Kneeling, she reached out for the kitten and lifted the small thing; as she turned, Cassian’s head snapped back. “What is that?”
“It’s a kitten,” she stated matter-of-factly. “You know, the offspring of a cat, afeline.”
His eyes narrowed. “You cannot be thinking of taking that thing into the house.”
“I am,” she said while the kitten could comfortably sit in the palm of her hand. “The poor thing is starving and cold. Why, Cassian, are you scared of cats?”
“I have dogs,” he reminded.
“And now we have a kitten,” she smiled.
Cassian’s eyes lifted to her again. “You are not going to distract me from the subject at hand. Be honest, what I said last night unnerved you.”
“It did,” Cecilia nodded. “And I am trying to find the answers to the questions you posed, but the answers have not untangled in my mind yet. If I don’t know what I want to do with my life yet, that tells me that I need to find what I prize in life.
“A lady’s place in the ton is to be pretty to attract a husband and then become an ornament in her husband's home,” she declared as she headed back to the house.
“I have read of women scientists, botanists, mathematicians, astronomers. Women are authors, artists, creators, and mentors. I need something to fulfill my time rather than arguing with characters and justifying arguments in my head.”
“There are times I do appreciate the arguments you’ve created,” Cassian replied, his tone lightly jesting.
She gave him an eye, and he snorted. “You are intelligent, Cecilia. You’ll find your way soon enough.” He then eyed the kitten. “What are you going to do with that thing?”
The kitten was half asleep on her hand, “I am thinking of giving it a bath and putting it to sleep in your bed.”
His head snapped to her, “You do not dare.”
“Why not?” Cecilia waltzed off, then threw over her shoulder, “I thought you lovedwild catsin your bed.”
Struck silent by her parting words, all Cassian could do was to watch her walk away, the subtle sway of her hips as mesmerizing as her expressive eyes had been just moments ago.
The girl was coming into her own, not quite yet, but she was getting there. He wanted to make sure she bloomed into the brave woman she desired to be and stood on her feet. He did not want her to crumble into herself because someone gave her a single bad eye.
He had a deep-set feeling to protect her, even for the small time they would be married. He had nothing to lose with anyone in London, and if it came to a point where he had to destroy someone’s life to save hers, he was certain he would not hesitate.
Cecilia vanished around a corner without a look back, and Cassian found himself shaking his head wryly. “Touché, Cecilia.”
Heading to his rooms, Cassian called for a bath. It was one thing to go and have a run with his horse while his dogs galloped behind him with no human company. It was another thing entirely to go to breakfast smelling of horseflesh, grass stains, and dogs.
With his hair still damp around his collar, Cassian headed to the dining room, dressed in another pair of fresh faded breeches and a loose shirt. Cecilia was not there yet, so he took the time to indulge in a cup of coffee and shook the morning paper out.
“Let’s see what other buffoonery the Prince Regent is committing today.”
Thankfully, there was no news of any botched trade deals or raised taxes. There was still war in the Peninsula, and Cassian felt sickened to his stomach at the senseless loss of life.
Turning the page to the social reports, his eyes landed on a long paragraph from the Tattler.
It is with no small measure of reluctance that we must report the latest descent of a once-celebrated beauty from the heights of society to the gutters of disgrace. Miss C—, formerly the toast of Almack’s and the object of many a gentleman’s admiration, has now become the subject of whispered reproach and open ridicule.
Duke Rutherford, the lady’s prior fiancé, is ready to speak on the lady in question. “She was no innocent,” the gentleman declared. “Indeed, she pursued me with a zeal that would shame a libertine. I was but a spectator to her own undoing as she had cast off all modesty and conducted herself in a manner more befitting a Covent Garden actress than a daughter of good breeding.”
“Though some may plead that she is but a victim of circumstance, others contend that her fall was not the work of seduction but of design.
“She knew what she was about,” said one matron of the ton. “And now she must reap what she has so wantonly sown.”
Let this serve as a caution to all young ladies who would mistake boldness for charm and liberty for license. The ton may forgive a gentleman’s indiscretions, but a lady’s virtue, once lost, is seldom recovered.
With each passing despicable sentence, his pulse pounded more violently. At the end of the page, blistering fury overtook his precious calm emotion.Goddamn Whitmore. The bastard still wasn't satisfied with the pound of flesh he’d already demanded.
