Page 64 of Impetuous

“Philip…is what we did so very wrong?” Cassandra asked, her eyes fixed on her fingers as they pleated and repleated a piece of her skirt.

“Wrong? No! I do not think it is wrong. Only a very inconvenient place and time. I think what I want to do with you is very right. But the world,” he noted, “does not look upon it quite so tolerantly, I’m afraid.”

“No. That is very true.”

Cassandra continued to frown down at her lap. Philip took her chin in his hand and turned her face up to his. “Cassandra, I would never want to hurt you in any way, to make you feel unhappy or to damage you in the eyes of the world. I will not lie to you. I want you more than I have ever wanted any woman. But the decision must be yours. I refuse to persuade or seduce you. I will not take advantage of you.”

She smiled at him, a golden glow of a smile that pierced his heart. “I was so wrong to think what I did of you. You are a good man.”

He smiled back crookedly. “There are many who would dispute that. But I am well satisfied if you think so.” He kissed her lightly on the lips, then released her chin and turned away, gathering up the reins. “Now, let us talk of other things, so that we can arrive home with some semblance of dignity.”

* * *

CASSANDRA WORE THE new gown that Lady Neville had given her yesterday to supper that evening, and she reveled in the way Philip’s eyes lit up when he saw her. Olivia and Georgette had helped her with her hair, styling it in a softer way so that it framed her face beautifully. Violet beamed when she saw her, and Lady Neville gave her a short nod of approval. Cassandra even had the satisfaction of seeing her cousin and aunt staring at her as if they could not believe she was the person they knew.

Later, as they sat in the drawing room after supper, Philip leaned over and murmured, “You test a man’s control sorely in that dress, Miss Verrere.”

Cassandra chuckled throatily and threw him a sparkling glance. “Indeed, sir, I believe that is the idea.”

She realized with some astonishment that she was actually flirting with a man.

During the next few days Cassandra and Philip worked steadily in the library, explaining to their rather curious relatives that Cassandra was helping Sir Philip catalogue the Neville books. To Cassandra’s amazement, the search was no longer dull or tedious. With the strain of her doubts about Philip gone, they worked side by side, talking as they went. Sometimes the children helped them, but more often not the lure of future treasure was not enough to prevail over the pleasures of the outdoors, of games and horseback riding.

In the afternoon Cassandra and Philip usually broke off their work for a ride. Though Cassandra protested at first at the time lost, she had to admit that a brisk ride blew away many of the cobwebs that accumulated in her brain during the slow, methodical search. Joanna often managed to find a way to insinuate herself into their riding party, but Cassandra soon found that Sir Philip grew quite adept at avoiding her annoying cousin.

They rode sometimes beside the Ouse and sometimes along twisting, tree-shaded country lanes, through meadows and woods. But their most frequent journeys took them to the ruins of an old abbey.

Cassandra gasped with delight the first time that Philip took her there. It lay beside a twisting, tree-lined brook, a romantic ruin of gray stone, only one small part of it still standing, the rest of the walls in varying stages of decay. Grass had started growing between the paving stones, and vines had taken over some of the tumbled-down walls. It looked mysterious and ancient, a place of secrecy, yet of peace and beauty, as well.

“If I were hiding a treasure,” Philip said, dismounting and coming around to help her down, “this is the spot I would choose.”

“Oh, yes,” Cassandra breathed, enchanted by the place. She looked up at him with wide eyes. “Do you think this is where Margaret chose?”

He shrugged. “It wouldn’t surprise me. It was well-known, a landmark that she would certainly have been shown, even though she wasn’t here long. If she went further afield than the estate grounds, this would be the most likely place.”

Cassandra looked around, her eyes glowing. “Oh, Philip—don’t you just itch to go looking for it?”

He chuckled. “Yes, but I cannot think how we would have a chance of finding it. We can’t just start digging up the ground everywhere around the abbey. Besides, we don’t have a clue that it is buried here—or even that it is buried at all. It could be in a room somewhere.”

“Behind a wall?” Cassandra suggested. “A hidden room, perhaps. Do you suppose the abbey has any false walls?”

“I am discovering more and more what a romantic you are, Miss Verrere.” He smiled and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing. When he looked into her shining face like this, it was all he could do not to begin kissing her as he had the other day coming back from Silverwood. But he had promised himself after that torrid moment in the trap that he would not try to pressure or seduce her.

For the first time in his life, Sir Philip was not sure what he felt or what he wanted. He wanted to make love to Cassandra, he was certain of that much. When he had first gone to visit her and her family, he had to admit that an affair with her had been the uppermost intention in his mind. She had aroused his interest and his desire, and though it was usually his policy to avoid unmarried young ladies of quality, she was so different from the others that he had broken his rules.

Now, however, as much as he wanted her, he could not help thinking about the ruin that would face her if their affair were discovered or if she became pregnant. He had never worried about such things before, for the ladies he pursued had been experienced, as Cassandra had pointed out, and he had assumed that they would take care that such a thing did not happen. But Cassandra was different…in so many ways.

He was stuck, he thought, between Scylla and Charybdis, not wanting to ruin her reputation yet feeling sure that he could not bear not to have her in his bed. There was only one way out, of course, and that was marriage. There was something oddly intriguing about the thought of being married to Cassandra. God knows, life would never be dull if she was his constant companion. There would be passion, too, at least at first, and if it burned out, as all his passions for other women had, well, she would still be a witty, engaging friend. He supposed he had to marry sometime to ensure the succession of the line; it was one of the duties that a Neville simply did. And Cassandra came from a good family, however odd the Verreres sometimes were.

Of course, she had no money, but wealth was not really a consideration; he had plenty of that. She was not, he supposed, the sort of beauty others would expect him to marry—but to Philip she was far more beautiful, with her pale hair and intelligent gray eyes, than someone like Joanna. And the children she would bear him—his loins tightened at the thought of Cassandra pregnant with his child. They would be bright, laughing, wonderful children if Cassandra was their mother—pert little minxes like Olivia, if they were girls, or daring, engaging rascals like the twins, if they were boys. Would she give him twins?

He paused, amazed that he was even thinking of marriage. He had never done so before, not even in the throes of passion or when presented with a most suitable mate. He had always thought that he would prefer not to marry. His father had been a cold, unfeeling man, and his parents’ marriage had been unhappy. Philip had come of age determined that he would never allow himself to be in that sad state—tied in a loveless marriage to a suitable person, bored or miserable or furious. He had no real belief in love; it had never been part of his life, except for his mother’s fond, vague affection and Georgette’s childish doting on her big brother. It had never occurred to him to think that he could love a woman or be happy in a marriage. Until Cassandra…

Not, of course, that he was in love with Cassandra, he reminded himself hastily. But she was the first woman that he had ever thought he might marry without finding his life a trial afterward. It amazed him—and perhaps alarmed him a little—that he was thinking of marriage. It was, he thought, an indication of the depths of his turmoil over Cassandra.

Torn as he was, he was determined not to do anything until his mind was clearer as to what he should do. Much as he wanted her, and as difficult as it was to keep from touching and kissing her, he made himself refrain. He knew that if he began to kiss her and caress her, he might not be able to stop. Ever since that day after the visit to Silverwood, he had been careful not to give in to his impulses.

So today, as on other occasions, he released Cassandra without giving in to the desire to bend down and kiss her inviting mouth. He turned away, saying in a falsely light tone, “Well, we’d best be getting back for tea.”