Seduction on a Snowy Night Read online

  Heywood was glad she understood. “I thought Douglas was going to kill him then and there. But I stopped him, knowing it would ruin Douglas’s life, too. There were better ways to avenge her. So I went to our commanding officer and told him the whole story. With Douglas and me as witnesses—and Malet’s less-than-stellar reputation—the general was more than ready to have Malet cashiered.”

  “What a blackguard he is! Now I’m glad you had the good sense to carry me and Kitty off. I shudder to think what might have happened to Kitty if you hadn’t been there.”

  “So do I.” He brushed a kiss to her lips. “Besides, I wouldn’t have met you.”

  She swallowed hard. “So you don’t mind so much that you gave up a fortune for me?”

  “You’re the one who will suffer,” he pointed out. “We’ll have to sell Hawkcrest at a loss, then decide whether you wish to live on my—”

  She stopped him with a finger to his lips. “No more.” Oddly enough, she looked guilty. “You’ve been honest with me, and now there’s something I must tell you. I wanted to tell you before, but you wouldn’t let me, and I was enjoying what we were doing, so . . .” She dragged in a heavy breath. “Kitty isn’t the only one with a fortune. I have one, too.”

  Heywood narrowed his gaze on her. “What do you mean?”

  “I-I have an inheritance that’s nearly equal to Kitty’s. My father left me a large dowry.”

  “Douglas never said anything about it,” he pointed out, unable to keep the suspicion from his voice.

  “I asked him not to. I asked the same of Kitty and my aunt.”

  He rolled onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. He couldn’t believe this! “So why couldn’t you at least say something to me about it?”

  She laid a hand on his chest. “Because I didn’t want you—didn’t want any man—choosing me for my fortune.”

  “Even though you knew it was important to me.” Anger built in him, a nasty drug that poisoned his enjoyment. “Even though you realized that if I didn’t marry a woman with money, I would lose my own inheritance.”

  “I would have told you eventually. I just . . . wanted to be sure that you cared for me, not my dowry. I don’t think that’s unreasonable.”

  “Of course you don’t,” he said bitterly. “You’ve been pulling the strings of all of us mere mortals.”

  The blood drained from her face. “What on earth do you mean?”

  He faced her again, fighting to ignore her shocked and hurt expression. “For one thing, you kept Kitty’s secret about her not writing the letters.”

  “What does that have to do with anything? I did that because she asked me to. Because her lack of writing ability embarrasses her.”

  He could understand that, although at the moment he didn’t wish to. “You made sure I didn’t know you could save my estate.”

  “I told you why. And there was another reason, too. I wanted Kitty to be settled before I let it be known that I had a substantial dowry. I knew she would require all my attention to make sure she didn’t marry a fortune hunter herself.”

  “Like me,” he growled.

  “I didn’t say that. But yes, when you told me that you needed a fortune, I did consider you might marry her for it. As you might realize, that made me rather reluctant to reveal my true situation. Then you said you couldn’t marry her, wouldn’t marry her as long as it meant being near me, and everything changed.”

  “Exactly. And at that moment, you should have told me the truth.”

  “Really? Why? Did you expect me to accept your attentions, fearing that they were only borne of your need for my money?”

  The logic of her assertions perversely infuriated him. “I expected you to be honest with me. I expected that if you cared about me, you wouldn’t have let me believe I was losing everything by marrying you.”

  “I tried! Last night, I said I wanted to tell you something, and you said it didn’t matter.”

  He dragged in a breath. She was right. She had tried to tell him. So he shouldn’t complain. But part of him was still furious. She’d known he was worried about their future. About their income. She could have relieved his fears at any time.

  Yet she’d chosen not to. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. I will act as I must, independent of what you believe or think about me.”

  “Heywood, please . . .”

  “No, I won’t listen.” He slid from the bed, his face stormy. “You are not the woman I took you for. I don’t want a wife who sees me as some . . . fortune-hunting scoundrel. Keep your dowry. I can go on perfectly well without it.”

