Any Groom Will Do Page 14

  Faintly, in the back of her mind, there was so much more to say. She had been earnestly angry about being the last to know. And she would hear more about his visit to Aunt Mary’s. But this . . . this kiss . . . seemed to take urgent precedence over any words that could be effectively spoken, almost as if every non-kissing thing they’d managed that day had been a half effort, playacting, until the urgent business of what they really wanted finally collided them together.

  After, she thought idly, holding his head to hers. After the kiss, we will speak.

  “I’ve wanted you since the last time,” he breathed, sweeping his hands up her body to cradle her face. “I wanted you every moment in your workshop. I thought I would expire from wanting you.”

  I’m expiring now, she thought, and he scooped her up by the bottom, higher his time, entirely off the ground. He bounced her once to slide his hands from her hips to her thighs, urging her legs around his hips.

  She complied without thinking, laughing at how natural it felt, and he carried her, face-to-face, to the bed.

  And now he dumped her backward into the fluffy white coverlet. The lace canopy swung into view above her, but only for a moment because he followed her down and fell on top of her.

  She laughed again and reached for him, reveling in the hard, solid weight of him. She buried her fingers in his hair and kissed him as if he would sail for Barbadoes in the next five minutes—which, she thought idly, he might do. She whimpered at the thought and kissed him harder.

  “This is madness,” he mumbled, grazing his fingers beneath the shoulder of her gown, nudging the fabric down. Lower still, just beneath the top of the bodice, his fingers sliding to the neckline. She arched, willing him to feel lower, deeper. “Yes,” she said.

  He groaned and followed his fingers with his mouth, kissing first her shoulder and then licking his way down to her breasts. Willow whimpered and raised her knees, wanting urgent closeness. He grabbed her leg through her skirt and hitched it higher on his hip and held it there, aligning their bodies in a way that caused Willow’s eyes to fly open. She blinked at the canopy again, seeing nothing, and raised the other knee. Cassin laughed and nudged the neckline of her gown lower, setting her skin aflame with his whisker-bristled chin.

  She was just about to wrap her legs around his waist, to hook her feet at the ankles and arch up, when they heard a scream from the doorway, followed by a chorus of barking.

  The sound shattered the haze of pleasure and desire, and they froze.

  Perry stood in the open doorway with her hands clasped over her eyes. Her mother’s five dogs milled at her feet.

  Cassin swore, breathing hard, and rested his forehead against her temple. She dropped her legs, and his hands slid away. He rolled off of her and lay beside her, panting at the canopy. Willow bit her lip and tried to steady her breath. Perry pivoted to run, but Willow called out to her. “Perry, wait!”

  Cassin swore again, louder this time.

  She sat up. “Perry, wait.”

  The maid reappeared in the open doorway, her hands still clasped over her eyes. “Begging your pardon, my lady,” she said.

  Willow slid from the bed and smoothed the shoulder and neckline of her gown. “You may open your eyes, Perry. It was unthinkably rude of us to . . . forget ourselves with the door open. But we are recovered now.” Cassin remained splayed across the bed with his arm over his eyes. She kicked his boot.

  “But my lady,” said Perry, walking into the room with her eyes still covered. “What about the silk negligee? From France? With the silver lace and matching slippers?”

  Cassin groaned softly.

  “No, no, it’s the middle of the day, and the earl was just leaving, actually. You caught us in a good-bye kiss that happened to . . . tip over. I apologize.”

  Carefully, Perry dropped her hands from her eyes. “I told you it was a real wedding,” she said.

  “Never mind that,” Willow said in a rush. “I’ve made a mess of the trunk, I’m afraid. We’ll need a second one for these last things from my bedchamber. Will you ask Abbott to send a footman with another? There should be more in the attic.”

  Perry was staring down into the pile of possessions heaped into the open trunk, shaking her head. “Yes, my lady.” She shooed the dogs into the corridor. “Should I close the door, my lady?”

