Page 9 of Unmasking the Earl

“I’m not sure he cares about a woman’s wealth. Why, here’s Captain Wycherley’s front door.” Becca paused and stared off into the distance. “I wonder if Sampson’s is open yet? Shall we walk right into town and see?”

Cassie gazed at the sun-warmed steps, the fresh paint, the shiny door knocker, and her cheeks grew hot as a plan began to form in her head. A plan so bold, so wicked, she could hardly believe her own mind had conjured it up.

She would pay a call on Captain Wycherley. He could explain to her what it was about Lady Lucy that attracted both himself and Julian. Then he could teach her to be an even more accomplished flirt than Lady Lucy so that Cassie could blind Julian with her new charms. Wycherley was bound to agree, for it would take Julian Carnforth out of the running.

She began to tremble at the audacity of her plan.

“Cassie my dear, you look extremely flushed. And your eyes are too bright. I think we must return at once. We’ve been walking far too quickly after last night’s exertions.”

Cassie grasped her cousin’s shoulder then swayed alarmingly. “Oh dear. Becca, I do believe I am overcome with the heat. I think I am…about to…”

Chapter Six

Pavements were extremely hard and decidedly dirty.

Cassie had collapsed as gently as she could. Nonetheless, it took a considerable amount of fortitude to stay still with the gutter and a heap of fresh horse dung so close to her nose.

“Oh! Oh!” Becca flapped her skirts at Cassie’s head.

Sweet Venus! Why didn’t the woman knock on Wycherley’s door before someone came out of the wrong house and ruined her plan?

“I need…fetch…water,” Cassie croaked. “Wycherley…closest.”

Taking the hint, Becca scurried off to knock on the door.

After what seemed no time at all, she heard heavy footsteps hurrying toward her, after which a pair of strong hands thrust themselves beneath her knees and shoulders and lifted her up. The horse dung fell out of view as she was hoisted high in the air and held against a man’s chest.

It felt…oddly comforting and secure.

“Put your arms about my neck.”

The comfort evaporated. What poor luck! It wasn’t Wycherley at all, but his servant, Ganstridge. She’d know his strange accent anywhere. Confound it!

The hands eased their grip a little, and she found herself nestled against a powerfully muscled chest as Ganstridge turned toward the house.

The fact that he was a servant faded away, and she became startlingly aware of him as a man. The hand which supported her back was curled round and pressed against her ribs, dangerously close to her breast. She held her breath, suspended between shock and curiosity. Was this what it felt like to enjoy a man’s touch?

The brief, chaste touch of Julian’s fingers always thrilled and delighted her. But this—this was something altogether different.

She had no idea what this ruffian really looked like, not having seen him in daylight. Not that it mattered in the least.

Still, she peeped up at him through lowered lashes. His face was softer than she remembered. Although the hard planes and angles were still there, they were no longer thrown into stark contrast by torchlight and shadow. The hair which brushed against his stiff collar was medium brown, as were his nicely shaped eyebrows, but she could not tell the color of his eyes without him knowing he was being examined.

A comfortable warmth emanated from him, along with formidable strength—just the right sort of man to have around. As a servant, of course. He would be good for Papa, would easily be able to lift him from his Bath chair when he was tired, or carry him into the carriage.

But comfortable warmth? No, that was the wrong word. The heat emanating from Ganstridge’s body and melting into hers was not making her feel the least bit comfortable. She was feeling…shamefully stimulated.

“Oh, Cassandra! Oh, this is terrible!” Becca’s voice interrupted the shocking thought.

“Pray calm yourself, miss,” Ganstridge said, and Cassie felt his voice rumble intriguingly through his chest into hers. “Miss Blythe has merely fainted. Do you have salts? There are none in the house, I’m afraid.”

“No, I never thought to bring any.”

“We are very close to the market. Shall I run and get some?” he offered.

“No, no, take poor Miss Blythe indoors and lay her down. I’ll go myself.”

Cassie quivered nervously as she was carried through the door, feeling as she imagined Caesar had when he crossed the Rubicon.