Page 82 of Impetuous

“We can walk or take a hack,” Cassandra stated. “We do not need your carriage.”

“Ah, but doubtless you need a man to carry all the packages Miss Moulton will purchase.”

“We can always take a footman for that.”

Philip grimaced. “Dislikable as you find my presence, Miss Verrere, I intend to go. If you will remember, someone tried rather successfully to harm you only a few days ago. I am aware that you would prefer to think that I am the villain of this piece, but since I know that I am not, I also know that there is someone out there who may try to hurt you. Therefore, I do not plan to let you leave this house unless I am with you. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly.” Cassandra threw her needlepoint down and surged to her feet. “I find that I have a headache. I believe that I shan’t go after all. I am going up to my room to lie down.”

She stalked off to her bedroom, hoping that Sir Philip would not be able to wriggle out of taking Joanna and her mother shopping. It would serve him right for being so utterly odious.

She threw herself down in the armchair and stared moodily out the window at the small garden below. Her chest was stuffed with hot and conflicting emotions, and she wanted, quite badly, to cry. How could everything have turned out so horribly?

She almost wished that she had never read Margaret Verrere’s diaries, had never known about the maps to the lost dowry—except, of course, that then she would never have met Sir Philip. And even as miserable as she felt right now, she could not wish for that.

Cassandra stayed in her room the rest of the day and, claiming sickness, even had a tray brought up to her room at supper and begged off the trip to the opera that the others had planned. She listened to Joanna’s excited voice in the hall as she left her room, no doubt dressed in the most elegant of clothes and looking utterly beautiful. She was sure that Joanna would make the most of this evening alone with Sir Philip. By the end of it, she would be certain that he meant to offer marriage to her. Even knowing how little Philip liked Joanna, the thought of their spending the evening together at the opera made Cassandra’s heart hurt. It should be her with him. She was the one who loved him.

She began to get ready for bed. But even after she had put on her nightgown, brushed out her hair and crawled into bed, she could not go to sleep. Even after she heard Joanna and Aunt Ardis come upstairs and go into their bedrooms, she lay wide awake, staring up at the ceiling. She could not keep from remembering the way Philip had come into her room late at night a few days before, slipping into her bed and making love to her. She could not stop wishing that he would do so this night.

Tears gathered in her eyes and slid down her cheeks. She told herself that she was insane, that she could not want to be made love to by a man whom she suspected of trying to harm her.

It was then that the knowledge came to her in a jolt:

She did not believe that Philip had tried to harm her.

Cassandra sat up in bed, startled by her insight. She reminded herself of all the reasons she had to doubt him. They were still there, the logical explanation of who had locked her in the windmill and why. But she saw that while the doubts had been there in her head, she had not really believed them, not deep down inside her. Her heart had always known that he would not harm her. Had she really believed that he might harm her, she would have been afraid to travel to London with him, with only the dubious protection of Aunt Ardis and Joanna. She would have been afraid to go out into London alone with him. She would at least have experienced some trepidation and doubt. However, she had felt not the slightest hesitation in traveling to the city with him or in going about London alone with him. Never for a moment had she felt afraid in his presence. And the reason had been because in her heart and soul, in the very essence of her being, she had known that Philip would not hurt her.

Cassandra flung off her covers and began to pace the room, amazed by this epiphany. Why had she not realized it before? It was, she thought, because she had become so accustomed to letting her head rule her life. When logical doubts had intervened, she had given them heed, as she always gave her thoughts heed. But the doubts had not in any way changed her feelings for Philip or made her feel uneasy in his presence. Instinctively, she had believed him; it was obvious in her actions.

She let out a little sob, compounded of relief, regret and a great upsurge of love, and hurried out the door. She almost ran down the hall to the other end, where Philip’s room lay, her bare feet making no noise on the runner. She did not even glance around, not caring whether anyone saw her. At Philip’s door, she did not pause to knock, but pulled it open boldly and stepped inside, closing it behind her.

He was in the midst of undressing for bed, standing in front of his dresser in only trousers and his dress shirt, opened down the front. He whirled at her entrance and stared at her, dumbfounded.

Cassandra stared back, suddenly unable to think of anything to say.

Finally he broke the tableau, starting toward her, frowning in concern. “Cassandra? What’s the matter? Did something happen?”

She shook her head. “No. Nothing happened.” She paused, then added honestly, “Except inside me.”

He stopped, looking puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m not sure I do, either.” She let out a shaky laugh. “I don’t know how to say this. I am so scared that you hate me now, that you won’t accept my— Oh, God. I’m not making any sense, am I?”

“Not really,” he agreed, not unkindly. “But I do not hate you, Cassandra, whatever you might think. I could not. Ever.”

Cassandra drew a deep breath. “Thank you.” Tears shone in her eyes. “I—I came to apologize. I know that I was very wrong, and I’m sorry. All those things, those reasons, I realized tonight that they didn’t matter. All that mattered was whether I believed that you had tried to harm me. And I don’t. I see how you could have, why you could have wanted to…but my heart refuses to believe that you did.”

He gazed at her in some astonishment. “But what made you change your mind?”

“I didn’t. I mean, I realized that it wasn’t my mind that mattered. Even though I couldn’t decide, up here—” she tapped her temple “—whether you locked me in the windmill, I realized that it made no difference. What was important was that in my heart, in here, I knew that you had not. It makes sense that it was you who locked me away, but when I look at you, I can’t believe that you would have hurt me.”

“Of course I wouldn’t. Oh, Cassandra…” He took a long stride toward her.

“I’m sorry that I doubted you.”

He shook his head. “No. I was wrong to expect you to not have doubts. You are far too rational not to see the obvious conclusions. I was merely hurt. I wanted you to have blind faith in me.”

“I do have faith in you. Complete faith.” She smiled up at him, and he crossed the remaining stretch of floor between them in two quick strides.