Page 78 of Impetuous

Without a second thought Cassandra flung herself into them. “Oh, Philip!”

She burst into tears. He held her for a long time, his arms so tightly around her that Cassandra could scarcely breathe, but she did not mind. It felt too wonderful, too warm and safe, in the circle of his arms. The twins bounced around, excitedly telling their story of hearing something odd and then recognizing it as Cassandra’s voice and finally finding the door to the windmill wedged shut by boards. Philip nodded, scarcely hearing them, concentrating only on holding Cassandra and letting the knowledge sink in on him that she was safe, was actually there with him.

He had spent the most frightful night of his life frantically searching for her, with no clue as to where she had gone or why. He had been haunted by the fear that she had run away because of him, that she had been too shamed by their illicit passion or so overcome with guilt that she had had to get away from him. Logically he had known that the idea was foolish, that Cassandra was too levelheaded to run off like that without telling anyone or at least leaving a note.

But logic had not been able to stand up against his raging fear and guilt, and he had cursed himself for giving in to his desires last night and not taking the time to talk to her as he had meant to. He had wanted to explain that they would be married at the earliest possible time, that his decision to make love to her had been at the same time a decision to marry her. He had thought that surely she realized that, that she knew he would not have compromised her, that even in the midst of his raging passion he would not have taken her if he had not known that she was the only woman he could want as his wife.

He had said nothing, though. He was not the sort to bandy about words of love, and an offer of marriage was not easy for him to make. His family had never been demonstrative. One did not speak of emotions; indeed, one did one’s best not to express them in any way. It had been much easier and more pleasant to express his feelings for her with his hands and lips. As his desire surged in him last night, he had shoved aside the matter of talking. When she disappeared, he had been racked with guilt that she had vanished because she thought he wanted only to make her his mistress.

Now he held her as if he would never let her go again, stroking her back and murmuring soothingly, “It’s all right. It’s all right. You don’t need to be scared any longer.”

“Oh, Philip! It was so dark, and I didn’t know if anyone would ever find me….”

“I know. But it’s all over now.” He kissed her hair, murmuring something she could not quite hear. “I’m going to take you home.”

She nodded, all her doubts vanquished in the warmth of Philip’s arms. He put her up on his horse in front of him, and she leaned against his chest. They rode slowly back to the house, the gentle rocking movement of the horse and Cassandra’s own weariness pulling her down into sleep.

* * *

WHEN CASSANDRA NEXT opened her eyes, she was lying in her bed in Haverly House, the drapes drawn against the light. For an instant she was stabbed with the fear she had known the night before, but in the next moment she realized where she was, and she drew a shaky sigh of relief.

“You’re awake!” Olivia bounced up from the chair in which she had been sitting, watching her sister, and plopped down onto the bed beside her. “Thank heavens! I was beginning to think that you would never wake up!”

Cassandra licked her dry lips. She was still parched, she realized. She had slept straight through, not awakening to eat or drink anything. “Water?” she croaked.

Olivia flew to fulfill her request, and Cassandra drank down two glasses, one right after another, then flopped back down on the bed. “Oh, Lord, I’m a mess.” She ran a hand over her filthy dress and touched her equally dusty hair and face. “I’m ruining the sheets.”

“I know. You should have seen the housekeeper’s face when Sir Philip insisted on putting you in between her pristine sheets, just as you are. But she knew better than to argue with him. He looked like he wanted an excuse to strangle somebody.” Olivia giggled. “Aunt Ardis was babbling about how he should not be in your room, him being a man and all, and he gave her this look. I wish you could have seen it. Aunt Ardis shut her mouth like a clam.” Olivia demonstrated, snapping her fingers. “But his mother did make him leave after he got you settled. He wanted to stay here until you awoke, but Lady Neville persuaded him that he would only scare you, the way he looked, and that he would be better to sleep and shave before he saw you again.”

Cassandra shoved aside the sheets and started to stand up, but Olivia ran to her side worriedly. “What are you doing? Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m not sick. I only spent the night in a most uncomfortable place. What I need right now is something to eat and a bath—in that order. Olivia, be a love and ring for a maid.”

Olivia did so, then helped her sister undress and comb out her tangled, matted hair, all the while asking questions about Cassandra’s ordeal. The maids drew a hot bath, and another one carried up a tray with a cold supper, and Cassandra eagerly partook of both.

She had just finished pulling on her dressing gown and was combing out her wet hair when there was a peremptory knock on her bedroom door and Sir Philip strode in without waiting for an answer.

“The maid said you were up. How are you?”

“Quite well, thank you.” Cassandra felt strangely reserved with him. When he had found her, the doubts of the dark night had vanished, and she had felt instinctively safe in his arms. But, now, rested and refreshed, her primitive instincts had receded, and the logical doubts had come crowding back in.

“Olivia, leave us alone,” Philip ordered. “I have to talk to your sister.”

Olivia didn’t stay to argue, even though her aunt had clearly impressed on her that her duty was to keep Sir Philip out of Cassandra’s bedroom, where a gentleman did not belong.

Philip strode over to where Cassandra sat, a frown stamping his face. “I sent my gamekeeper to search the windmill and look for tracks. He could find nothing. The ground is utterly dry. This is completely inexplicable. The boys say that the door to the windmill was jammed. They insist that someone must have done it on purpose. Is that true? How did you get there?”

Cassandra stiffened. Except for his initial abrupt question, he had not shown a bit of concern about how she was doing after her ordeal. “My, aren’t we the lord of the manor this afternoon?”

He cast her a glance of exasperation, born of a night of sleepless anxiety compounded by a frustrating inability to discover who had done this to Cassandra and a thoroughly annoying and concerted effort on everyone’s part to keep him away from her. “Come, Cassandra, don’t quibble. Just tell me how you got there.”

“I don’t know!” Cassandra snapped back. “Believe me, if I knew who had abducted me, I would be happy to tell you. But I was knocked out at the abbey, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up inside that windmill with a terrible headache and no idea what I was doing there.”

“I knew you must have gone to the abbey,” he said with a sense of vindication.

“Of course I did, since your note told me to meet you there,” Cassandra responded with some asperity. She watched him levelly, trying to gauge his reaction.

He stared at her blankly. “I beg your pardon?”