And itwas—at least in her small corner of it.
She nuzzled Wade’s lapel, marveling in the familiar scent of his shaving lotion and soap. She tightened her arms around his chest, enjoying the muscular body he concealed so artfully beneath his clothes.
Cassandra had glimpsed the man beneath the sack coats and tailored trousers when he’d joined her in bed last night. She’d felt his firm thigh—a shock against her own—and the heaviness of the mattress as it tipped his way. Her lover had warmed both the bedandher heart.
He kissed her temple, as if he could read her thoughts. His strong arms held her fast. Fingertips drew soft circles at the base of her spine. His heartbeat quickened against her cheek.
Cassandra lifted her head to gaze into his heavy-lidded eyes. Warm sunshine had banished the shadows that usually lurked there, and when he smiled, his dark depths seemed less stormy.
This new peace in him was a welcome sight. She traced Wade’s lips with the pad of her thumb before pressing her mouth to his. He tasted faintly of salt, as not evenhewas immune to the sea breezes.
She moaned. His arms tightened around her, pressing her to him. She could’ve sworn she heard him groan with pleasure as her body fitted against his. Her skirts covered him, billowing slightly, fanning their ardor as duke and mistress traded kisses atop the cliffs.
Cassandra parted her lips on a sigh, welcoming his tongue, which stroked gently—ever so gently—at the seam of her mouth. He found her and claimed her.
Emboldened, she trailed her fingers up his shirtfront, over his cravat and collar. She caressed the hard line of his jaw, and thrust her fingertips into his tousled hair. She raked her nails along his scalp and felt him shudder at the sensation.
“Cassie, Cassie,”he whispered into her open, panting mouth.
The desperate way he writhed beneath her left no question as to who was truly claiming whom. Wade was hers, always. Just as she would forever be his.
Starved for breath, Cassandra pulled away first. Her lover lay on his back beneath her, partly protecting her from the hard ground. Her hoops were crushed and skirts doubtless stained by scrubby grass. The weather was hot, the sun burned brightly, and a fine sheen of perspiration bloomed beneath her layers of clothes.
Suddenly, she felt all aflame.
Wade fanned his knuckles across her flushed face. There was an undeniable heat in his touch, too. “The sun is giving you freckles,” he said, smiling.
Cassandra returned his grin. “I used to have them when I was little. Would you believe that I was once all ears, nose, and speckled cheeks?”
“Never!” He laughed.
She nodded. “Suffice to say, I grew into my beauty.”
Unlike her sisters, she’d not been born with Octavia’s regal bearing or Honoria’s animated features. She had once been awkward and big-eyed, and—until age fifteen or so—the village lads had teased her mercilessly.
Once she’d lowered her hems, traded pinafores for petticoats, and dressed her hair like a grown-up, folk started looking at her differently.Mennoticed her.
Almost overnight, Cassandra no longer recognized the person reflected in her looking glass. When a traveling pedlar pronounced her the most beautiful woman in Britain, she’d had a good, long laugh at his expense. In her mind, she was still a sun-flecked child swinging from the branches of her father’s favorite oak tree.
“Is it such a curse?” Wade asked, cupping her chin. “Yours is a face I’m rather fond of.”
She smiled and shrugged. “I suppose it isn’t terrible…”
Cassandra recognized the gifts she’d been given, the privileges her pretty face afforded. There were many women who longed to trade places with her, and there had been low points in her life when she would’ve given anything to make that exchange.
But not today.
Cassandra was glad Wadebridge had been attracted to her. She was proud to please him—not simply because of the lovestruck way he looked at her, but for the wayshe feltwhenever he turned his gaze her way.
She felt strong. Clever. Capable. Brave.
Wade saw those qualities within her.
They kissed once more, and then rose from the grass. If Cassandra weren’t careful, she would not only be freckled, she’d be sunburnt. It was past time to return to the house.
“Tomorrow night,” he said, taking her hand and leading her back toward the gravel path, “we can venture out at sundown.”
For twenty-three years she’d watched the sun disappear behind the dales. She couldn’t wait to see it sink beneath a wide-open horizon. Surely, that hot orange glow would set the sea on fire.