  Heywood expected her to beg. To express a suitable remorse for having hidden the truth from him. Then he would take her into his arms, say that he loved her, and graciously accept her money. And all would be well.

  But he hadn’t reckoned on Cass’s pride. She rose from the bed and said, as if she weren’t standing there without a stitch on, “I understand. Thank you for setting me straight about what you feel for me.” Then she drew on her nightdress and wrapper and left.

  He stood there, not sure what had just happened. Cass had walked away from him, even though he’d taken her innocence.

  Cass had refused him.

  Very well. If she wanted things that way, it was fine by him. Let her put some other hapless fellow through her test or whatever it was she was up to. He would not have his strings pulled. No, indeed. Not him.

  He left the room, intending to find his own room and sleep. But by some strange alignment in the stars, he ran into his mother. Damn.

  “You’re up very early,” Mother said.

  “I find it hard to sleep when my life is in turmoil.”

  “You mean, when the woman you love is bereft and confused.”

  He tensed. “What are you talking about?”

  His mother stared at him. “You know perfectly well. I happened to glimpse Cass, that lovely young lady who adores you, going up the stairs to her room and looking quite upset. Can you truthfully say she was not with you?”

  A pox on it. How was it that his mother always knew everything going on in their house? “It’s none of your concern.”

  “Oh. So you mean to cut me out of the matter the same way you cut her out of it.”

  “I didn’t . . . I wasn’t . . .” Damn his mother for knowing how his mind worked. Feeling a need to defend himself, he said, “She has a fortune. Did you know that? All this time . . .”

  “I see,” his mother said. “You’re angry because she didn’t tell you.”

  “Yes! I have a right to be angry.”

  His mother regarded him steadily. “Why? Because if you marry her, you’ll gain everything you wanted and needed? Which she took her time about revealing?”

  The way she put it, he sounded selfish. “She should have told me sooner.”

  Mother nodded. “She should have, yes. But she wasn’t sure of you. Kitty told me that Cass was courted by a fellow in Bath when she was younger, a gentleman she fancied . . . until she overheard him telling his friends he only wanted her for her fortune. So you can hardly blame her for being skittish. After all, when you first met her, you were bent on marrying Kitty.”

  Heywood stared at his mother, laid low by her revelation. Now every word he’d said to Cass seemed cruel. “That was only because . . . I mean, I truly thought . . .”

  “I am not telling you what you should do, Son. But I think you should consider matters from her point of view. She is wary of fortune hunters, and rightfully so. How can you blame her for that?”

  He hated it when his mother made sense. “I’m not a fortune hunter.”

  “I imagine you made that perfectly clear when you rejected the woman you love.”

  He winced. He had indeed. So he had a choice. Either he could set everything straight between them, or he could figure out what to do without her in his life.

  The latter sounded very unappealing. So it was time for him to figure out how to make amends.

  Chapte
r 9

  Cass had barely kept from collapsing into tears as she’d fled Kitty’s—no, Thorn’s—bedchamber. Heywood had dealt her a terrible blow, and it had left her reeling.

  She’d gambled at love and lost. She wanted to be angry at him for it, but how could she? The truth was, she hadn’t trusted in his character. She hadn’t believed in his affection for her. And now she’d spoiled everything.

  Sick at heart, she went to her borrowed bedchamber, intending to try to sleep, but that was impossible. She lay there replaying their argument, wondering what else she could have said to prevent his manly pride from being damaged.

  Normally, she would have confided in Kitty about these feelings. But Kitty was gone, and there was nothing she could do about it. Now the sun was coming up over the horizon, and it seemed pointless to lie in bed going over what she should have said or done.

  So she got up, called for the maid, and then let the young woman help her get dressed in a lovely forest-green gown that she hoped made her look pretty. It was Christmas morn, after all. She should at least pretend to be joyful.

  She headed downstairs, not surprised to find that no one else was awake. Peeking out the window, she noticed that a great deal of the snow had melted. There were only patches here and there now. She could do with a walk. So she found a cloak in the coat closet and headed out to the garden she’d seen from her window.

