“In your dreams,” she said gaily. “You’re only saying that because we don’t own a second sleigh. If we did, I’d race you and make you eat those words.”
“Don’t listen to her,” he murmured to Cass as Gwyn returned to the closet. “She can’t drive a gig, much less a sleigh.”
“I heard that!” Gwyn called out.
He was still chuckling as he led Cass out the door. She was smiling herself. His banter with Gwyn made her wish she had an older brother. Her cousin Douglas wouldn’t suffice—he was her age and hadn’t been home in years. But she could tell from watching the duchess’s children that they were comfortable with one another.Lovedone another. It made her wish she’d had siblings of her own.
Then Heywood placed a hand in the small of her back to help her into the sleigh, and all thought vanished into the ether. Goodness. She was glad she’d chosen a very thick cloak for their jaunt. Otherwise, the warmth from his hand would melt her clear to her toes.
Her reaction to him was foolish, really. He couldn’t possibly have any real interest in her, those kisses notwithstanding. Why, he probably kissed women like that all the time. But still, the thought of riding beside him left her breathless.
That would not do. The last time she gave her heart to a man, she’d had it badly battered. So this time she must take better care of it. Which was difficult when Heywood joined her in the sleigh, his hard body right up against hers. Had his brother said that the sleigh only fitted two? He’d lied. It only fitted one and a half, particularly when one of the people was a heavily muscled army officer. She and Heywood were squeezed so tightly together that she didn’t know where he ended and she began.
Good Lord. Her blood was pumping just at the sensation of being pressed to him, no matter how chastely.
He must have felt it, too, for he refused to look at her as they glided down the drive between two snow-covered lawns toward a line of birches that separated the estate from the main road. The sleigh bells jingled merrily and the horse trotted sure-footedly along the drive.
“Where are we going?” Cass asked as they neared the main road.
Now that they were alone together, he looked somber. “You’ll see. It’s not far.” He dragged in a heavy breath. “So why don’t you tell me how you came to be writing the letters from Kitty to her brother?”
Devil take it. She’d hoped he’d forgotten. “It’s . . . um . . . rather complicated.”
“All the best deceptions are,” he said coldly.
“It wasn’t like that.” Cass debated how much to reveal. But if she were to convince him to keep the secret on Kitty’s behalf, she should probably tell him all of it. “Back when Douglas first left home, Kitty was only eight. She’d had trouble learning to read and write as it was, but she desperately wanted to correspond with her brother, to cheer him up.”
Cass stared down at the muff encasing her hands. “She tried to do it herself, but her handwriting was illegible, her grammar was abominable, and she didn’t know what to say.”
“Douglas would have understood, I’m sure. Shewasstill a child, after all.”
“A child whose father had rigid standards for his children that she couldn’t meet. Since I was four years older than she, I sort of took over the duties of a governess.”
“Attwelve?”
She shrugged. “I convinced him that I was perfectly capable of schooling Kitty. That way she and I could hide the fact that she . . . had problems with learning.” Realizing she sounded disloyal, she added hastily, “Kitty is the sweetest, most generous woman you could ever meet, but I’m sure you’ve noticed that she’s not, well—”
“Very bright.”
Cass sighed. “The trouble was, she was still terrified of disappointing her father and mortified by her difficulties with writing. She always had to give the letters to him to be franked, and he always took the liberty of reading them.”
“So you took over her correspondence to make sure she appeared to be clever.”
“Exactly.”
His face showed none of what he was thinking. “But Squire Nickman has been dead now for two years. Surely you could have explained all of this to Douglas.”
“And have him know that it wasn’t really his sister writing him so faithfully? Have her suffer the humiliation of having her flaws discovered? I couldn’t do that to her. After her father died, she started to blossom. Where she would hardly speak in his presence, she now voices her opinions readily to anyone who will listen.”
“Rather like you.”
She eyed him balefully. “My point is, she has become a different woman since her father’s death. She’s not nearly as self-conscious. Besides, once we’d embarked on that scheme, it was difficult to go back. It didn’t seem necessary to trouble Douglas with the depth of our deception while he was away fighting for our country.” She shifted to look up at him. “Why does it matter to you? Why do you act as ifyouhave somehow been betrayed?”
“You’ll understand shortly,” he said, though his expression gave away nothing.
They pulled onto the main road instead of touring the estate as she’d expected. Unencumbered by ruts or other carriages, the sleigh fairly flew along. A short while later, they turned down a different drive, headed for another house.
Heywood drew up in front of the smaller, run-down home as if he knew it well. Crumbling cornices, missing roof tiles, overgrown ivy tipped with snow, and front steps in disrepair were signs that its owner had deserted it.
