She felt safer than she had ever been—or, at least, since she’d been a little girl snug in her bed without a care in the world.
“You once asked me if I dreamed of luxuries…”
“Did I?” he asked.
She nodded against his shirtfront. “In the rose garden at Caswell.”
“Ah.” Wade folded the paper and set it aside. “I suppose I was trying to impress you.”
“Then you couldn’t have been more wrong. You see,thisis what I long for most in all the world.”
His arms came around her shoulders, and with his free hand, he stroked her hair. Long fingers toyed with her untamed curls. She felt clammy, tangled, and untidy. If he’d fallen for her beauty, Wade must’ve been horrified to see her looking so wretched.
But he had not fallen for her beauty. He had fallen for the real Cassandra Staunton—and this was a facet of that woman she rarely shared with anyone.
“You make me feel so safe, Wade. Whenever I am with you, or whenever I know you are near, I’ve nothing to fear,” she told him. “All this luxury is wonderful, and I shall be forever grateful for everything you’ve done for me, butyouare my dream come true.”
He squeezed her tightly, swallowing, and buried his nose in her matted hair.
Wade did not speak, and Cassandra did not pry. They had said the words before—those three blessed words—and felt them now in this silence.
She drifted off to sleep with a full heart, a quiet mind, and the strength of her lover’s arms surrounding her.
Days later, Cassandra moved to a settee in the sunny corner of her room. She was no longer bleeding and had weaned herself off the laudanum nostrums. A handy tea tray had once been filled with split buns, strawberry jam, and fresh clotted cream, but she’d devoured it all over the course of the afternoon.
She turned her renewed energies toward finishing Wade’s buttercup handkerchief.
Cassandra was grateful to Wenna and Martin, Wadebridge’s valet, for smuggling the pristine white linen to her bedroom. Embroidery helped to pass the time. Planning the design and selecting thread provided a worthwhile outlet for her creative energies. She loved stitching things for her friends and family, but these silken buttercups had become as dear to her as any living flower.
Green stems stretched from the center of the handkerchief. Delicate golden petals emerged as she looped her needle through the fabric. Cassandra bunched the pretty posy with a fluttering maroon ribbon that matched Pender Abbey’s livery. Above the yellow blooms, she lovingly stitched thepièce de résistance—an elaborate monogram featuring an intertwining W and C in bright blue silk.
It had taken days to complete, as she could only work whenever Wade was not around. Even now, she stashed her embroidery hoop as a knock sounded upon the door.
Cassandra tucked her sewing box from sight and called, “Come in!”
She smiled as Wade crossed the threshold. He looked as if he’d just returned from a long walk. “Tell me you haven’t been down to the sea. I am desperate for salt-air and sunshine.”
Indeed, he was windblown and bronzed. “Would it cheer your heart to hear that Ihavebeen to the sea, but only to ensure the path down to the cove was still safe.” He took her hands and kissed them. “There are some minor repairs to be made, but I see no reason why we cannot venture onto the sand in a week or so. Of course, there is nothing stopping us from sitting at the cliff’s edge.”
Cassandra pulled him down to meet her mouth, licking at the salt that stung his lips. She could smell the sea on his skin. She felt the sun still warming his clothes.
He was handsome, virile, and born of this southern coast. Wadebridge seemed at home among the windswept headlands and jagged rocks, as free as the gulls drifting through the sky just outside her window.
They kissed hungrily, and then he backed away. Doubtless, he recalled her as she had been this past week—nauseated, fatigued, sobbing and swollen. What gentleman would push for romance whenshehad all but doused his desire?
Cassandra was no longer sore. She had packed away her ladies’ necessities, glad to be rid of them for another month. While she had not gained all her strength back, a week of adequate rest and nutrient-rich cuisine certainly hastened her recovery.
Truly, she felt better than she had in years, and she had Wade to thank for it. He loved her, cared for her, and supported her. He’d laughed with her, debated with her, and quietly comforted her.
For seven days, he had lain beside her, and she felt the absence of his body even as he stood nearby. She wanted him in that wanton way she’d never admitted to anyone else—not even her sisters. No one believed that Cassandra Staunton could feel such aching need…but shedid.
Wade sank down onto his knees beside the settee. She prayed he would not notice her sewing box and embroidery hoop tucked beneath the furniture. Cassandra held her breath as he nestled his dark head in her lap.
“You’re feeling up to a jaunt?” he asked. “The walk to the cliffs won’t be too much for you?”
She stroked her fingertips through his hair. “I feel fine, Wade. The worst is over. I’m the Cassie you know and love for the next…oh, twenty days or so.”
“Then I’ve a request to make—have supper with me.”
