Chapter 10.

Over the next weeks, Edmund Sinclair watched all unfold with no little amount of trepidation. Lady Evelyn was a frequent caller; she and Cassandra sat in the courtyard most every afternoon. For the life of him, Edmund could not fathom why Evelyn bothered with the chit. Although, he finally admitted grudgingly, without her wretched clothing, her appearance was at least presentable. Why, on first sight one might easily mistake her for a genteel young lady. Ah, but he knew better than to trust one such as she. She saw his son only as a lump of gold!

A hand like a vice seemed to squeeze his chest. God, but he missed Stuart! Losing Stuart had been like losing Margaret ... a part of himself forever gone. And now Gabriel was all he had left.

If only things had been different! But he and Gabriel had never been close ... they would never be close. And now it was too late, Edmund acknowledged wearily, for his youth was spent. Perhaps the future as well. Was it truly so wrong to ask that Gabriel marry and produce an heir? There was pride in the Sinclair name, though it seemed Gabriel wanted none of it.

It caused Edmund great sadness -- and immense frustration -- to think his name might die out, that he might die without ever seeing his grandson, yet he could never confess such to Gabriel. There was so much distance between them, and he knew not how to breach it! Even as a lad, Gabriel had been ever willful, ever defiant.

A weary sigh escaped. Edmund made his way tiredly to the chair behind his desk, all at once feeling far older than even the heavens. Outside the drawing room, a gentle breeze carried with it the lilt of two feminine voices ... and something else that made an odd little pain knot his heart, for it was something he had not heard in years ...

The sound of laughter.

Gabriel climbed the entrance stairs to his elegant London townhouse. His steps were unerringly precise, his eyes unwaveringly clear despite the fact he was quite certain he'd never been more drunk in his life.

Yet still his drink-laden conscience allowed him no ease.

Hours later, he was still in his library, long legs sprawled out before him. In his hand was a glass. On the table beside him was a delicately-faceted crystal decanter of brandy. Gabriel stared into the golden liquid, his mind as clouded as his senses. Outside the streets of London lay still and silent as night turned to morn.

His return to England had gone exactly as planned. His father had been appalled to find his son forever tied to his Yankee bride ...

But Gabriel's moment of triumph had been altogether brief -- and infinitely less satisfying than he had anticipated. Nor did he understand this nagging feeling that plagued him -- guilt of all things! He harshly reminded himself what Edmund Sinclair had done to his mother, the years of bittersweet hope, of crushing regret ... of empty heartache.

He alone had known. He alone had cared. And that was something Gabriel could never forget. Nor could he forgive his father for the way she had died.

Yet thoughts of his father inevitably brought reminders of Farleigh.

He had missed Farleigh. He hadn't realized how much until he had returned! And still, there was a part of him that hated it.

No, whispered a voice. It wasn't Farleigh he hated. It was the memories which lurked there, the memories which refused to be shut away. That was why he had not stayed. There were too many memories there ... of his mother ... her death. He had vowed he could not stay -- he would not. He had done what he'd set out to do - dumped Cassie in his father's lap and resumed his life in London.

But now he was tormented by still more memories ... of warm lips and skin like fresh cream, as soft as swansdown. Of sweet-smelling hair. And the taste of revenge had not been nearly as sweet as the taste of those lips ...

What madness was this! His mouth twisted. He was no besotted fool to take on like a lovesick youth. His mood grew even more black. Deliberately he hardened his heart against his poor but beautiful bride. He did not want a wife. Most certainly he did not need one. He had returned to London with every intention of forgetting he had one...

Far easier in thought than in deed.

For Cassie, the days passed quickly. She learned to pour tea, what to say when exchanging niceties, what not to say. She was exhausted, her head spinning by the time she fell into bed at night, yet she was determined she would succeed in this.

Feeling emboldened one day, she entreated Evelyn to accompany her to tea with the duke in the drawing room that afternoon. Cassie hated knowing the duke watched her. He was not openly hostile, yet she sensed his disapproval. He was stiff and formal; Cassie's hand was trembling so fiercely she feared she would slosh tea all over the front of her gown. But Evelyn had clapped delightedly afterward.

"It's as though you've been born to it! Oh, Cassie, I knew you could do it!"