  “Yes,” Willow said in the same moment that Cassin said, “No.”

  ***

  “Is that what this was?” Cassin asked, sitting up in the bed, dropping his head in his hands. “A good-bye kiss?” His body was so hard he was in physical pain. He gritted his teeth against the impulse to reach for her hand and pull her back to him.

  “My attitude toward consummating the marriage has not changed, Cassin,” she said. “I cope with things I cannot have by separating myself from them entirely.”

  “You consider this”—he gestured to the bed—“to be separating yourself?”

  Willow blushed. “I . . . I was carried away, but I did not intend to . . . that is . . . ” She cleared her throat. “Yes, it was a good-bye kiss. Ten minutes ago you were leaving Surrey within the hour. I’m fond of you, Cassin. Surely this is obvious to you.”

  Something in the area of his heart shifted, a barricade held together by responsibility and fear. He knew he should interject, to stop her from saying things that he was not ready to reciprocate, but he could not. His gaze remained locked on her face. He waited like a prisoner awaits news of his parole.

  She shrugged. “Every time you kiss me I grow, er, fonder. So there you have it. I deny us the consummation not to be tyrannical or prudish but to protect myself. We will have a business relationship until . . . well, until we do not have one. Whether that is because we have no relationship at all or whether you acknowledge some fondness for me remains to be seen.”

  “Willow,” he said, “I am so blindingly fond of you that I nearly took you on your girlhood bed with the bloody door open.”

  “This is not my girlhood bed.”

  “The bed is not the point,” he ground out. “The point is that I can easily concede fondness for you, Willow, it’s simply that . . . ”

  He ran a hand through his hair and shoved off the bed to pace. He would tell her about his uncle, he thought. It was no explanation, but it was . . . something.

  “I had a visit from my uncle when I was in town.” He stopped and stared at her. She stepped away from the trunk into the light of the window, and his body surged again to full possessive attention. He resumed pacing. “It is more important than ever that the guano expedition begin as soon as possible and succeed as spectacularly as possible.”

  “But what did your uncle want?” she asked.

  “I’ve no wish to trouble you with him, but I cannot leave the country without giving you some awareness. There is a very small chance that he may seek you out, try to make your acquaintance. God knows what he might do.”

  “But surely he has no notion of me.”

  Cassin made a scoffing noise. “God forbid. Still, he managed to extract the news that I planned to marry and also that I would depart the country almost immediately afterward. His questions were endless. ‘What of this fresh supply of money? How do you plan to provide for Caldera after her dowry runs out?’ If he turns up, cut him immediately, Willow. Can you do that?”

  She nodded, her turquoise eyes huge, and Cassin’s heart clenched in the earnestness of that look. She had been correct, of course. She was always correct. She deserved to know what drove his decisions and how they affected her.

  “His threats to Caldera persist,” Cassin added. “In fact, they are mounting.”

  “He would endeavor to take the earldom from you?”

  Cassin shrugged. “If he knew a way, I’m sure he would.”

  “So he wants . . . ” The question trailed off.

  “Coal. Always coal. At any cost, even the safety of the men who descend into the earth to pound it out. He seems to have accepted the fact that I will not open the
existing mines, but now he hounds me to excavate newer, deeper mines on the land—deep-shaft mines, they are called.”

  “But Caldera and its mines, new or old, are not his to decide,” she said.

  “One would assume. But he seems to believe that I can be convinced by a chorus of his like-minded coal hounds in London. He’s drawn up a proposal to form a joint-stock company to finance a deep-shaft mine on my land. He’s gone so far as to rally six or seven investors and counting. As if his lot of coal-rich bourgeoisie could sway me.”

  She made a snorting noise, and he looked at her. “What?”

  “You do see the irony?”

  “That virtually anyone will invest in a death-trap coal mine, but the only person willing to invest in the guano was you?”

  “Yes, that,” she said softly. She gave a little shrug. He was overwhelmed with the urge to take her up and kiss her again. He forced himself to turn away.

