Impetuous. Candace Camp
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him. “Your story is the only thing I do not find appealing about you.”
“S-sir Philip...” Cassandra managed to stammer, washed with a weakness and confusion that were foreign to her.
He bent and brushed his lips against hers lightly, then more forcefully. Cassandra could feel the pulse suddenly pounding in her head, and her breath caught in her throat. The memories of her lascivious dream of the night before came flooding back, turning her knees weak and melting her loins. She sagged against him. His arms went more tightly around her, pressing her up into his hard body, and his lips sank into hers.
For one long moment she gave herself up to the pleasure, not thinking of her disappointment, her plans or anything, just feeling the liquid fire that sizzled through her veins.
“Cassandra...” he murmured, releasing her mouth long enough to trace her jawline with kisses.
Somehow the sound of his voice saying her name brought Cassandra back to reality. Through the haze of delightful physical sensation, she recalled where they were and how improper their conduct was—not to mention the fact that he had just dismissed her search for the Spanish dowry as a fraud and characterized her as a naive woman grasping for straws to relieve her sorrow over her father’s death.
Cassandra jerked back and slapped his face. Neville’s jaw tightened, and for a moment anger flared in his eyes, but then the usual cool, polite mask descended, hiding both the anger and the passion.
“I beg your pardon,” he began stiffly.
But Cassandra cut in on him, in no mood for polite apologies. “I should have known! It is so typical that it is almost laughable. You have no interest in anything I said. All you care about is trying to steal a kiss while we are secluded in the maze. No wonder you were so willing to listen to what I had to say. You knew that it would give you an excuse to get me alone and try to seduce me. I should have known that any man who spends his nights sneaking into young women’s bedchambers would only be interested in taking advantage of a woman. I suppose I am naive, as you said—not because I believe Margaret Verrere’s journals are genuine, but because I did not realize that the only thing you were interested in is lust! Oh, I knew that a Neville would be difficult to persuade, but I did not realize that an even worse problem would be having to deal with a libertine!”
“I did not try to lure you out here,” Neville protested, his own brows drawing together furiously. It occurred to him that Cassandra Verrere could be quite as annoying as she was attractive. “It was you who asked to speak to me, if you will remember, and it was also you who suggested that we talk privately in the maze.”
“Oh! So you are going to use that against me! I merely wanted to be able to speak in private. I did not mean it as an invitation to kiss me!”
“No,” he responded bitingly, “’twas your lips that provided that.”
Cassandra gasped. “You are insulting.”
“Only truthful. If you will think back on it, you returned my kiss quite willingly, at least until you remembered that you were supposed to react with maidenly outrage.” Neville found it supremely annoying that even while he was irritated with Cassandra, his wayward body was still thrumming with desire for her. Damn it! She had a most peculiar effect on him.
Cassandra ground her teeth, letting out a low and most unlady-like growl of frustration. “Blast you!” she snapped, her mild father’s favorite oath, and wished she knew something worse to say. “I was a fool to think that a Neville would help me. I wish I had never talked to you. I wish I had never even seen you!”
With those bitter words, she whirled and ran away from him.
“Wait! No, Miss Verrere...”
Neville started after her, but Cassandra had a good head start, and she knew the map of the maze, so she quite easily made her way out ahead of him. Once or twice she heard him calling her name behind her, but she paid no attention. She burst out onto the smooth expanse of the lawn and stopped. Her aunt and cousin were walking along the path leading from the garden to the wide lawn. They looked at her in surprise, her aunt’s eyebrows rising in disdain. Cassandra smoothed down her skirts and walked toward them at her usual brisk pace, hoping that her face would not give away her inner turmoil.
“Really, Cassandra, must you hurry about so?” Aunt Ardis complained as she drew near them. “You always are in such a rush. It is most ungenteel.”
“I am sorry, Aunt,” Cassandra responded automatically. “Good morning to you both.”
She started to pass them, heading back toward the house, but at that moment, Sir Philip burst from the maze entrance, saying, “Damn it, Miss Verrere!”
Both Joanna and Aunt Ardis turned toward him, promptly forgetting all about their inelegant relative. Aunt Ardis’s face underwent a miraculous change, becoming suddenly gracious and welcoming. Beside her, Joanna dimpled and smiled and began to fan herself coyly.
“Why, Sir Philip!” Aunt Ardis exclaimed warmly. “What a pleasant surprise to come upon you.”
“Hardly an unlikely event,” Sir Philip replied drily, “since we are both staying here.”
Joanna tittered as if he had said something unbearably amusing. Sir Philip turned toward her. “Miss Moulton.” He gave her a sardonic look and continued, “I trust that you are feeling better this morning after your nightmare last night.”
Joanna’s mouth dropped open, and she glanced from him to her mother and back. Aunt Ardis was of no help, appearing equally astounded. Sir Philip looked toward Cassandra. She met his eyes with a stony gaze, folding her arms across her chest. Sir Philip started to speak, then stopped. He nodded toward them in a general way.
“Good day, ladies.” He turned and walked briskly away from them.
For a long moment Joanna and Aunt Ardis stared at his retreating form in stupefaction. Finally Joanna exclaimed, “He knew! Mama, he knew!”
“Nonsense. Just hush.” Her mother frowned at Joanna and cast a significant glance toward Cassandra.
“Oh.”
“Please, don’t bother trying to hide anything on my account,” Cassandra told them. “I am quite aware of your scheme to entrap Sir Philip.” She paused and added pointedly, “Obviously he is, too.”
“You told him!” Joanna cried indignantly.
“Joanna!” Aunt Ardis interrupted sharply.
“Well, she knows anyway.” Joanna pouted. “She’s probably been sneaking about listening at keyholes.”
“It is hardly necessary,” Cassandra replied coolly. “Anyone who heard your mother banging on your door and shrieking last night would have had a fair idea what you two were up to. And given the way you were throwing yourself at Sir Philip yesterday afternoon, it was not hard to guess who you were trying to entrap.”
Mrs. Moulton let out a moan of mortification, but Joanna started toward her cousin furiously, shrieking, “Why, you jealous cat!”
Aunt Ardis had the sense to grab Joanna’s wrist and hold her back. “Joanna! Stop it! Right now. I will not have you creating a scene at Lady Arrabeck’s house party. Things are bad enough already.” She glanced around the lawn anxiously, as if she expected the other houseguests to be gathering around and whispering about her. “Do you really think they all believe that we—that Joanna—”
Seeing her aunt’s look of humiliation, Cassandra almost took pity on her. However, she was in no mood to linger here, and she knew that if Aunt Ardis didn’t fear the scorn of the other guests, she would remain at the country estate as long as she could, searching for another prey for her daughter or perhaps even convincing herself that Sir Philip was still interested in Joanna himself. Joanna was, as even Cassandra was forced to admit, an exceptionally handsome woman, and Aunt Ardis was of the opinion that every man swooned before Joanna’s beauty. She never considered that anyone might be repelled by Joanna’s