“This is pleasant,” she admitted reluctantly.
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.”
They rode on, not speaking for a time. Cassandra became aware of how different he was here. He was not the Duke presiding over guests or issuing quiet commands, but a man entirely at ease, patient, attentive, almost gentle.
When Sherton Manor came back into view, Cassandra felt an unexpected pang of disappointment. She dismounted with his help, steadier now, though her legs still trembled.
“Thank you,” she said, before she could stop herself.
“You did well.”
As they walked back toward the house, side by side, Cassandra realized something that unsettled her more than any scandal or scheme. For the first time since this engagement had been forced upon her, she had forgotten, briefly, to resist.
And she did not know what that meant.
They had nearly reached the doors when His Grace stopped. Cassandra halted beside him, confused, the fading warmth of the ride still lingering.
“There is something you must understand,” he said.
She braced herself.
“I should not have done what I did to you. I should have defended you, I know that. Since we are to be husband and wife, you are to come to me with whatever you need, no matter how trivial.”
The words caught her off guard.
“I do not require–”
He raised a hand, stopping her gently.
“That was not a request.”
She studied his face, searching for mockery, but she found none.
“You will not be alone in this house,” he went on. “Not anymore.”
Her throat tightened.
“And if what I need is freedom?”
“Then you will tell me,” he replied. “And we will address it.”
We.
The word echoed, unwelcome and strangely grounding all at once.
“You are also not to interfere with my horses again, of course.”
“No,” she agreed softly.
Then he turned and walked away, leaving her standing alone. Cassandra remained where she was for several long seconds, heart racing, breath unsteady. She had meant to provoke him. Instead, she felt claimed in a way that had nothing to do with ownership. She did not know whether that frightened her more than his anger would have.
They played archery that afternoon, and Cassandra decided almost immediately that it was a deeply offensive sport.
The targets had been set along the edge of the lower field, bright against the greenery. Bows rested on stands nearby, arrowsarranged with military precision. Several guests lingered at a polite distance, content to watch rather than participate.
Cassandra lingered with them.
