“You would not have wanted me lurking over you.”
Poor Wadebridge. His guardians had done such a thorough job making him a duke that they neglected him as a person. He’d donned bad behavior like a warrior’s armor, but it hid a devastating chink somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.
Cassandra reached for his hands, gripping them in her own. “I slept soundly because you were there by my side. Remember, I’d never spent a night from home. Your presence was a comfort, Wade, and I’d very much like to find you lurking over me in the mornings.”
He smiled. “Very well.”
Now thatthatwas out of the way, she could get down to business. “I should like to see the sea.”
“You may see it now.” He gestured toward one of the open windows, where a brass telescope stood guard over the horizon. It was the most extravagant instrument she’d ever seen, and Cassandra was terrified to touch it.
“You don’t need the spyglass,” he said, noticing her reluctance to approach the tripod. “Take a look from the window. The sea is only a mile away.”
“I want to view it in person. You might look out your windows any time you like, but I’ve never even seen a lake.A lake, Wade!My life has been so terribly landlocked.”
She wanted to stand on the edge of the world.
He understood. “Alright, we’ll go. Can you walk it, or do we need the carriage?”
If she had tried to walk a mile from Longstone, half the village would’ve jammed up the lane to offer her a ride in their carts. Even her sisters would’ve protested had she set out on her own. She was the delicate sister. The sick one.
Cassandra longed to prove them all wrong.
“Let’s walk,” she said, praying he wouldn’t ring for the coachman. “I could use the exercise.”
Wade must’ve noticed the wild flash in her eyes, the almost desperate need togo.He did not argue, but merely offered, “Would you like a moment to fetch a hat? Or a parasol…or perhaps a shawl?”
“Absolutely not.” She held her hand out to him, beckoning.
He pressed his palm to hers. Their fingers intertwined. Hand-in-hand, they made their way downstairs. A dozen servants stopped to spy on the duke and his mistress, but Cassandra couldn’t be bothered to feel shame or even shyness.
Wade merely laughed at her brazen streak. “I thought I’d gotten the quiet, biddable sister!”
She laughed, too. “Then you are sorely mistaken, sir.”
She was wild, reckless, and free—at least for today. For the first time in her life, Cassandra Staunton had her man, her home. Now she wanted everything else that had been denied her.
When they reached the front steps, she turned to him. “Which way?”
He steered her down a gravel path lined with hardy fuchsia and scrubby, fragrant lavender. The wind picked up as they walked. Cassandra’s checked muslin hems fluttered and her hair whipped ‘round her face, which grew flushed from the sun. She hadn’t counted on the day being so bright, or the lack of shade as they strolled toward the cliffs.
Sea birds drifted overhead, calling out a warning. Their winged shadows blighted the path, darkened occasionally by a rare cloud. Cassandra felt so far removed from the verdant green hills of Derbyshire. The sun was hotter here, surely. The sky bluer.
She licked her lips and tasted salt.
She’d only ever known the sweetness of dales.
Cassandra glanced at Wadebridge, who seemed not the least bit concerned with the heat, the gulls, or the difference of the air. He wore no hat, and his dark hair ruffled at his temple. Though her pale cheeks pinkened from the sun, his were already bronzed. He looked as if he belonged in this coastal climate.
“Have your people always been Cornish?” she asked.
Wade shook his head. “My ancestors made their fortune mining both Cornwall and Devon, but as I am invested in the railway and a few other ventures in partnership with Althorne, I like to think I’ve one foot in Cornwall, the other planted in Derbyshire, and my head turned toward London.”
She smiled, for it was interesting image. “And your hands?”
He laughed, shrugged, and said, “Looking to be filled, madam. Always.”
She squeezed their laced fingers. He returned the soft press of her palm. Cassandra hoped her own hands would be filled—by the warm body of her lover; by her work, her embroidery, and her family whenever they came to call.
