Mary Balogh - Seducing an Angel

"Then do my bidding and go to bed," Cassandra said, interrupting her.

"And if you hear a knock at the door, ignore it. I will answer it."

"And then bringing me here with you when Billy was gone again and his present lordship dismissed me before he come back," Mary added, refusing to be daunted. "What you ought to do, my lady, is let /me/ answer the door and do with that gentleman what you plan to do. It is only right and fitting. He can pay /me/, and I will give the money to /you/."

"Oh, Mary." Cassandra closed the distance between them and hugged her, heedless of her grubby apron and hands. "That is the dearest offer anyone has made me in a long, long while. But you must not worry. The Earl of Merton is a kind and decent man and I like him. And it has been a long time… Well, never mind. But sometimes work can also be pleasure, you know."

She felt her cheeks flushing and wished she had not tried to give any explanation at all.

Alice, having finished making her tea, banged the kettle down on the hob.

"He /is/ a handsome gent," Mary conceded. "He looks like an angel, don't he, my lady?"

"I think maybe he is one," Cassandra said. "An angel sent to save us all. Go to bed now, both of you, so that I can get ready for him. And don't look at me, Alice, as if I were preparing myself for my own execution. He is /gorgeous/. There, I have said it. He is gorgeous and he is my lover and I am happy about it. It is /not/ all about money. I like him and I am going to be happy with him. You will see. After a year of wearing black and being increasingly gloomy, I am going to be /happy/. With an /angel/. Be happy /for/ me."

He had called her /outrageous/ last evening, and, oh, dear, she was.

They were both sniveling when they went off to bed. /Not/, Cassandra guessed, with happiness.

And yet she had not completely lied, she realized in some surprise, even dismay. There /was/ a part of her that almost looked forward to the coming night. She had been lonely for a long, long time. She still was lonely. At least the night – and her bed – would not be empty. Not tonight, anyway, and not, if she was very fortunate, for most of the nights in the foreseeable future.

There had to be /some/ silver lining to the cloud that had hung so persistently over her for so long. Surely there must be.

Perhaps being bedded by the Earl of Merton would push back the loneliness just a little bit.

Perhaps he was the silver lining.

She was so /weary/ of the darkness. /Please, please, let there be some light/.

Stephen dined at Cavendish Square with Vanessa and Elliott and a few other guests. Inevitably the latter included one unmarried young lady, who had come with her father.

His sisters were not persistent matchmakers. Indeed, they were all quite vocal in their hope that he would not marry too early in life and that when he /did/ marry it would be for love. But they were not above drawing his attention to young ladies who were eligible and might just take his fancy. They knew his tastes too.

Miss Soames was to his taste. She was young and pretty and slender. She was sweet-natured and vivacious and had an infectious gurgle of a laugh.

She had manners and conversation. She was modest but not overly shy.

Stephen sat beside her at dinner. He sat beside her in one of the carriages that conveyed them all to the theater afterward, and he sat next to her in Elliott's private box. He enjoyed her company and believed she enjoyed his.

It was an evening typical of many others.

And also different from many others.

For there was scarcely a moment all evening when his mind was free of thoughts about Cassandra.

And despite himself he looked forward with some impatience to seeing her again later.

He ought not. He ought to cling to the world that included Miss Soames and Lady Christobel Foley and their like, the world of his male friends and activities, the world of his family, the world of his parliamentary duties and all the other responsibilities that went with his title and his landholdings.

The world with which he had grown familiar in the past eight years. It was a world he liked.

Cassandra, Lady Paget, was of another world, and there was darkness there. And something undeniably enticing too.

It was not just the promise of frequent sex.

Surely there was more than just that to attract him.

But it was an unwilling, uneasy attraction, whatever it was.

Sir Wesley Young was at the theater too. He was seated in a box with seven other people, one of them the lady with whom he had been driving in the park this afternoon. There was a great deal of merriment in their box during the course of the evening.

His presence did not help Stephen concentrate his attention upon Miss Soames and the other members of his brother-in-law's party. He tried to imagine one of his own sisters in Lady Paget's situation – Nessie, for example. Would he have been able to ignore her in the park this afternoon, hopeful that the /ton/ would not discover that she was his sister? Would he be able to make merry here tonight, knowing what he had done?

It was inconceivable! He would always stand by his sisters no matter the consequences to himself. Some forms of love /were/ unconditional and eternal, despite what Cassandra had said to the contrary.

While he ought to have been enjoying the play, one of his favorite activities, he entertained mental images of her five-year-old self hovering over her newborn brother, hugging and kissing him, crooning to him, talking to him, loving him because there was no one to love her except an often-absent father, and no one to love /him/ unless she did it.

And Stephen's mind kept reverting to that scene at her door this afternoon.

The very domestic scene.

There had been the young, thin, wide-eyed maid who looked more like a waif than the sort of battle-axe of a servant he would have expected if he had thought about it. And a shy, mop-haired child with rosy cheeks.

And an elderly dog who looked as if he had been through a war or two in his time but had lost none of his affection for his mistress.

