Page 23 of Dare to be Wicked

Cassius turned back to see Lottie blanch at the idea.

“I had better go,” she said, hurrying to the door. “Thank you, Ash.”

She touched his sleeve as she passed, and Ashton sighed, his expression softening.

“You’re welcome. I just don’t want to see you hurt, love. You know that.”

Lottie nodded and cast Cassius a guilty glance before she hurried away.

“Bloody hell,” Ashton swore, the moment Lottie was out of earshot. “You’re playing with fire, Cass.”

“We were talking,” Cassius retorted. “Nothing more. I was explaining about my work and—”

“And that’s why you both leapt two feet in the air when I came in, was it? You could cut the atmosphere with a knife, you pillock.”

Cassius bristled, irritated. “What’s up, Ash? Are you jealous? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised after the way you were pouring the butter boat over her last night.”

“To provoke you into sorting this situation out, you stupid devil. My God, it’s like watching a carriage accident. You know it’s going to happen and there’s not a damned thing you can do about it.”

“It’s not that bad,” Cassius said, waving away the comment like an annoying insect. “I shall speak to Eliza this afternoon and sort things out with her.”

“Be sure that you do. She’s our friend, Cass. I won’t have her upset or embarrassed.”

“She’s my friend!” Cassius retorted, stung. “I’ve not said anything because I can’t bear to see her hurt. I feel wretched about the whole blasted situation. It was absurd of us to believe I could go away for two years and come back as if nothing had happened, but we did believe it, which is no fault of mine.”

Ash let out a breath and patted Cassius on the shoulder. “I know that. I would just hate for the two of you to lose that friendship. I know she means the world to you. I’m just anxious on your behalf. I would hate to see you upset too, you know.”

Cassius snorted. “If that were true you’d never have worn that waistcoat. Good God, Ash, what is wrong with you?”

Ash looked down at the offending article and stroked it lovingly. “Very few men could get away with wearing such a thing, I’ll have you know.”

“There are so many responses to that statement I hardly know which to choose,” Cassius muttered. “But I suspect those few men are probably confined to Bedlam, driven there by that lurid pattern.”

Ash shrugged, regarding his reflection in one of the windows and considering the geometric pattern in red black and gold that was making Cassius feel quite giddy.

“I like it,” he said, before turning back to Cassius. “And a man standing in a rumpled shirt which looks like he slept in it, and who hasn’t bathed or shaved, really ought not have any opinion on matters sartorial. You look an utter wreck, Cass.”

Cassius looked down at himself and rubbed a hand over his bristly chin.

“A fair point,” he conceded. “Come on, then, you can escort me back to the house. Just walk ahead of me, will you? That way I can’t see your waistcoat.”

“Idiot,” Ash grumbled, but led him out of the door.

Chapter 8

Dear Phoebe,

I hope this letter finds you all well. As you know we are staying with the St Clair’s for some weeks ahead of the grand ball they give each summer. Will you be coming? I do hope to see you.

We have the company of Louis César de Montluc, Comte de Villen and his brother Mr Demarteau. Of course we all remember your stories about meeting them in Paris at their infamous club. I admit they are everything you indicated. What do you know of them, though? The comte has made no secret of his desire to court me, and he is indeed very charming. His brother, however, is rude and surly and… utterly fascinating. I must know more about him, and why on earth he has taken me in such dislike. Before you protest, I must tell you that he truly has, and I am not the only person to have remarked it. I assure you I am not the kind of woman who expects to be universally adored, but he seems unable to bear being in the same room as I. It is vexing and frustrating not to understand what it is that makes him revile me. So please, Phoebe, tell me everything you know.

―Excerpt of letter to The Right Hon’ble Phoebe Carmichael, The Countess of Ellisborough, from Lady Elizabeth Adolphus.

1st July 1838, on the way to Bodiam Castle, Robertsbridge.

“Lottie, have you heard a word I’ve said?”

“What?”