“Not yet,” he peeked through the window, “we have about three more hours left on our five-hour journey.”
Her pencil stopped scratching. “I’ll have need of a rest break, Your Grace.”
Looking at the landscape, Cassian searched for a landmark. “There is a small inn about ten minutes from here. We will stop there.”
“Thank you.”
It was late in the afternoon when they were approaching Stanbury, the market town near Hertfordshire and Fitzroy Manor.
Charming cottages were covered in leafless vines and edged in by hedgerows running this way and that. Shops, pubs, and inns wound together down to a bustling, centerpiece marketplace. The square had roads that splintered off to other quaint villages, country manors, and down to a lake.
His eyes landed on Cecilia, who had her head pressed into the corner of the carriage, fast asleep. The girl was beautiful overall, but when she was asleep and that knot, constant in her brow, had disappeared, she was gorgeous.
When he looked at her, he felt his stomach twist in indecisiveness. Did he want to do as he had thought about during the wedding and pull Cecilia out of her shell? Or did he leave the sleeping dogs to lie where they were?
Cecilia, will you hate me—more than you already do—if I teach you to find your passion?
“Do you truly hate me?” He asked her sleeping form. “Or is that what you keep telling yourself?”
Her lashes were sable fans on the tips of her cheeks, while her button nose led down her slightly parted bow lips. Her top lip was a touch wider than her plump bottom one, but both called to him anyhow.
How swollen will they be if I give her the hard kisses I truly want to give her? I’ve wanted to kiss you since we met that night, no more so than when we finally did kiss.
Nothing is going to happen between us. There is not going to be any connection between us other than what is necessary.
That is the agreement—but what if I ever sought to amend it?
Passing the magnificent black iron gates that marked the sprawling lands of Fitzroy Manor pushed him into a sobering mood. The prospect of being confined in a house for sixty days with a beautiful woman that he could not touch was only slightly preferable to being drawn and quartered.
The carriage jostled its way down a wide, oak-lined drive toward the main house, glimpses of expansive fields and woods appearing between the ancient trunks.
Cassian made himself focus on the business at hand. He was only there to pass the time before the annulment was filed, torenovate part of his home before he was free enough to sail off to Greece.
The manor came into view, and its charming, ivy-covered house had an elegant design—two enormous wings flanking the main building, stretching in either direction, and pedimented windows adorning the structure. It was a jewel of a country house; it struck a kingly profile against the dull sky.
When the vehicle halted, he turned to Cecilia and pondered waking her, but decided not to bother. He slid his hands under her back and knees and tucked her head to his chest. As he stepped out of the carriage, she jolted awake.
“W-what in heaven’s name are you doing?” she spluttered, squirming in his arms.
“Taking you inside,” he said calmly. “I figured it would count as carrying you over the threshold.”
He nodded to the footmen, and they opened the large double doors as he stepped into the marble foyer.
“Let me down,” she ordered him. “Now.”
“As you wish,” he let her down on her feet, mischievously letting her slide down his body first, and took perverse pleasure when she blushed furiously. “Welcome to your new home.”
She looked around, and his eyes followed her. The lobby was a masterpiece of dark wood paneling, richly upholstered furnishings and brass fixtures, but a barrage of memories, very few of them good ones, began to pummel his mind.
He dimly heard her say, “You have a lovely home.”
“I cannot take credit for it.” Cassian gently turned her to the line of staff quietly waiting behind them. “Mr. Andrews and his wife, Mrs. Joan, are the butler and housekeeper here. They are the ones who have cared for this house in my absence.”
“Your Grace,” the butler bowed deeply while his wife curtsied, her dark grey dress sweeping the floor.
While the butler had greying dark hair, his wife had a rich russet hue to hers.
Cecilia smiled, “I am pleased to meet you both.”
