Page 37 of Impetuous

“A person who saw the big house and decided that it was empty and thought, given its size, that it must have something valuable in it,” Cassandra added, wanting to set a reason firmly in Chumley’s mind.

“I am sure you are right,” Philip agreed with a face so studiously bland that it was all Cassandra could do not to laugh.

“That would mean that he must have been staying around here,” Cassandra continued. “He was, after all, here two nights in a row. Where was he in between?”

“Ah, you was always a canny one, Miss Cassandra,” Chumley told her admiringly. “You’re right. Surely someone’s seen him—even if he’s been camping out in the woods like a gypsy, people’d notice. I’ll ask around Dunsleigh tomorrow, miss, see if anyone’s seen a stranger around here.”

“And I shall check the inn where I am staying,” Philip promised. “Of course, he could have been staying at another small town nearby and riding over at night, to escape detection.”

There were three or four footprints going away from the house, but after that the ground became harder and drier, and there were no more signs of the would-be intruder.

“The noise scared him off, no doubt.” Sir Philip stood for a moment gazing into the darkness, as if considering plunging off in search of the man, but then he turned back to the others.

“I shall escort you home, Miss Verrere.”

Cassandra realized that earlier he had been calling her Cassandra. Now they were back to Miss Verrere. But, then, earlier, they had been… Well, better not to think of that.

“I assure you that I am well able to find my way home by myself,” she replied in as formal a tone as he had used.

“I am sure of that, but if you think that I am about to allow a young lady to set off in the dark, alone, with an intruder lurking about, you had best think again.”

“The gentleman’s right, Miss Cassandra,” the former groundskeeper chimed in reluctantly. “If he don’t, then I’m going to. It ain’t fitting, not to mention safe.”

Cassandra gazed at her old servant, who stared back at her truculently. She knew Chumley well enough to know that he would do as he said, and that even if she set off alone, he would trail along after her. Since her aunt’s house lay in the opposite direction of Chumley’s own cottage, she would be making the man walk a good distance out of his way.

“All right, Sir Philip,” she accepted his offer rather ungraciously and strode off up the hill without waiting to see whether he came with her.

With a sigh, Philip caught up with Cassandra. They walked for the most part in silence. Cassandra was quite aware of Sir Philip’s opinion regarding the intruder they had not caught, as well as of her sneaking over to the house tonight to try to catch him. Since he was equally well aware of her views on both matters, they each decided not to broach the subject. Cassandra’s thoughts kept straying to the moment when Sir Philip had captured her—and what had followed. The incident crowded out even the thoughts of the intruder. But it was hardly a subject she wanted to bring up with him. She was in enough turmoil just walking along beside him, intensely aware of his heat, his scent, his masculine power. She could not deny that she had enjoyed his touch and his kisses, that everything within her had leaped up in response to him. But what did he think of her for doing so? What did he want from her? How did he feel about her? And—this was a first for her—how did she feel about him? Cassandra could not remember ever feeling so unsettled, so unlike herself, so…so…thoroughly confused.

Sir Philip, beside her, was in as great a state of confusion as Cassandra herself. He knew that he should apologize for what he had done earlier. He had let his passion completely take over, had lost control—and after he had sworn to her that it would never happen again. There seemed to be something about Cassandra Verrere that made him forget all the rules by which he normally lived, that blurred the once-clear lines between behavior with a woman of easy virtue and behavior with a lady of quality. Sir Philip had never felt with any young woman of good family the overwhelming passion he experienced when he was with Cassandra. Damn it, now that he thought of it, he could not remember when he had felt such loss of restraint with a member of the demimonde or a willing, experienced woman of society, either. There was simply something about Cassandra that was like no other woman he had ever met, and his responses to her were equally foreign.

Perhaps it was the very innocence of her response, the natural passion, that aroused him so. Or perhaps it was the piquancy of the juxtaposition of her sweet kisses with her tart, quick remarks. Sir Philip was not sure. Indeed, he was sure of very little—beyond the fact that he wanted very much to continue to see Miss Verrere. And he wanted even more to kiss her again.

It was for this reason that he could not bring himself to beg her pardon for his behavior. To do so would mean that he would have to promise not to do it again, and he had the distinct feeling that he would not be able to honor that promise. Indeed, he was quite sure that he did not even want to honor it. All he wanted was to continue along this path until he found out where it led—and damn all the consequences.

Cassandra came to a halt, reaching out to touch Philip’s arm and stop him. He looked down at her, his pulse suddenly speeding up, at once excited and wary of what she might say next.

But she only said prosaically, “There is my aunt’s house. Among the trees—you see it?” She pointed.

“Yes.”

“I should go the rest of the way myself. It would not do at all for even a servant to see me walking back to the house at this time of night with a man, especially you.”

He nodded, stifling his disappointment that she had had no more personal comment to make. What did he expect—that she was going to ask him to start up again where he had left off earlier? “Of course. Go on. I shall watch from here to make sure that you are safe.”

“I assure you that is unnecessary.”

“Shall we meet at Chesilworth again tomorrow?” he asked, ignoring her comment.

“Yes. Tomorrow afternoon would be fine—say one o’clock?”

“I shall be there.”

She nodded and without another word turned and walked away from him. Sir Philip watched her form as it grew smaller and smaller, until at last it disappeared into the house. With a sigh, he turned away and began the long walk back into the village.

* * *

THE GENTLE TAPPING at the door finally brought Cassandra awake. She groaned and turned over, throwing an arm over her eyes to block out the sunshine streaming in through the crack between the draperies. She fervently wished now that she had not told the maid to wake her early so that they could get started on cleaning up after the party. However, she knew that the best way to deal with her aunt was to get the house in order while she and Joanna still slept. Then she would have the afternoon free to work at Chesilworth.