Do you remember, sir, the morning in my sister’s rose garden? The morning had just broken over the hills, and you took my hand with such solemnity. You spoke then of constancy, of honor, of a future in which I should be yours and yours only.
I believed you. Fool that I was, I believed every word, and gave you not only my trust, but the tenderest part of myself — that which no woman yields lightly.
Tell me, Cassian, was it all a jest? A passing fancy to be discarded when more advantageous prospects appeared? Or did you once mean what you said, and simply lack the courage to honor it?
I ask not for restitution, nor do I seek to disturb your new felicity. I ask only that you remember me — not as a foolish girl, but as a woman who loved you with sincerity and who suffers still for having done so.
Ever yours,
Isabella Alessandra Farnese
She stared at the letter while a sinking feeling settled in her stomach. Her eyes turned away; the strange feeling crawled up her throat. She felt nauseated as she closed the letter and slid it back into the book. She saw there were at least three more, but she did not have the heart—or the courage—to spy on any more of them.
Is this why Cassian is hell-bent on going back to the continent? To see the woman he loves?
She pushed away, still uneasy. As old as the letters were, no man was that sentimental to hold onto them if they, and the person behind them, did not mean anything to them.
Is this why he banned me from asking about his past? Because that woman in his past will become his future?
Her feet felt wooden as she made her way back to the breakfast room and called for another cup of tea. While mulling over the sudden turn in events, the doors opened, and Cassian walked in, wearing what she assumed were the same clothes as yesterday—but it was the bruise spreading over the left side of his face that made her heart stutter.
“Cassian! What in heaven’s happened?” She launched from her seat and reached for him, almost touching his face until he swatted her hand away. It stung, but she dropped her hand. In a calmer voice, she asked, “What happened?”
He brushed past her to go to the table, and traipsing behind him was Andrews with a tray of coffee and a simple breakfast. Thebutler set the tray before him and bowed to the two. “Please call if you need anything, Your Grace.”
While Cassian poured a cup, Cecilia felt her heart flutter at the sight of the bruise and the blackening eye. “Will you please tell me what happened, or are you going to force me to read about it in the papers?”
“I tried to negotiate with Whitmore about all the lies he is spreading about you,” Cassian told her. “I thought I was making gains when he made the dangerous risk of slandering your name in the worst way—” he took a sip, “—and Ireacted.”
Cecilia did not know if she should feel honored or frightened that Cassian would get into fisticuffs for her sake. She opened her mouth—but clamped it shut.
Hadn’t Cassian told her that she wouldn’t have some white knight to battle for her hand? Had he not realized he had done that very thing?
“Who swung first?” she asked quietly.
“It depends on what you mean,” he replied, his smoky gaze flickering up at her before falling back to the plate. “Verbally,hedid, as he weaponized a vile term about you that I will not repeat. Physically, I landed the first facer.”
She sagged in her seat, “I’m wondering if you’ve made things better or worse.”
“Oh, I’m sure I have made it worse to many. I won’t be surprised if the next headline is going to be,Tales of the Hoyden and the Hellborn Babe.”
The properness inside Cecilia wanted to scowl and bemoan the fact that he had pushed them back into the spotlight when she was so adamant about keeping out of it—but then, she giggled.
“That sounds like an interesting novel.”
His brow ticked up, “You are taking this lightly—” his head twisted over his shoulder to look at the window, “—is the apocalypse dawning on us?”
Cecilia shook her head, “How is Gabriel?”
“A fright, I’m sure,” Cassian replied as he finished his meal, wiped his mouth, and stood. “I’ll be in my room, resting.”
As Cassian went off, Cecilia considered her options. She left to find Andrews, who, upon hearing her request, returned with some materials. Armed, she returned to Cassian’s bedchamber and opened the door with her hip.
Cassian was on his right side, his back to her, and she sat on the edge of the bed. He turned to her, eyes slitted just so. “What are you doing here?”
She lifted the cloth filled with ice and gently rested it on his brow, and a soft moan left his throat. “Cecilia, you don’t have to—”
“Be quiet,” she hushed him. “It is the least I can do.”