  “It’s a wretched combination,” he said, “of my uncle’s boundless ambition and his refusal to take me seriously. I lie awake at night, worrying about his lust for Caldera. It’s his boyhood home; he had already begun to salivate over it at the end of my father’s life. So avaricious, despite the mines he already owns throughout all of bloody England. His greed burns brightest for Yorkshire. It tortures him that I’ve closed the mines.”

  “Can I help you deter him when I am in London? I should like to do more,” Willow said.

  He laughed again. “You’ve done so much. Your dowry may very well save the earldom from ruin. Looking back, I cannot believe I resisted you for so long.” I cannot believe I resisted you for even five minutes, he thought. I cannot believe I am resisting you now.

  She shrugged and glanced at the open door. “You were being responsible,” she said, “when you resisted.”

  I’m so weary of being responsible, he thought.

  Willow added, “That is why we are not consummating the marriage. We are too responsible.”

  Cassin laughed. “I am not that responsible.” He raised an eyebrow.

  She blushed more deeply and took a step closer, studying his face. It was a look he knew well, one he dreaded as much as he adored, because it gave him little choice but to stare heatedly back.

  Mercy, please, God, he wanted to say. Aquamarine eyes, auburn lashes, porcelain skin. I see it. I see it all, and what good does it, except to stop my heart?

  If he wanted to kiss her again, she would allow it—of this, he was certain. But where would one kiss lead? He was not in a position to make promises, and she would accept nothing less. And rightly so. Never did he think her unreasonable; simply that she was not what he had planned for this moment in time.

  He sighed and turned away, clearing his throat. “I have prepared a dossier for you, Willow, and I have left it in the care of your aunt and uncle in London. Please look it over when you’ve reached Belgravia. It lists the names of my solicitors and banker, my mother and brother and sisters and their direction at Caldera. They know of you and are curious, naturally. I would not put it beyond my mother to write you and venture some introduction—that is, through the post. You may decide if you care to reply. But be careful; she can be an aggressive correspondent.”

  He glanced at her. It was a huge confidence, giving her leave to write his mother, but he trusted her to be contained, and respectful, and to restrict language to well within the bounds of their current agreement.

  “The papers in London also include the details of where I will be and how to reach me by post in the Caribbean. The Royal Mail delivers twice a week on the island of Barbadoes—although we can expect five weeks from when you post any letter for it to reach us.”

  He forced himself to stop just shy of asking her to write to him. Her face was unreadable, and he could only imagine that his own expression held something akin to tired misery. He was so very tired, exhausted from mustering inhuman self-control and miserable from wanting her.

  He finished, “I’ve explained these details to your aunt and uncle as well. London is so very different from Surrey, but they will help you make your way. I would not have abandoned you to them if they had not convinced me of this.”

  She nodded once, raising her eyebrows, another unreadable gesture. It occurred to him that she now suffered through yet another moment of being the last to know.

  “This is a lot of information in a short amount of time, I am aware,” he said. “I thought a dossier would be the most succinct way, considering my rushed departure. I . . . I hope you can allow for all of it.”

  “I don’t see how I have a choice,” she said.

  He sighed. “I see your point about being apprised of things at the last minute, Willow. But honestly, I’m only discovering how to manage our very odd relationship myself. It’s not that I—” He paused, searching for the correct word. “It has never been my intent to subjugate you. On top of everything else.”

  She nodded again. “There is a very great distance between leaving me to my own independence and subjugating me, Cassin. This was the vast territory I wished to explore.”

  Cassin dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling. She spoke of their potential future. A future for which he could promise exactly nothing.

  Willow spoke again. “It is not my nature to leave something undefined; I’ve said this before. But that is the very essence of our relationship, isn’t it? Undefined. Not quite business, as I designed it, but also not intimate—not fully. You have shared your reasons for withholding anything more, even if I was forced to wait until we part ways to hear them. They are valid reasons, I grant you. We are at an impasse. I’m not sure what more can be said.”

