He’d trapped her gloved hand in a tight grip. His touch wasn’t painful, but she couldn’t pull away.
“Let me see you again,” he pleaded.
She shook her head. “Impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a duke and I’m…”
His Grace leaned closer. “Beautiful? Intelligent? Compassionate?”
“…I’m not available.”
“Ah, you have someone waiting for you back in Longstone.” At that, he backed away. Was the duke honorable enough not to poach another man’s intended? “A cobbler’s apprentice? No, the vicar, perhaps?”
“There is no one. There can never be anyone.” It was the bitter truth.
“I don’t believe that,” Wadebridge said, softly. “Allow me to write you, at least.”
“There’d be no point in it. I am sorry, but this is goodbye, Your Grace.”
“It’s hardly goodbye. Your sister lives here at Caswell. Althorne is my dearest friend. Our paths will cross again, Cassandra…and what then? Will you spurn me? Deny our friendship?”
He loosened his grip on her hand. She let it fall lamely to her side. Robbed of his touch, the soft kid-leather felt cold against her skin. Cassandra longed to strip off the gloves, to touch him. Tofeelhim.
What would it be like to trace his jaw? To caress his cheek? To run her bare fingers through his crisp, dark hair? Good sense lapsed only for an instant, and she wondered what might happen should she press her lips to his.
She’d be ruined—not physically, but to the depths of her soul.
Cassandra liked to think that, should they share a kiss, Wadebridge would be ruined, too.
She could not possibly hurt him. He’d been nothing but decent toward her. She owed him a clean break. A ladylikeadieu.
“This has proved a perfect evening,” she told him, “but I don’t intend to visit Caswell Hall again. Although you’re very kind to single me out for your attention, Your Grace, it is time for me to return to my world, and for you to return to yours.”
A shadow passed over his face. If she had not known his reputation, she might’ve believed him heartbroken. Women waited for him back in London, no doubt. The duke would soon forget her.
As with most gentlemen of her acquaintance—though, admittedly, there were few—his passion for her was fleeting. Beauty did not last forever, and once Wadebridge learned of her illness, he’d feel relieved to have dodged the bullet of a childless, sexless marriage.
“My sisters will be looking for me…”
He nodded and stepped back. “Of course.”
She crossed the darkened room, yet His Grace did not follow. He remained rooted to the spot, cast in flickering lamplight beneath the gaze of three painted sisters.
Cassandra paused in the doorway to steal one last look at him. Wadebridge was so devilishly handsome. Large, virile, and male. He’d make some girl a complicated, challenging husband. A dear friend and an imaginative lover. Never, ever a dull partner.
If only she was any other woman…
If only she washiswoman.
With that thought, she turned on her heel and fled.
CHAPTER TEN
He waited until Cassandra was safely upstairs. He did not want to embarrass her or disrespect her wishes. When the corridor was clear, Wade hastened to the drawing room.
The rest of the guests filed in as the dinner hour drew to a close. If they suspected he’d left the table early to meet Miss Staunton, no one let on. Tom Swygert went to the drinks cabinet and filled two glasses of whiskey—one for Lord Crewe and one for himself.
