tripped on the hem of her yellow gown had he not placed his hand beneath her arm. God, all he wanted to do was to snatch her up and take her to his bed, to assuage a pummelling need that was gaining more traction with every single second.

      Friendship.

      The word came back, loud with inherent meaning. He needed to slow down and calm down, for Cassandra Northrup deserved so much more than a quick tumble of lust, devoid of chivalry and consideration.

      ‘Dinner is waiting in the dining room. After that I shall dismiss the servants and...’ He did not finish.

      ‘A meal sounds lovely.’ She smiled at him then, as though she understood in his unfinished sentence some shared disquiet.

      ‘The French chef from St Auburn followed me down to London and is very competent. I hope you will enjoy the fare.’ Lord, why was he rambling on like this? He sounded like a green youth in the first throes of pleasing a girl, so he bit down for silence. He hardly recognised himself in his concern for making the right impression.

      When he had visited Hawk earlier in the afternoon to tell him his worries about Hanley he had also mentioned the proposed dinner with Cassandra Northrup. With all good intentions Stephen had instructed him to smile a lot and be most attentive, but for the life of him Nat couldn’t seem to make his lips curl upwards and empty compliments had never been his style.

      Instead, he pulled the chair from the table and invited Cassandra to sit and then he took his own place a good few feet away. Distance made him less edgy and the procession of kitchen staff with tureens of soup and entrées turned his mind for a moment from the reason as to why she was here alone tonight.

      ‘I don’t think I thanked you properly for your help with Jamie the other night, Nathaniel. I do not normally panic.’

      ‘I was glad that you called me, and if he is anything like me and has another fit it should be months away.’

      ‘You only had three episodes, you said.’

      ‘Indeed. I outgrew them exactly as the St Auburn physician had predicted that I would.’

      ‘A family trait, then?’

      ‘My father was prone to the same as a child. He did not have brothers or sisters, however, so I am not certain if it would have been something that ran through the whole line.’

      ‘Well, it is reassuring to know that you recovered.’ She drew a spoon of soup to her mouth and sighed. ‘Onion soup. This is a taste I remember, though I have not had it since Paris.’

      ‘You did not think to send word to your father after Perpignan and ask him to help?’

      She shook her head, the red-gold catching the light from the chandelier above in a sparkling cascade of colour. ‘Papa would have found the situation trying, and as a family we attempt to shelter him from anything that is difficult. After Mama died he was...brittle and I am not certain if he will ever be truly happy again.’

      ‘So you managed alone?’

      ‘I did.’

      ‘You do that often.’