Page 46 of Unmasking the Earl

But Cassandra Blythe had reawakened his passion. She was not the sort he was usually attracted to—indeed, was the complete opposite. No quiet, gentle, compassionate and sensible miss was Cassandra. She was proud, headstrong, misguided, at times idiotic… And she’d reignited a fire within him he’d thought quenched forever.

It was the next morning, and he looked at his reflection in the mirror, wondering what the day would bring. Boundless joy…maddening frustration…or deep sorrow?

He scraped a razor over the stubble on his cheek. It was fortunate he’d become so good at shaving himself. There was no one here who could do it, and Cassie would probably rather cut his throat than shave him, after the liberty he’d taken with her last night.

Though his mind had yelled at him that he was behaving like the worst kind of man, his body had been completely taken in. Cassie was beautiful, with that porcelain skin and those hazel eyes, and the shining bronze-colored curls she pinned up and hid away from admiring eyes. Her lips, her feminine curves, were everything he could wish for in a lover.

What would she be like as his lover? He didn’t know what Wycherley had taught her—hell, he didn’t want to know. But it was such a shame for a diamond of the first water to be learning the lessons of love through bland theory—or worse, calculated seduction—rather than from genuine affection and ardor.

Ned could certainly teach her a thing or two—if she’d let him.

Which she wouldn’t. He’d already played that card.

Not a good idea, anyway. They might not suit in the long term, and he certainly did not want to be forced into matrimony with a woman so far below his own status. That would only complicate his life. Probably.

“So, hands off,” he concluded, testing his chin to make sure it was smooth, then swilling the razor about in the basin to get rid of the shaving soap.

On the other hand, what did it matter that she was stubborn, misguided, and opinionated, when she was capable of such sublime passion? When the very thought of her made his heart pound and fired his blood?

Julian Carnforth was a very lucky man.

He shook his head at his reflection and backed away. No, Mr. Carnforth had set his cap at Lady Lucy.

Cassie had been on a fool’s errand asking Wycherley to show her how to seduce the oblivious man. Ned ought to tell her that Carnforth was a lost cause, that he had already been seduced by someone far more experienced than herself. But was she prepared to listen? Would she think he was just speaking from self-interest because it was obvious he desired her? After last night’s episode, he wouldn’t blame her for thinking exactly that.

After flicking water off his razor, he dried it carefully and examined himself in the mirror. Yes, he’d pass muster. He threw on his clothes and went downstairs to join Mrs. Fiennes and the ravishing Miss Blythe for breakfast.

Half an hour later, he and Cassie stepped out into the bright sunshine of early June.

Alone.

He smiled to himself in satisfaction.

Ella had been sneezing all morning, so loudly it had woken everyone. She claimed to have caught a cold while traveling on the box of the coach, and seemed most unwilling to get out of bed. Portia still needed to remain at home for the meat delivery and to tend to Ella, so Cassie was now accompanying him unchaperoned.

Which was rather a blow to his carefully honed gentlemanly indifference.

And a huge boon to that demon inside which was urging him to taste her again.

But first, he needed an answer about his sister.

And that thought was enough to cool his ardor. For now, at least.

Swallows swept over their heads as they set out, then darted low to feed on the dancing midges which swarmed like black smoke above the hedgerows. The road, broad and well-maintained, led Ned and Cassie temptingly onward, away from the village and into the wild unknown.

“Someone has started mowing already,” he remarked, smelling the air, desperate to distract himself from the weightier subjects of beloved sister and desired kisses. “If they are lucky with the weather, they may even get a second mowing before autumn.”

“You’re interested in the land?” she asked.

“Very much so. My family’s fortunes have from earliest times been dependent on our manorial holdings.”

“And have things changed since then?”

“Not materially. But we’ve always kept up with the newest inventions, the latest ideas for how to manage the pasturing of animals and produce a good crop of hay. We’ve invested in the woolen mills and have subscribed to various turnpike, canal, and other transport schemes, and receive a tidy income from these, too.”

“I approve of turnpikes,” she said. “I cannot abide a bumpy road. I felt quite green the entire journey here.”

“The going was better for me. On horseback, one can avoid the ruts. Do you ride, Miss Blythe?”