Maybe this is not so bad after all…
CHAPTER 22
“Cecilia—”
She groaned, “No.”
Cassian chuckled. “Yes. As much as I want to stay here with you and indulge in a third round of—”
“I’d preferthat,” she nuzzled into his chest.
Their night together had been magical. After making what was close to love,copiousamounts of times, both of them had fallen asleep in his bedchamber. Cassian had woken up somewhere around three; instead of waking Cook, he’d gone to rustle up a tray of cold cuts, flaky brown bread, cheese slivers, and fruit.
They’d fed each other in the moonlit dark, and when the tray was done, he’d licked through her mouth as well. Afterward, he’d cocked her leg over his thigh and brought her to another finish with his fingers and slow, drugging kisses.
“Of course you would,” Cassian sounded pleasantly exasperated. “I have made a succubus out of you already. However, sweetheart, I’ve been summoned to Westminster for a vote on another cockamamie law our dear Prince Regent wants to pass.”
She grumbled. “I want to stop you.”
“You can’t,” he chuckled. “I need to go.”
Reluctantly, she pulled away and peeled her eyes open. “Hurry back.”To me.
He leaned in to kiss her forehead before he slipped away from the bed and, throwing his robe over his shoulder, he left the room. He refrained from looking back and heeding the temptation to return to Cecilia.
Westminster was the last place he wanted to be, but until his time ran out, he had an obligation to his people. This bill to raise taxes on the commonfolk was nonsense, and he would make sure it was struck down if it was the last thing he did.
Three hours later, Cassian sat back in his seat and reached for his water with a satisfied smile. He blithely ignored the chaotic pell-mell around him and the whispers of the Prince Regent’s impending rage.
“Mark my words, our heads will roll,” Duke Westwood hissed to Duke Dresden, glancing around as though mercenaries were primed and ready outside of the Lords’ chamber to send him to his maker. “He will not like this.”
I’d hate to raise taxes on the poorest of the poor even more.
He stood and reached for his jacket. After donning it, he tugged his sleeves out and nodded to the men. “Gentlemen.”
Both dukes stopped to glare at him, and Cassian ignored them, too. “Give theBonny Princemy regards.”
More than one sour look was trained at him at his not-so-subtle correlation of their Prince with a leader of one of the many Jacobite Uprisings.
“You can tell him yourself when he summons you for one of his many private meetings,” Gabriel said snidely.
Cassian paused. “Well, I know whyyouvoted yay on the bill,” he said. “You are about to lose every pot you have to piss in. If you could not skim something off the top, you would have done the decent thing and voted against it.”
Gabriel threw his head back with a brittle laugh. “What in God's name are you talking about?”
“Smith,Porter, andWest,” Cassian replied and held back a smile when Gabriel’s face went bloodless. “They’ll be calling inyour debts soon, old boy. Do you have half a hundred thousand pounds on hand, Whitmore, for a start?”
The duke’s lips parted and clamped shut. Cassian nodded and reached for his hat. “That’s what I thought.”
“You won’t get away with this, Tressingham,” Gabriel swore at his back.
“I already have,” Cassian laughed as he left the room and the reverent halls altogether. While stepping into his carriage, he decided to indulge one last time. “Take me to Finsbury Square,” he told his driver. “There is a certain bookshop I would like to visit.”
“Your Grace,” Andrews called from the doorway. “May I enter?”
Cecilia startled and felt ashamed that the butler would enter the room while she was clinging to Cassian’s pillows like a limpet on a rock. Still, she was reluctant to part from them.
Sitting up, she fixed the sheets around her and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “You may come in, Andrews.”
