He could feel her warmth, her nearness. He could also sense the frustration and sadness emanating from her. “I’ve been thinking about this. About you. With your permission I am going to ride out to Shepard and share this with him tomorrow. Someone wanted your identity concealed, even before Longham arrived. Shepard needs to know. I don’t believe Longham’s death was connected in any way with the mill violence. A random laborer would not have the forethought or access to make this page disappear from the registry or to steal Longham’s documents. This assault cannot be lumped into the attacks on mill owners, and that’s what Shepard was doing with the recent arrest he made. Someone knew exactly what they were doing when Longham was killed and had a specific motive.”
For some reason he’d expected her to share his enthusiasm, to share in the urgency that this was the correct step. But she did not respond right away. She pushed herself off the sofa, stood, and paced the narrow space.
“If this is indeed connected to Mr. Longham’s murder, then yes, Mr. Shepard needs to know. But as far as my identity is concerned, I’m not sure it even matters at this point. Everyone knows now. My father’s dead. I’m to be a stranger to my mother. I’m illegitimate. And you know how people talk.”
He set the paper on the sofa and stood. He wanted to erase her uncertainty on this matter. But how? It would be easy, simple, to take her in his arms and hold her until her doubts subsided, but he had no idea if she would be receptive of his touch. Instead, he asked, “Do you think it matters to me?”
He stepped even closer, until she was just inches from him.
He could feel her uncertainty. Her questions.
Her gaze did not leave his as she whispered, “Does it?”
In a moment of impassioned determination, he reached out to grip her soft, trembling hand in his. At the touch, fire ignited. He felt it with every fiber of his being. She had to feel it too. “It would probably make a lot of things easier if it did, but the truth is, I care very much about you, regardless of where you are from or who your parents are.”
She looked down at their joined hands and remained silent.
He’d already said too much to turn back. Eagerness surged, and he drew nearer. “I tell you this with no expectation, but I can’t deny my feelings grow stronger each time I see you. I know you have other things pressing on your mind, but I—”
“Yes, there are other things on my mind,” she interrupted, flicking her gaze up to him.
He steeled himself, waiting.
Then her expression softened. Her shoulders eased. “But you are in my thoughts too. Of course you are. How could you not be?”
She closed the space between them even more. Her fingers entwined with his. “I can’t explain it, and I don’t know how it happened. But somehow between all of the things that have transpired, you have steadied me. But what if we find out something even worse? I don’t want you to feel—”
“Cassandra.”
The use of her Christian name silenced her.
“Please let me be very clear,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes locked with hers. “None of that matters to me. Not a bit of it. I never thought I’d feel this way again, and now that I do, nothing will stand in the way of it.”
She quickly diverted her gaze again to their hands.
He reached out to cup her chin and gently lifted her face tomeet his gaze. “I promise you, Cassandra Hale, I will be by your side through all of this, if you will allow me. And then for every day after that.”
And then he kissed her, sweetly, gently, until she wrapped her arms around his neck and returned the kiss.
Chapter 39
The next morning passed quickly for Cassandra as if nothing was amiss or different.
She ate breakfast with the girls. They dressed for the day, read their stories, practiced embroidery, and worked on their sums.
But the day was far from ordinary.
For the girls, their grandmother was sick in the other room and unresponsive. Cassandra tried her best to distract and encourage her young charges, but their sadness and the situation’s uncertainty shadowed every hour.
As heavy as the situation with Mrs. Towler seemed, Cassandra’s heart soared with the secret she and James shared.
He cared for her.
He’d held her. Kissed her.
And for the time being, the knowledge of it was theirs alone.
But with every flutter of her heart, another thought rushed her: Was that how it had started with her mother and father? Stolen kisses in the parlor?