It was then that Cassie did something she had not dared to do only a month ago .., she dared to dream. And she began to truly believe that despite the odds, she might find some measure of happiness that she could never have attained had she stayed in Charleston. She was well clothed, safe, and secure. Gabriel had promised she would always have a home -- and she clung to that promise for she dared not do otherwise. Still, there were times she half-feared closing her eyes that it might all disappear.

Early one afternoon in late July, Davis announced Christopher Marley. Cassie's eyes lit up. "Please, Davis, show him in!" Christopher strode in seconds later, looking dashing in pale pantaloons and frock coat.

"Christopher, oh, I cannot tell you how pleased I am to see you again!" Cassie extended both hands. She had to restrain herself from hugging him; she'd have done exactly that if Evelyn were not at her side.

He laughed. "My lady, I had visions of you withering away in the country. I decided at last it was time to see for myself how you fared."

Cassie did not miss the silent query in his eyes. His concern warmed her heart. "I am well," she said softly, then smiled slightly. "And you need not bite your tongue. Lady Evelyn is well aware of the circumstances of our meeting ... Are the two of you acquainted?"

Christopher hid his surprise. He'd certainly not expected to find such a scene as this, but for Cassie's sake, he was heartily glad. "My lady;" he said warmly. "We met several times during the Season last year, though I hardly expect you to remember." He bent low over her hand and pressed his lips to Evelyn's fingers.

Evelyn dipped a curtsy. "I remember you quite well, sir."

"Then, milady, I consider myself quite privileged." As Evelyn's cheeks turned pink, he turned to Cassie. His eyes approved the visible changes in her -- the stylish white flowered muslin day dress and chic upswept hairstyle. "I must say, you cut quite the figure."

It was Cassie's turn to flush. "I can be no less than honest, Christopher. The credit for the woman you see before you belongs to Evelyn."

Evelyn promptly shook her head. "Do not belittle your efforts, Cassie! I only offered suggestions. It was you who did all the work!"

Christopher chuckled. "Two humble women -- a prize beyond price, I'd say. Though it's obvious you've both done a splendid job. I applaud your efforts."

Evelyn beamed, but her smile was rather short lived. "Unfortunately," she sighed. "We have two small problems. We've not yet had time to see to her horsemanship. And though we've mastered the basics of most dances, I think it would be much easier for Cassie to learn if she had a gentleman for a partner!"

Christopher gave an exaggerated bow. "It's a good thing then that I've booked a room at the village inn. Therefore, ladies, I am happy to place myself at your disposal."

The next week found the three of them together almost incessantly. Mornings were spent in the gardens or the drawing room. Afternoons were spent in the music room, where Evelyn and Christopher endeavored to teach her to dance, and they ended the day with a ride around the grounds. Cassie longed to ask if he had seen Gabriel; the question hovered on her lips a dozen times a day, yet she could never quite summon the courage to voice it.

To all appearances, it seemed Gabriel intended to stay in London forever -- Cassie was not sure if she were relieved or piqued. The duke, as well, had gone to London on business for several days. But Christopher and Evelyn were charming and engaging and she could not deny she enjoyed the time spent in their company. Though she looked forward to her riding lessons, it would be some time yet before she would be comfortable in a side saddle.

But it was the hours spent in the music room that Cassie truly relished. Under Evelyn and Christopher's tutelage, she soon mastered the minuet and country dance. On this particular sunny afternoon, the pair demonstrated what had been a most scandalous dance -- the waltz. When Evelyn then played the tune she'd been humming on the pianoforte, Cassie was entranced by the lilting music and begged to learn the steps as well. Soon her steps matched Christopher's. She began to swirl and dip, feeling both light and light-hearted. Never had she felt so carefree, carefree enough to forget about everything, even her errant husband ... She was laughing, her senses spinning, when at last they whirled to a halt. Still laughing, she gave a deep curtsy and gracefully pulled herself upright ...

She stared straight into blistering gray eyes.

Of the three, Christopher was the first to recover, though later he cursed himself for his startled and inadequate greeting. "Gabriel! The last I knew you were still in London. What brings you to Farleigh?"

Gabriel's smile was a poor disguise for his displeasure. "I might ask you the same, my friend. But it seems the answer is already very clear." His gaze slid to Cassie and then back to his friend's countenance.

But he had yet to say a word to her. To Cassie it was like a slap in the face. She felt like a child who'd been caught stealing and deserved a whipping.

And there was no doubt that Gabriel was far from pleased. He had thought to retire his lovely wife to the country and forget about her. But she was forever on his mind, so much so that he'd been compelled to return to Farleigh. He had not, however, expected to find his wife in the arms of another man, let alone one who called himself friend!