Perhaps, he thought, Cassandra had had more than her own survival and well-being in mind when she had gone to Meg's ball in search of a protector.

Perhaps there was light in her life after all, even if it had been dimmed by circumstances.

This afternoon her house had looked rather…

Well, like a home.

As he left Merton House on foot after the theater party was at an end, Stephen's feelings were mixed. He wanted to see Cassandra again. He wanted to be inside her bedchamber again. He wanted to make love to her again, perhaps with a little more finesse this time and a little more attention to giving her full pleasure.

At the same time, he felt uneasy about conducting such business inside her home. Perhaps he ought to have rented a house in which to conduct their liaison. Perhaps he still ought.

He would think about it tomorrow.

CASSANDRA sat in the darkened drawing room as she waited. She had changed into a silk and lace nightgown that she very rarely wore. She wore a flowing robe over it. Both were white. She had brushed out her hair and tied it at the nape of her neck with a white ribbon.

Like a bride awaiting her bridegroom, she thought.

Some irony.

And it was not a comfortable outfit to wear in the chilly room.

He came late. But she had not been expecting that he would be early. She listened for the clopping of horses' hooves, the jingling of harness, the rumbling of wheels. But she was taken by surprise after all when the knocker rapped rather softly against the door.

He had come on foot.

He was wearing a long black opera cloak, she could see when she opened the door, and a tall silk hat, which he removed as soon as he saw her.

She saw him smile in the light of a street lamp, and the cloak swirled around him as he stepped closer.

He was all darkness and light and virility.

Her breath quickened, half with dread, half with…

Well.

"Cassandra," he said, "I hope I am not very much later than you expected."

He stepped into the hall and shut and bolted the door himself as the single candle in the wall sconce shivered from the outside air.

"It is only half past eleven," she said. "Did you have a pleasant evening?"

She turned to lead the way upstairs, extinguishing the candle as she passed it. Within a week or two, she supposed, this would all be very routine. Perhaps even tedious. There was much to be said for tedium.

Tonight she could feel her heart thumping, robbing her of breath. She was as nervous as a bride, even though they had done this just last night and tonight should be easier.

That had been a little different, of course. She had not been his mistress then, employed to offer just this service. Paid in advance.

"Yes, thank you," he said. "I dined with Moreland and my sister and their other guests and then went to the theater with them."

And now to the house of his mistress. A complete gentleman's night out.

She was glad Alice's room was on the upper floor with Mary's and Belinda's. She had wanted Alice to take the room next to hers when they moved in, but there was too much noise from the street outside, Alice had protested, sensitive to it after ten years of living in the country.

The higher room was sure to be quieter.

Cassandra extinguished the candle outside her room and stepped inside.

He followed her in and shut the door. There was enough light. She had angled the side mirrors of the dressing table, as she had done last night, so that the light from the single candle was many times reflected.

"May I pour you some wine?" She crossed the room to the tray she had set on a table beside the bed. It had been an extravagance, the wine, but today she had been able to afford it.

"Thank you," he said.

She poured a glass for each of them and handed him one. He was standing not far inside the door. He had set his cloak over the back of a chair, his hat upon the seat. He was wearing black evening clothes with an ivory embroidered waistcoat, a white shirt with crisp collar points, and a neckcloth that had been knotted by an expert, though it was not ostentatious.

The Earl of Merton did not need ostentation. He had enough beauty and charisma of person to make further adornment quite unnecessary.

She clinked her glass against his.

"To pleasure," she said, and smiled into his eyes.

"To /mutual/ pleasure," he agreed, and held her gaze as they both drank.

Even in the dim, flickering light of the candle his eyes were very blue.

He took her glass from her hand and carried it, with his own, to set back on the tray. Then he turned and opened his hands, palms out, toward her.

"Come," he said.

He was standing right beside the bed. She half expected that he would tumble her to it without further ado and proceed to business. Instead, he set both arms loosely about her waist.

"And how was /your/ evening?" he asked her.

"I sat in the drawing room watching Alice stitching at some mending," she said, "and did absolutely nothing myself. I was shamefully lazy."

She had been horribly agitated, actually, though she had tried not to show it – or even admit it to herself.

Until last night she had only ever lain with Nigel. And that, God help her, had had the sanctity of marriage. It had not felt sinful.

Did this, then? They were consenting adults. They were harming no one by being together.

"Sometimes," he said, "laziness is a thoroughly enjoyable luxury."

"Yes, it is." She set her hands on either side of his slim waist. They were instantly warmed by his body heat.

He closed his arms about her, bringing her against him from bosom to knees, and kissed her.

It was somehow unexpected. And it was strangely alarming. She had expected to control this encounter as she had last night's. She had planned to undress him slowly tonight, exploring his body with her hands and mouth as she did so, driving him mad with need and desire. She /still/ planned it, but…

But he was kissing her.

The alarming, unexpected thing was that it was neither a passionate nor a lascivious kiss. It was warm and comfortable and… Tender?

It was a kiss that tore at her defenses.