  The weather wasn’t as cold as it had been, and there were a few blooms that had survived the snow—Christmas roses, for one. As she wandered the garden, she heard a coach approaching. She ignored it. Doubtless it was some friend of the Wolfes’ from town, come to make sure all was well with the duchess and her family after the snowstorm. So Cass continued to roam about, trying not to think about Heywood while taking note of what grew and what had perished in the snow.

  After a while, a voice arrested her. “Well, well, I see you’re not exactly suffering from being abducted by a scoundrel.”

  Mr. Malet? Her stomach roiled. Good Lord, he’d found them. Or rather, he’d found her.

  Forcing herself to appear calm, she faced him. “Not suffering at all, to be honest. The Wolfe family has been very kind to us.”

  Standing at the entrance to the garden, Malet looked as polished and despicable as ever. “And where is your lovely cousin?”

  “Out of your reach, sir. She’s found herself a husband who actually wants her for herself and not her fortune.”

  He dropped all pretense of politeness. “I should have known that bloody arse would marry her to get back at me. But the colonel will come to regret that, I swear, because—”

  “Not the colonel, actually. It was Mr. Adams.” She smiled. “She eloped with him yesterday. I’m afraid you’re too late.”

  That seemed to surprise him. “So that was who she was talking to at the ball. I didn’t get a look at him, so I assumed it was the colonel once I heard he’d taken Miss Nickman. That Adams fellow told me he would come this way to find Miss Nickman for me while I headed to Gretna Green. Damned schemer. That’s what I get for trusting a solicitor.”

  “A solicitor with more character in one finger than you have in your whole body.”

  That clearly angered him, for she could see him ball one hand into a fist. “You’ll be wishing you’d gone off with that solicitor yourself when I’m done with you, Miss Isles. I know precisely who turned Miss Nickman against me.”

  Her heart stilled. “I can’t imagine who you mean.”

  He came nearer. “Don’t pretend to be stupid. You’re a clever, conniving wench who knows how to turn matters to her advantage. Which is why I mean to make you my whore. It’s the least you owe me for ruining my plans.”

  “What?” Her blood turned stone-cold. “You’ve lost your mind.” She turned to go back to the house.

  But he caught her arm in an iron grip. “When you go missing, everyone will assume you ran off with a man, too, though no one will guess that I’m the culprit.” He started dragging her toward the entrance to the garden. “I’ll place you in suitable London lodgings, where I can visit you at my whim . . . once I’ve taught you the appropriate respect, that is.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” she hissed, struggling against him. Where was everyone?

  She kicked at him, and he loosened his grip on her arm with a grunt of pain. Pivoting away from him, she ran for the door to the house.

  “You bitch!” he cried. “I’ll make you pay for that!”

  Suddenly, Heywood loomed up in front of her. Pushing her behind him, he launched himself at Mr. Malet with a roar.

  As the two men rolled around in the garden, she hesitated at the door, wondering if she should get help. But it rapidly became apparent that Heywood didn’t need any.

  He had Mr. Malet pinned to the ground and was pummeling him. “This is for Valeria,” he growled as he punched him in the face. “This is for Kitty.” He punched the man again.

  Then he rose and dragged a staggering Mr. Malet up with him. “And this is for daring to touch my fiancée.” He gave the scoundrel a third punishing blow, and Mr. Malet crumpled at his feet.

  Fiancée? Did he mean it?

  Heywood kicked Mr. Malet. “Get up, you coward. Next time you’ll think twice about picking on my woman.” He spat on the ground. “You come here again, you arse, and you’d better bring an army with you because I swear I’ll kill you.”

  A new voice came from the entrance to the garden. “He did bring an army, Brother. Fortunately, they were no match for me and Joshua. I needed the exercise after being cooped up in a coach all morning, and Joshua needed someone upon whom to vent his spleen.”

