Cassandra turned to him. “You’re never short on adventures, are you, Wade?”
He grinned. “I’ve always got a few things up my sleeve.”
His was a splendid world, and he took great pleasure in showing it to her. For someone who claimed to be selfish, the Duke of Wadebridge was a generous man. Oh, he’d give her diamonds, silks, and palaces fit for a duchess, but—more importantly—he offered her sunsets, long baths, and buttercup posies. Wild rambles along the Cornish coast and afternoons trading kisses to the sound of thundering waves.
“Do you know what I long to do?” She asked, feeling spontaneous.
Wade lifted his black brows. “No, what?”
“Run! I used to dream of rucking up my skirts and racing down the lane. I used to imagine the freedom of sprinting across the village green, passing my neighbors as they plodded their way to church. I want to waste that energy, to stretch my muscles and fly.”
He marveled at her, not because she was spouting nonsense, but because he sympathized. Wade had cherished summers spent at Caswell Hall because he could do just that—run, stretch, imagine. Be free.
As a boy, he’d been shackled to the dukedom. As a young lady, she’d been hobbled by delicate health and societal conventions. Perhaps, now,together, they could reach what they’d been striving for.
“Go, then,” Wade said, laughing. He knew she was itching to let loose. “Stick to the path. It will lead you back to Pender Abbey.”
Cassandra lifted her skirts to her knees, baring silk stockings and lace-edged petticoats. “Aren’t you coming?”
She wouldn’t take the risk without him by her side.
He pretended to think it over. “Winner gets a kiss?”
“Deal!” she said, giving herself a head start, even though there were no losers in this foot race.
Wade easily overtook her, his long-legged strides outpacing hers. He wore boots and trousers. She made do with petticoats and wide, trailing hems. It wasn’t a fair contest.
Wadebridge laughingly ran her into the lavender bushes.
She cursed him and groped for the tail flaps of his sack coat.
Cassandra could not run for a mile. Red-faced and winded, she began to falter after only a few paces. Her legs ached, her cramping abdomen throbbed, and she suffered a stitch in her ribs.
She stopped at the edge of the path to catch her breath. She hardly heard the sound of his footsteps crunching on the gravel, but Wade was there in an instant, taking her hand, hauling her forward. Urging her onward, despite the setback.
It was true that Cassandra Staunton couldn’t run a mile, but today—with him—she had walked two.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
She pushed her own limits. She tested the boundaries of both her bodyandher narrow, feminine world, for ladies did not race gentlemen across windswept headlands. They did not defy doctors, leave home, or take lovers. Most dared not even venture out of doors without a bonnet, yet Cassandra longed to break all the rules that corralled her.
She welcomed the sun. She welcomed the heat. She welcomed his hand in hers as they returned home breathless, sweating, and sunburnt.
His butler, Tremaine, heaved open the front door in anticipation of their arrival. The old spy must’ve been watching for them. Doubtless, the entire staff had pressed their faces to the windows to watch the Duke of Wadebridge frolic with his ladylove.
Wade should’ve been angry, but it was impossible to be in a sour mood with Cassandra’s blue eyes shining and her pink cheeks warming the cold, austere foyer. Without her, the house was a mausoleum. In her presence, it rivaled his buttercup meadow.
Pender Abbey was fast becomingtheirplace of happy memories.
Tremaine stepped forward, pointedly ignoring Cassandra. Wade didn’t imagine any of his servants would act with outright hostility toward the lady, but this was not the standard of hospitality he expected from his trusty butler.
“Luncheon is ready, Your Grace.”
Wade blinked at the fellow. It was time to make a point. “Why are you telling me? What have I to do with it?” he asked, ramping up the insolence. “For God’s sake, man, talk to your mistress.”
Tremaine turned stiffly toward Cassandra. “Luncheon is ready, ma’am.”
She smiled at Wade, who had effectively passed the household into her capable hands. If he refused anything to do with domestic affairs, the staff would have no choice but to consult her. To defer to her.
