What would it be like to have such a man? To feel his touch, stare into his eyes, and know that he was hers? Although Cassandra was innocent, she was not ignorant—she’d felt desire before, she hadwanted—yet ill health made lovemaking impossible.
She had known since she was fifteen that the physical aspect of marriage would forever be denied her. She’d been diagnosed with uterine hemorrhaging and dysmenorrhea. She bled profusely during her menses. For one week each month, she lived in agony.
Cassandra did not want to live in agony. Not today.
Today, she wished to lose herself in a duke’s arms and let him play the gallant. She wanted to pretend that Wadebridge was one of her many suitors.
“Miss Staunton…” he whispered, drawing her from her daydreams.
She looked down to discover his arms about her hips. “Yes, Your Grace?”
There was an ache in his voice as he replied, “I told you I’d stand here all day holding your skirts—and I meant every word—but you need to take your turn. Players behind us are becoming impatient.”
She took her swing with barely a thought. The painted yellow ball spun across the grass and passed through the arch.
A perfect shot, though no one cheered. They were too busy staring, as if they’d only just realized the duke’s motives were not innocent, and thatshemight be complicit in the scheme.
“Thank you,” she said, stepping from his touch, “but I think I ought to pin up my skirts as my sisters have done.”
He inclined his head in a way that she was beginning to understand translated to a nod. “Of course. It shall be as you wish.”
This wasn’t what she wished for, though her sisters looked relieved as they rushed to help sort out her hems.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Do you want me to chase him off?” Octavia asked.
Their group had finished its game of croquet and were disbanding in time for tea. Cassandra had played admirably, though Wadebridge pulled ahead in the second half of the course. No one mentioned their little flirtation, and the afternoon passed in perfect propriety.
It was the dullest game of Cassandra’s life. “No need. I can handle His Grace.”
“You ought not to put up with him just because he is a duke. Really, if you’ve told him you are uninterested in his attentions, it is rather rude of him to persist.”
“I haven’t told him.” She cringed.
Octavia gaped. “Cassandra, you must!”
“Why must I shun male company simply because my health decides my future? I know I’m destined for spinsterhood, but I don’t have to go willingly onto the shelf.”
Couldn’t they see how it killed her to watch everyone else find love? Even Octavia had grown close to her handsome employer. Could they not allow Cassandra one day’s reprieve from her loneliness?
She knew Octavia meant well. It was hard to stay angry with either of her sisters, who loved and cared for her. They could not read her mind, or else they would see that—through all the proposals she’d declined over the years—Cassandra longed for a husband and a household to call her own.
Such was the curse of her pretty face. Eligible men fell at her feet, yet she was honor-bound to decline them all. She could never trap some nice fellow into a sham marriage.
The sisters returned to the marquee tent erected on the grounds. Beneath its white peak, carpets lay spread across the grass. Tables and chairs had been brought from the house, and a trolley of teacakes was provided for the guests’ refreshment.
These cream fancies were a far cry from the Staunton’s usual fare. Cassandra helped herself to a small wedge of sponge. Tea was passed ‘round the tent, and she felt grateful for something to occupy her attention—if only for a moment.
Her eyes could not help but search out the duke. She nibbled cake without tasting it, sipped tea that might as well have been water. She stirred the delicate china teacup in her hand, knowing there was no point in fighting the connection that she felt with this man.
How she longed to once more feel the warmth of his body, the dark thrill of his presence, and the rhythm of his heart that raced in time with her own!
That stolen moment on the lawn was as close as Cassandra would ever come to being in a man’s arms. She was glad to have shared it with Wadebridge, even though it would never amount to anything more than a pleasant memory.
His Grace sat with Leah Caswell, who was Lord Althorne’s niece and Octavia’s pupil. The child had a bright mind and a vivid imagination…and a schoolgirl’s infatuation with her honorary ‘Uncle Wade’.
The duke humored the child. While the other adults relaxed in the shade of the tent, Wadebridge kept his attention on Leah, treating her like someone worth conversing with rather than an annoyance to be endured.