  Cass looked over to find two of the handsomest fellows she’d ever seen—except for Heywood, of course. One had wavy black hair and eerie bluish-green eyes while the other had long and straight black hair and hazel eyes. It was only after the latter fellow moved closer that she realized he had something wrong with his leg and was using a cane.

  But apparently that was his only deficit, for he shoved a rough-looking blackguard ahead of him, as did the first man. Both blackguards looked rather the worse for wear.

  “Grab your master and get out,” Heywood told Mr. Malet’s henchmen.

  Grumbling to themselves, they took one arm each and hauled Mr. Malet out of the garden.

  Cass flew to Heywood’s side. “Are you all right?” She took out her handkerchief and dabbed away blood from his split lip.

  Heywood gazed down at her with his heart in his eyes. “I should be asking you that.”

  “No,” drawled the fellow with the blue-green eyes. “You should be asking what has possessed her to agree to marry a rapscallion like you.”

  Looping an arm about her waist, Heywood pulled her close. “Cass, this is my older half brother, the Duke of Greycourt, and that fellow there is my cousin, Joshua Wolfe, who lives on the estate. Grey and Joshua, this is Miss Cassandra Isles, my fiancée. If she’ll have me.”

  “You mean you haven’t asked her yet?” Grey said.

  “Not the way I should have,” Heywood admitted.

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” Joshua said. “Your family has a disturbing tendency to stumble into your proposals of marriage.”

  “Ah, but even stumbling proposals of marriage work in the end,” Grey said. “Just ask my wife.”

  Heywood groaned. “I suppose you two are going to plague me about my marrying.”

  “Not me,” Grey said. “Beatrice would have something to say about that if I did.”

  “I would indeed,” a woman’s voice answered him. “Fortunately, you know better.”

  The woman who came through the garden entrance was strikingly tall and brandished a pistol. “They’re all gone.”

  Grey frowned. “I told you to stay in the coach.”

  “I did. Until I saw a fellow you two missed, who was trying to sneak into the woods.” She shrugged. “So I told him to get into his master’s coach. And apparently my pistol convinced him that he should.”


  “You gave Beatrice a loaded pistol?” Joshua snapped at Grey. “Are you mad?”

  “Not that mad,” Grey answered.

  “But he didn’t know it wasn’t loaded,” the woman interrupted. “Nor did the other three who came out looking decidedly disheveled.” The woman smiled at Cass and held out the hand not gripping a pistol. “Good morning. I’m Grey’s wife, Beatrice. I’m also Joshua’s sister, and before you ask, Grey and I are not related in the least except by marriage.”

  Which made this pistol-wielding female the Duchess of Greycourt. Good Lord. “Lovely to meet you. I’m . . . um . . . Heywood’s fiancée?”

  “Miss Cassandra Isles,” Grey said to his wife while also extricating the pistol from her. “Whom he hasn’t yet asked to marry him.”

  “But whom he still wants us to consider as his fiancée,” Joshua said. “Personally, I’m not convinced. For one thing, she’s far too pretty for Heywood. And for another—”

  “If you lot would just go inside,” Heywood bit out, “I’m sure Mother has some task or another for you to perform, involving the tree and its many ornaments and baubles and whatever else she has in store for the day.”

  Beatrice brightened as she gazed up at her husband. “You were right! There is a decorated tree!”

  “I told you. We had one every year when I was a boy.”

  “And you can see it right inside,” Heywood said, making a shooing motion at his relations. “Move along now. That way to the tree.”

  “Not without you,” Grey said, mischief in his eyes. “Why don’t you come with us?”

  “And look what your mother has done with the garden, Grey,” Beatrice said. “She managed to get some winter roses going.”

  “I see that,” Grey answered. “It’s very—”

  “Out of the garden, all of you!” Heywood shouted. “Now!”

  Beatrice blinked. “Well! You don’t have to be rude about it.”

  “Apparently, I do,” Heywood grumbled under his breath.

  His relations must have realized they’d overtaxed his patience, for with a laugh and a few backwards glances at her, they finally went inside.

  “I thought they would never leave,” Heywood said testily.