It was not hesitant. It was not gentle in the way she might have expected. It was deliberate, controlled only by the effort it took to stop himself from doing more. For a moment, the world narrowed to that single certainty.
Then footsteps sounded outside, voices.
Her parents.
Cassandra pulled back just as the church door opened. Lady Hurton froze when she saw them standing together.
“Cassandra,” her mother said sharply. “This is highly inappropriate.”
George stepped back at once, his expression composed once more.
“My apologies,” he said. “This was a mistake. It will not happen again.”
The words struck Cassandra harder than the kiss had. A mistake. Never again. She felt the weight of them settle painfully in her chest.
Had he already regretted it?
She did not look at him, because she was no longer certain she could bear the answer.
Chapter Sixteen
By the time they returned to the house, George’s grandmother had already decided how the afternoon would proceed.
George recognized the signs immediately. The drawing room had been rearranged, chairs drawn into a neat semicircle, the pianoforte uncovered and polished. Several guests lingered with the expectant air of people who had been told they were about to be entertained.
His grandmother sat at the center of it all, composed and pleased with herself.
“My dear,” she said, turning as Cassandra entered the room, “we were just speaking of music. Your cousins are so accomplished, and it would be such a pleasure to hear you join them.”
George did not miss the careful phrasing. The false sweetness, the implication that refusal would appear ungracious.
“No,” he said calmly.
The room stilled. His grandmother turned her gaze to him, measured and sharp.
“George?”
“There will be no performance,” he repeated. “Not today.”
Cassandra glanced at him, startled, then at the Dowager.
“It is quite all right,” she said quickly. “I do not mind.”
He looked at her.
“You do mind.”
She lowered her voice, slight desperation in her eyes.
“This is not worth a scene.”
“It is precisely why there will be one,” he replied.
She shook her head slightly.
“Please.”
George hesitated. He saw the calculation in her expression. The instinct to smooth things over, even at her own expense. Before he could stop her, she stepped forward and took her place with her violin. The Dowager smiled, victorious, and the music began.
