He sprawled on his back, arms folded behind his head. Cassandra lay in his arms, admiring the betrothal ring she’d placed upon her own finger. She was grinning and happy, for he’d finally managed to kiss away the last of her concerns.
At long last, she had consented to becoming his wife! Wade felt certain he’d never had to work so hard for anything. As a duke, he needed only to snap his fingers and the world fell at his feet.
He had spent his boyhood dreaming of the day when he could please himself, when he was answerable to no man. He’d wasted his adulthood flaunting convention, unconcerned with the thoughts, feelings, or good opinions of others.
Now, here he was, engaged to be married and feeling not the least bit trapped or trussed. When the time came to wed Cassandra Staunton, he’d be first to the altar. Truly, he could not get there fast enough.
“What do you think of an October wedding?”
She glanced up. She’d shed her straw hat, and the sea breeze threatened to liberate her curls from their pins. “That depends. Do you desire a large wedding or an intimate one?”
“I want what you want, of course.” He touched a fingertip to her freckled nose. “It shall be as you wish it to be.”
She smiled. “You always say that.”
“And I always mean it, buttercup.”
Cassandra nuzzled his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm. “October suits me.”
“Then you may write your sisters and tell them to keep their diaries free.” There could be no shame in their relationship now. The Stauntons would be ecstatic to learn that she—and they—would want for nothing. “I am certain they’d love to help you plan.”
“I’ll write to Honoria. She can advise me. She’s up to date on all the latest fashions.”
“Yes, I rather imagine she is.” He smiled, for he sensed she feared what her elder sister might say of their union. Octavia had not warmed to him at Caswell Hall, and they all knew how fiercely protective the lady was of her younger siblings. “But you needn’t follow fashion. You must do thingsyourway, for it is your wedding and your life, and no one else has a say in it.”
“Not even you, Wade?”
“Especially not me! I wouldn’t presume to tell a future duchess how to dress or how to behave.” She laughed and he grinned. “You see, I am a terribly base and common man, despite my aristocratic birth.”
For years, he’d cultivated a persona of insolent, outrageous, uncivil behavior. He flaunted it in the faces of polite society and those unfeeling autocrats who’d ruled him. In future, he intended to start a new scandal, to earn a reputation for being hopelessly, outrageously in love with his wife—which seemed to suitherjust fine.
Cassandra dipped to claim his lips. “I happen to like my base and common man.”
“Oh, do you, madam?” Wade lay back and let her plunder his mouth.
She nodded, breathless and grinning. “I love you exactly as you are.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Late afternoon sunlight slanted across the drawing room carpet. Cassandra lounged on the sofa, feet propped upon a footstool. She was working at her embroidery, as she always did in this quiet hour preceding tea.
Wade’s head lay in her lap. He’d finished his duties for the day, and had selected a shamefully pristine copy of Wilkie Collins’The Woman in Whitefrom the bookshelf. He read to her while she stitched.
Such was their genteel, rather domestic routine. Cassandra imagined what society would say if they knew just how tame the infamous Duke of Wadebridge had become. He was honorable and devoted to her. He was a fair employer and an attentive landlord. He wrote his stewards daily—with so many estates she wondered how he kept an accounting of them all—and discussed any major issues with her, for he trusted her opinion above all others.
The newly-engaged couple kept a discreet profile. Cassandra hadn’t even written to her sisters to share the happy news. She wanted to keep this week for herself, a secret treasure to savor before she and Wade announced their betrothal to the world.
She looked down from her embroidery hoop to watch his lips move as he read. His deep, cultured voice rang clear in the quiet room. The steady rhythm of his recitation certainly did Mr. Collins’ work justice. Although Wade claimed to be an indifferent reader, Cassandra had never enjoyed the book so well as she did in this moment.
He licked his lips, knowing full well that she was observing him. Her heart fluttered in her chest, for she knew that mouth might later be put to another use. She blushed and he—devilish man—stumbled over the words.
They both burst into laughter. Cassandra bent to kiss his smiling mouth, and then tapped upon the page. “Wilkie Collins would be appalled.”
“I doubt that. It’s no secret in certain circles that Collins keeps a mistress.”
She pretended to be offended. “How do you know?”
“In another life, I used to belong to such circles, but not anymore.”
