Page 68 of Dare to be Wicked

The duchess trailed off and Cassius followed her gaze, realising she had seen the painting.

“Oh,” she said, one elegant hand moving to cover her heart. “Oh, Robert.”

The duke sent Cassius a look that told him he’d not be getting within fifty feet of his daughter again before the wedding if he had anything to do with it, before going to stand beside his wife.

“Isn’t it lovely, Mama?” Lottie said, taking her mother’s arm. “He’s flattered me dreadfully, of course, but I can hardly complain about that.”

There was silence for a moment while her parents studied the picture.

“No,” the duke said at length. “No, he hasn’t flattered you. He’s seen you just as you are, as I knew he did, for I should not have let you go away from me so soon otherwise.”

“Oh, Papa,” Lottie said, hearing just as Cassius had, the slight tremble of emotion in the man’s voice. She ran to her father and hugged him tightly.

“Oh, stop it!” the duchess wailed, wrestling a lace handkerchief from her sleeve. “You know the slightest thing sends me off at the m-moment and how can I p-possibly withstand….”

The next moment the duke was hugging both his daughter and his wife and Cassius felt a tad superfluous.

“Cassius,” the duke said, giving first Lottie then his wife a kiss before disentangling himself. He moved closer, studying Cassius for a long moment, and then held out his hand. Cassius took it. “It is a devilish hard thing to give your daughter into another man’s keeping, no matter how worthy he might be, but… but I am proud of the man you have become, and I trust you to make her happy.”

“I swear I will do everything in my power, sir.”

Bedwin nodded, the glimmer of a smile at his lips even as something dark flickered in his eyes. “See that you do.”

Chapter 21

Dear Diary,

We are returning to Holbrook House for the wedding and I’m so happy. The summer was full of excitement and drama just as I’d hoped, but I realise now that drama, which is thrilling and bone chilling in books, is not at all nice to experience first-hand. We were all so afraid for poor Eliza and are so delighted she is recovering well. Though she is terribly fragile still, like a little china doll. She will need a great deal of looking after I think, though of course all her brothers and sisters dote upon her, as do we all. Indeed I think our fussing is driving her quite to distraction.

―Excerpt of an entry to the diary of Lady Catherine ‘Cat’ Barrington, youngest daughter of the Marquess and Marchioness of Montagu.

22nd September 1838, Holbrook House, Sussex.

Eliza looked on with amusement as her sister ran about the room, as giddy as a child at Christmas. She had driven her poor mother and her maid quite distracted with her inability to sit still for five minutes together. The two women ran around after her trying to do her hair and fasten her corset and get her into her gown, but it did Eliza’s heart good to see Lottie brimming with happiness. This was how you ought to feel about marrying the man you loved. She realised that now, and she knew she would have felt nothing like this on her wedding day if Cassius had not been brave and honest enough to tell her he would not marry her.

Finally, things were as they ought to be, and though it was a touch mortifying to have one’s little sister marry before you, Eliza was not about to let such a thing disconcert her. Lottie was happy and Cassius was her friend again. That was all that mattered. He had spent yesterday afternoon with her, playing cards and talking, and pretending to be engrossed in a book when she fell asleep, something she still seemed to have no control over and would do at the drop of a hat if she dared to close her eyes. Everyone’s fussing about her was tedious, though, and she wished they would stop, even if she did appreciate their care. She just wanted to be as she was before, but she knew she must be patient. Eliza gave a soft huff of laughter at that. Patient. Lady Elizabeth Adolphus, known to be one of the most serene and patient ladies of the ton, was increasingly snappy, bad-tempered, and petulant as a child.

She was a fool. No, she had been a fool. Climbing the crumbling walls of the Abbey, wearing a riding habit of all things, had been the height of idiocy. The trouble was she still remembered the desire to be reckless and defy the rules, to make her heart beat faster and to feel alive. She not only remembered it, she felt it still, a simmering restlessness beneath her skin. There were other things, too, like the day she had galloped across the fields with Mr Demarteau at her side, his wicked dark eyes daring her, urging her on. She had dared, or at least she thought she had. It was still all so hazy in her mind she could not be certain she hadn’t dreamt it. It seemed too unlikely to be real, for she had dared to lead him to the abbey and once there she had watched him, spellbound, as he climbed the walls, agile as a cat. Then she had stared, not daring to breathe, as he had performed for her. He had stood on his hands, then—impossibly—balanced on one hand, and shown her feats of strength and agility she would never have dreamed possible. He finished his performance by somersaulting down from the walls while she stifled a scream of shock lest he fall. But he had not fallen, he had come back to earth, like some mythical creature, or at the very least a performer like those at Astley’s Amphitheatre. How or where he had learned such things she could not fathom, and he had refused to tell her. He had barely spoken to her at all, but the memory of his dark eyes on her lingered like a brand upon her heart, stirring her blood. Remembering it now made her heart beat too fast, skittering about erratically in her chest. If it was a memory. Could she truly have dreamed such a thing? It seemed no more improbable than it being real.

“Eliza?”

She jolted as her mother’s worried voice penetrated her distracted thoughts.

“Are you well, love? You’re flushed.”

Eliza tried to swat her mama’s hand away as she put it to her forehead.

“Sally, do you think she has a temperature?”

Eliza groaned and submitted whilst Sally—who was a sensible creature, thank the Lord—assured Mama that she was not about to succumb to some unknown malady.

“Well, then, if you are sure you are well, my love?” her mama persisted.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake. Indeed I am well. I’m just impatient and excited to see my sister married, Mama, and if you don’t let her go down at once, poor Cassius will think she’s run away.”

“I think Papa might help me if I decided to,” Lottie said with a grin. “He’s awfully tense.”

The duchess sighed. “Oh, your poor father. It is difficult for him to see you leave, Lottie dear.”