“It takes no effort to prove the validity of a dowry,” she said.
This was true, of course. She was the most charming when she raised some truth. No matter what point he made, she always countered with something just as valid. He’d never met another female so willing to challenge him.
“But perhaps you simply feel that you cannot abide me,” Lady Willow said. “Not even long enough to quickly marry.” She set her empty cup on the desk before them.
“No,”Cassin said, “I do not know you.”
This was true, although he found it surprisingly difficult to say. He knew her hair was the color of an ash leaf in November. He knew her skin was as smooth and pale as cream. He knew her voice was husky, that it washed over him like hot water on a cold night. He knew her arguments, no matter how unacceptable, had made his pulse pound and his brain misfire.
Cassin enjoyed the distraction of a pretty girl as much as the next man, but he also toiled daily beneath the yoke of obligation, an effort that left him too mired down to notice autumn hair or cream skin or a dusky voice.
But he had noticed today. Inconveniently. Uselessly.
He noticed her like he would notice a beautiful sunset when what he really needed was ten more minutes of daylight.
He glanced at her. She appeared to be winding up to explain how it would not matter that they were not acquainted. He found himself suddenly, urgently, wanting to hear it. But there was a soft knock at the door.
“Begging your pardon, my lady,” said her manservant.
Lady Willow rose. “What’s happened?”
“The countess. She’s returned, I’m afraid. Tom can just see them cresting the hill behind the paddock.”
“The hill already?” Lady Willow spun to the window.
“Might I suggest that you and his lordship conclude your interview in the garden?” he said. “I can have his lordship’s horse and coat brought ’round.”
“The garden. Yes, thank you, Mr. Fisk. Excellent idea, as always.” She scanned the room. “Will you tell Abbott to clear the tea? Wait—no, he will make more of the request than necessary. Send Perry, if you please. It is not her job, but she will do it for me. Thank you.”
When she looked to Cassin, her face was young and flushed and determined. “I’m afraid I must ask you to join me outside the house. My mother is . . . complicated.”
“She knows nothing, does she?” Cassin asked. “You’ve done this entirely on your own.”
Lady Willow nodded. “Yes.” She leaned toward the desk and swept up the parchment, pen, and ink pot. “She knows nothing. This way, if you please, my lord.”
She filed into the corridor.
Just five minutes more, Cassin thought as he followed her out the door.
CHAPTERFIVE
The risk of discovery by Lady Lytton was a welcome new source of panic, but Willow was too preoccupied to really care about her mother. Against all odds, the Earl of Cassin held great potential. His reserve. His caution. His willingness to flee the house. Very great potential, indeed.
And flee they did, down the corridor, through the ballroom, and out onto the terrace that led to the garden. They did not run, precisely, but they were hardly strolling.
The new location meant there would be less time for everything, of course; no more beating around the bush. He would have to declare himself, yea or nay. But perhaps this, too, was preferred. In Willow’s view, she’d already said enough. All the while, he’d said—well, what had he said? He’d done little more than challenge her.
But he did not go, she thought.
Even now, he did not go.
She cast a glance over her shoulder. He took one long step to her two, but he was not far behind.
“This way, if you please,” she said lightly, descending the great stone steps that led to the garden. She would lead him down the gravel path, beyond the fountain, and skirt the labyrinth. There, obscured by a thick yew hedge, was a stone bench and bowling green. It was secluded but not intimate, the perfect spot to conclude the interview.
“The grounds of your home are beautiful,” the earl said. His voice was not winded. He did not sound the slightest bit appalled.
Please, please keep Mother away, she prayed. She said, “The garden is Mr. Fisk’s handiwork. My mother will struggle to replace him when we relocate to London, I’m afraid.”