Nor was his wife the ragged creature he'd left behind. Had he gone by her in passing, it might have taken a second glance to recognize her -- but the faintly defiant blaze in those beautiful golden eyes was only too familiar.

Lady Evelyn had slipped around to Christopher's side. Gabriel accorded her a slight bow. "Lady Evelyn," he said smoothly, "always a pleasure to see you. Now if the two of you don't mind, I trust you will excuse us. I've been deprived of the pleasure of my wife's company for far too long. I should dearly like to have her to myself for a time."

"But of course," Evelyn said brightly, turning to Christopher. "Can I interest you in an early supper, sir? I confess, Cook makes the most delicious pigeon pie in the shire."

Christopher forced himself to relax. "An excellent idea, Lady Evelyn." His gaze was as chill as Gabriel's. "No need to see us out, old man. We can manage on our own quite nicely."

The instant they were gone Cassie rounded on him. Her spine was rigid. "That was rude!"

"Indeed." His lip curled. "What would you know about rude, my dear?"

"Far more than you, apparently!"

That bold, arrogant eye wandered over her, taking in every detail of her appearance. " I must say, Yank, you seem to have adapted to your role with consummate ease."

Cassie's jaw clamped tight. "And I'll wager that displeases you."

It did not, though it should have, Gabriel found himself admitting reluctantly. He made no reply. Instead his attention was drawn to the slender curve of her neck, where the ivory smoothness of her skin met the rich honey-gold of her hair.

"Do you have plans for the remainder of the afternoon, Yank?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. Christopher has very kindly consented to giving me riding lessons this past week."

The plane of his jaw hardened. "You need ask no other man to teach you, Yank. I am your husband."

"But my husband," she stated archly, "was nowhere to be found."

"And now he is, so let us leave it at that, Yank. In any case, since you appear to have your heart set on riding this afternoon, I would not dare disappoint you."

Disappoint her? Torment her, more like!

He turned her in the direction of the staircase. "Co change," he ordered. "I will meet you at the stables in fifteen minutes."

In her room, Cassie rang for Gloria. She dropped on the edge of the bed, the droop of her mouth mutinous. How dare he simply reappear, as if he'd not been gone these many weeks! She'd have dearly loved to leave him waiting there forever. Only the certainty that he would come and fetch her himself stopped her from playing that game.

With Gloria's assistance, she was soon snugly fashioned into a riding habit of deep green velvet. She was not surprised to discover Gabriel already at the stables. A groom stood by, holding two horses. Her heart gave a funny little leap at the sight of him. He looked every inch the aristocrat, from the tip of his well-shined boots to the folds of his snowy-white cravat. Skintight breeches clung devilishly to his thighs, outlining every sleek, hard muscle. Impressively wide shoulders stretched the dark material of his jacket so tightly there was nary a wrinkle. But his expression was one of leashed impatience.

"You are ready?"

She nodded and moved to mount Ariel, the docile little mare she'd been riding all week. Cassie, however, was not inclined to be so meek. "I wish I could ride astride like you," she muttered aloud. Though not, she decided hastily, on his mount. Black and powerful, his horse looked to be as fierce and contrary as his master.

Already up and in the saddle, Gabriel turned his head. "A lady does not ride astride," he said curtly.

"Ah, but I am no lady, am I?"

In truth, Cassie expected no reply; he made none. While Gabriel led the way, Cassie focused all her attention on maintaining her seat. She wouldn't have minded a tumble in the company of Evelyn or Christopher, but to suffer so before her husband was another matter entirely. But he kept a slow pace, and for that she was grateful.

But it appeared they were headed for the lake. That was the one place on the immediate grounds that Cassie had yet to explore. A trickle of apprehension slid up her spine. With Christopher and Evelyn, they had usually left the estate and gone out into the open country. Thankfully, Gabriel skirted the lake and directed his mount toward a grove of trees. Breathing a sigh of relief, Cassie began to look about with interest.

Gabriel did not halt until they reached a small clearing. Nestled within a ring of trees was a small white-trimmed gazebo. Cassie gave a gasp of delight when she saw it. "I didn't know this was here!" she exclaimed. "You can't see it from the house, can you?"

