She slid a narrow eye to him. “Why so little time?”
“I’d rather not linger and chance some gossipmonger weasel their way into this church,” he said. “You are now down to four and a half, sweetheart. You’d better hurry.”
While she went off to hug her friends, he went over to Ben and Marcus. The younger man was mainly Ben’s friend and protégé, but Cassian had crossed paths with him enough times to be friendly. Spying his approach, the younger man opened his mouth, but Cassian got to it first.
“Before you say anything, yes, Hartwick, I will treat your sister with honor, she will have all the comforts her father afforded her or more, there will be no more scandals when she is with me, and she will have all the bonbons, books, and whatever banal fripperies women like her need to be occupied.”
Hartwick clamped his mouth shut.
“Did I cover your demands, Hartwick?” He asked while keeping a simultaneous eye on the clock and on Cecilia. She was hugging her mother now.
“Err, mostly,” Marcus said. “But you said,womenlikeher. There are no women like my sister.”
“Meaning what?” Cassian asked nonchalantly. “You know what, you needn’t answer. I am sure I will discover what you mean as the days go by. Now, Hadleigh, I trust you have those papers at the ready to file, yes?”
“As soon as the time comes,” Ben replied with a curt nod.
The minute hand dropped on the five past ten, and he clicked the watch shut. “I—wewill be taking our leave now.”
“When may I come and visit?” Marcus asked.
Considering it, Cassian replied, “I will send you notice after a month. Let the furor of this die down a bit first, and then we can consider taking social calls.”
“I’ll be keeping an eye out for that note, then,” Marcus assured.
Cassian went to collect Cecilia while she spoke to her friends, Miss Rosalind Winston, the daughter of some belligerent Baron, and Lady Emma Montrose, the daughter of some equally quarrelsome Countess. Or as he secretly called them, the Cat and the Mouse, respectively.
Moving to them, he dipped his head in greeting. “My ladies. I do apologize for the sudden interruption, but I need to collect my wife so we can head out to the countryside. How is Lord Theo Notley, by the by?”
Cecilia looked to her friend, who was now furiously blushing, “Lord Theo? Who is that?”
“A… friend,” Rosalind muttered.
“A friend,” Cecilia echoed. “This is the first time I’m hearing about thisfriend.”
“It is time for us to leave, my lady,” Cassian grinned. “The carriage is waiting for us.”
Sipping her glass of champagne as the carriage cleared the city of London and headed north, Cecilia asked, “Who is this Lord Theo?”
Quirking a brow over the top of his newspaper, Cassian replied, “Is that what you truly want to talk about?”
“It is my first advance before I lunge,” she cautioned. “Are you going to keep in step with me or not?”
“Lord Theo is an Earl that your friend Lady Cecilia is actively pursuing,” Cassian turned a page. “Oh look, Felton and Co. have phaetons on sale.”
She finished her glass. “You have the attention of a sparrow. How do you know this lord and from where?”
“Whites, my lady,” he answered. “The Gentlemen’s Club is a hub of information, willingly given and shared. Your friend is not as demure as you think she is. Thankfully, Theo, or Theodore Roswell Notley, is as forthright as she is. The two of them are a match made in termagant heaven.”
“My friend is not atermagant,” Cecilia muttered. “And she certainly would not be brazen enough to court a husband herself.”
“I’d say it’s mutual perusal,” he replied while turning another page. “Now, what is this lunge of yours?”
“What exactly do you want during this sixty-day marriage?” she asked. “What I mean is, how do you care to pass the time?”
“Coffee over poached eggs at breakfast, mutual newspaper reading, you’ll read the scandal sheets, I’ll read the parts where our lovely Prince Regent is condemning us to the hell of raised taxes because of his spending.
“We shall part ways, me to the outbuilding that I am reconstructing myself and you to your rooms or the library, or to the drawing room where you’d reign over your mouse army,” he turned another page. “The one that you train to scalp me in my sleep.”
