“Oh, Cassie…this is…” Wade felt overcome with emotion. He couldn’t quite choke out the words, though she deserved all the praise in the world for her sweet gift.
She rocked back and forth on her heels. Silk skirts whispered against the carpet as she asked, “You like it?”
No one had given him a gift since he’d been a lad. The trustees had been neither sentimental nor generous, and his mother had a husband and four children to worry about. Thankfully, Simon’s parents had invited young Wadebridge to holiday at Caswell, and there had always been something special just for him.
Wade made a point to bring a trinket for Leah whenever he visited Caswell Hall, but no one had seen fit to give a perfectly grown, perfectly rich duke anything in return—even for Christmas.
Yet Cassandra had made him something by hand, for no other reason than she cared. This was a gift that cost nothing, but meant everything.
“I love it,” he said, finding his voice at last. “And I love you.”
He leaned to claim her lips in an almost desperate kiss. She tasted sweet like the pudding she’d just eaten at supper. He wanted to drink up all that goodness, and sweetness, and selfless generosity.
“I shall carry this always,” he said of the embroidered handkerchief. “I’ll keep it in the breast pocket of my jacket, near to my heart.”
She smiled. “I am so glad you like it. I’ve been keeping it secret for ages, tucking it out of sight whenever I heard your footsteps in the corridor. It has been hard to hide this surprise from you—I even recruited Wenna and Mr. Martin for my scheme.”
“You poached my valet, madam?”
“No, indeed. I merely poached your handkerchief, sir.”
They both laughed. Martin had been in his service for many years, and would not have surrendered a handkerchief lightly. His loyal valet must’ve known that a simple square of fabric, stitched on by the womanheloved, would become a treasured gift.
Cassandra reached for his hands, enfolding herself in his arms. She held his lapels as he wrapped her in a tight embrace, and she nestled her cheek against his chest.
“That is not your only gift, tonight, Wade—though I warn you, I am being a bit greedy with this next one.”
He dipped his chin. “Oh?”
“You see, it won’t only be for you. It will be for me, too.” She lifted her head to meet his eyes. Without a shred of shame, she asked for what she wanted. “Make love to me. Show me how to make love to you—in whatever ways we can.”
“You’re certain?”
“It is why you made me your mistress, and why I decided to become your mistress in the first place. We are two adults who love one another. There is a physical side to our love that deserves to be explored.”
Cassandra stretched onto her tip-toes to reach his lips. She kissed him open-mouthed, still gripping his jacket lapels. The soft length of her body fitted against his. “I want it, Wade. I want you.”
No sane man could argue with those words. Truly, Wade could’ve wept at the sound, for he loved her so much that he ached. He had fully intended on aching for as long as she needed, but tonight was the night for giving, for sharing. For loving.
She wanted him—not ‘Your Grace’, or even ‘Wadebridge’. She wanted Wade.Him!
He scooped her into his arms, cage-crinoline and all. The lamp at her bedside table had been lit, and he used its flickering glow to find his way. Wade placed her gently upon the mattress, not bothering to turn down the counterpane.
He lay beside her, feeling the bed creak and dip beneath his weight. Apricot silk billowed around them both. A length of lace fluttered in her tidycoiffure, which was fast becoming mussed. Pearls cascaded over her freckled bosom, weighing her down.
He ought to ring for her maid. He ought to at least free her from the five-stranded necklace that had been in his family for three generations, but Wade liked her as she was in that moment—desperate and demanding, too impatient to even undress.
“Wade, oh, Wade…”she whispered, cupping his jaw and drawing him downward to meet her mouth. She sighed as their lips danced. She moaned as his tongue slipped between her teeth.
She was not shy. She was never passive. Cassandra knew how to stoke desire even as he built the fires within her, as well.
Her hands were in his hair. Fingers traced down his spine, holding him as though she could not get enough.
His own palm fumbled its way through her voluminous petticoats. He pushed aside her hoop skirts until he met the delicate fabric of her drawers. He parted the split-seam and found her flesh.
Cassandra gasped and clung to him. He caressed her gently, carefully. Eager fingers coaxed wetness from her; slicking, spreading, and stroking until she tipped her hips to meet his working hand, pleading,“Please, more. Please!”
Wade could give her more. Indeed, it would be his great honor to give her all the pleasure she could stand.