Gabriel shook his head as he helped her dismount. A genuine smile curved her lips, for this sheltered bower was a haven from the outside world. A noisy robin called to its mate. The smell of the forest was scented and fresh. But the gazebo was faded and peeling. A tangled overgrowth of weeds grew all around and climbed up the steps.

"This must have been very lovely once," she speculated aloud. "What a shame it's been so neglected." She bent, brushing away some of the dirt on the steps with her gloved fingertips. She straightened and glanced back over her shoulder, just in time to see an odd expression flit across his dark features.

Cassie's lips parted. "Wait," she said slowly. "This was your mother's, wasn't it?"

Gabriel was abruptly irritated with himself. Why had he brought her here? His mother had loved this place -- he remembered she had told him she found its tranquility peaceful and soothing. And God knew she'd had little enough pleasure as it was...

"She came here often, yes."

Cassie longed to ask more, for she had often wondered about his mother. Why, she did not know, but it was almost as if some mystery surrounded her ... But Gabriel's expression was closed and remote. She sensed that now was not the time.

He advanced toward her. "You have a natural ability for riding, Yank. But then, you seem to have many abilities."

Cassie wet her lips. Though his tone was easy, his mood was not.

"You might as well come out with it now, Yank. After seeing you again with Christopher, I am inclined to wonder ... Have you given to him what belongs to me?"

Confused, she stared at him. "What?"

"Do not play the innocent with me. Have you lain with him?"

"Lain with him!" Her breath caught. "Why, you make me sound like a -"

"A dockside whore? You cannot leave behind your humble origins so quickly, Yank. But I give you fair warning. I will not be cuckolded. I will have no bastard as my heir."

He was shockingly crude -- and hurtful. "Oh!" she cried. In that instant she hated him, hated him as she had never hated anyone. "You told your father you rescued me from the gutter, but it's there your mind dwells! Why couldn't you have stayed in London? Then there would be no need b tolerate your beastly mood!"

She was right. His mood was not tame. He was angry at her for drawing him back to Farleigh -- and angry at himself for allowing her to invade this place that had belonged solely to the memory of his mother.

"My beastly mood might be much improved had I not found you in the arms of one Christopher Marley."

"Oh, stop!" she hissed. "You want me no more than I want you."

He caught her hands and stripped away her gloves, flinging them aside. She felt as if he stripped away her very soul.

He caught her up against him. His mouth hovered just above hers, its beautiful lines stark and sensual, as though etched from stone. "Ah, but there's the thing, Yank. I am not so unappreciative of your charms."

His head swooped down. His lips trapped hers. Again and again he plumbed the depths of her mouth, the rhythm of his tongue wildly erotic. Hard arms came tight around her body, pinning her against his unyielding breadth. Cassie pushed at his chest, the attempt pitifully weak, for God help her, something strange was happening. A fiery warmth stole through her limbs. His kiss blazed like fire all through her. His mouth opened wider, the pressure sweetly fierce, draining her of strength and will. She moaned, the sound wedged between their lips, aware of the urge to follow blindly wherever he would lead her.

Dimly she heard a low, triumphant laugh. His breath was hot on the side of her neck. "You've cost me a pretty sum indeed, Yank. So come, I wish to see what I have bought." Deliberately he brushed the velvet-covered peak of her breast. She gasped as her nipple grew all tight and tingly, and -- Lord help her -- the sensation was not unpleasant at all. And then she felt the brand of his fingers on the fastenings of her bodice, warm and adept.

Panic burst in her brain. She knew where play such as this would lead! She could not let him take her like this, so coldly determined -- with no emotion save lust. Oh, if he loved her, if he cared for her, it might have been different. She might have surrendered what he now demanded ...

She tried to wrench back. The binding circle of his arms caught and held her in place.

Slowly he raised his head. The merest hint of a smile graced those elegant lips. "I am, after all, only a man," he said softly. "Do you worry that I will succumb to desire?"

In truth, his shaft was rigid and full. A part of him longed to bury his swollen heat deep and hard in her body and the consequences be damned. Oh, no, he was not as unaffected by their kiss as he would pretend, or as he'd thought to be ... which meant he must be careful, very careful indeed.

Her answer lay in the wide, wary distress of her eyes. Gabriel laughed curtly. "Do not worry, Yank.

Tempt me not, and I will yield not." He released her.

Stung, Cassie spun away, further dismayed by her body's treacherous response to him. A horrible notion raced through her. Dear Lord, was she a wanton like her mother?