  If Cassin was meant to articulate this more-ness, he could not. She was five seconds from showing him the bloody door. He could sense it. He’d be forced from this heavenly room, from her bewitching presence, from the passion that had, just moments ago, blazed. Of course he could not speak. He could barely breathe.

  She dropped the gloves into the trunk and walked to the door. “Good-bye, Cassin. And good luck. I will make some excuse to my mother and her guests about why you have gone.”

  She stepped into the corridor and gestured that he should walk out. Her blue-green eyes were bright with unshed tears, but the set of her jaw left no question.

  Cassin swallowed hard, rolled his shoulders, and left the room. “Good-bye, Willow,” he said, breathing in the scent of cinnamon.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  25 December 1830

  No. 43 Wilton Crescent

  Belgrave Square

  London, England

  Dear Cassin,

  I write you on the evening of Christmas, sitting alone in the attic studio of my aunt’s home in Wilton Crescent. Just a few lines I hope, after which I’ll pen notes to my mother and brother.

  Happy Christmas, my lord. Our hasty farewell has weighed heavily on my mind, but it has taken me these many weeks to muster the wherewithal to put pen to paper. What better time than Christmas?

  I struggle to imagine Christmas morning on a tropical island, but with any luck you have arrived safely and are settled in. I hope you have managed to take a special meal and have a song or two to celebrate. This letter will not reach you until late January or possibly February, but please know even now that my thoughts were with you on Christmas, et cetera, et cetera.

  After a day of window-rattling winds and intermittent sun, the night has gone cold and still. I can scarcely make out the trees and pathways of Belgrave Square. My aunt has arranged a workbench for me in their studio, and I drift to the window so frequently they tease me about laziness. They do not know the spectacular view of trees and parkland to which I was accustomed in Leland Park, nor how intrigued I am, even after weeks in London, at the rush of city life on the street below.

  How correct you were to warn of the differences between country and city life. London is as different from Surrey as night is from day. But I am quite taken with the pace and crowds of it all, dazzled, you might s
ay. From the crush of street stalls to the museum exhibits and theatres, I devour each new sight and experience.

  Tessa and Mr. Chance are married now (more on that in the postscript), and his paddle steamer should be nearly to you. Now that I have both friends with me, exploring the city at my side, I can but marvel that my dream actually came true. Never fear about homesickness, there’s none of that here. Well, with the exception of dear Perry. I have suggested that she may eventually view the noise and the commotion as vital and progressive, but I cannot say that she values vitality or progress as I do. She is a country girl at heart. I would not say that I prefer the city to the country, but I do so relish the discovery of a way of life so different from what I have known.

  And of course the access to craftsmen and artisans in London is far greater than ever I had dreamed. My aunt has included me in calls to what surely must be every workshop and studio in the city, and I am astounded at the variety and splendor of the fabrics and carpets, the art and stonework. And the international markets! Spilling over with furniture and decorative pieces from around the world. I feel we shall never see it all, and new ships arrive daily with more treasures. I can scarcely sleep at night for the colors and textures spinning in my head. I cannot take down notes or sketch quickly enough to record the onslaught of inspiration. Best of all, the new Belgravia homes in which we might place these treasures are blank canvases just waiting to be adorned.

  But I will not bore you with my wide-eyed wonderment. London is all that I dreamed it would be and more, rest assured. I doubt I shall ever find the words to thank you for making it possible for me. (My mother has discovered my intention to live and work with her estranged sister, by the way. Her reaction was one letter, very nasty in tone, declaring that she would not visit. Precisely what I had expected, and so be it.)

  But since I am speaking of letters, I should let you know that I have received a missive from your mother and sisters, as you suggested I might. I’ve taken you at your word that I may respond in kind, and we have begun a lively correspondence. Never fear; I go to great pains to be vague about our relationship and gloss over their requests that I might visit Yorkshire.