Page 38 of From Duke Till Dawn
Everything was exquisite, and as she bathed, then ate, a protective bitterness rose up within her. She’d been denied these luxuries her whole life. They meant nothing to him. Enjoyment of her bath and food became impossible when presented with the monument of her privation and his privilege.
It was far easier to be angry than allow herself the full measure of grief over all that had been lost, over the man whose heart she’d destroyed, and the cost of her survival.
She’d fallen into bed, and plunged into a dreamless sleep.
The bath had been carted out at some point in the night. Same with her supper dishes. Unnerving, the way this house ran like one of those silent clockwork automatons she’d seen once at a traveling fair.
A gentle tap sounded at the door.
“Come in,” she called.
The door opened and a young maid poked her head in. “Good morning, ma’am. Shall I help you dress?”
All of Cassandra’s clothes fastened up the front because she’d never had the means to afford her own maid. It was difficult, too, to trust an abigail. It would only take one slipped word in the servants’ hall to bring everything down.
This maid would most likely report back to the housekeeper about her behavior, her words. Mrs. Neville would surely tell Alex everything. Servants loved to gossip.
Lord knew what they were saying about her belowstairs.
Oh, God. She was so tired of second-and third-guessing herself.
“Not necessary,” she answered. “Am I eating in my room again?”
“Breakfast is waiting downstairs. But if you wish, I can have a tray brought up.”
Eating in her room would be the coward’s way out. She hadn’t survived to the ripe age of thirty-one without taking chances.
After dismissing the maid, she took as much care as she could with her appearance. After donning her best blue dress with a darker blue spencer, she put her hair into some kind of order. Pinning up the mass of it into a simple chignon showed off the curve of her neck to good advantage. She was at Alex’s mercy in this house. It never hurt to have some charm and prettiness in her arsenal.
One final glance in the mirror showed that, given the shakiness of her circumstances, she looked rather well. Her eyes were cool instead of showing the terror she felt. She gave her cheeks a light pinch, just to put some color there. Cosmetics were for the demimonde.
After asking a footman for directions, she found herself outside the dining room. Cautiously, she peered in through the doorway. Alex sat at the head of a giant table that resembled a galleon. He didn’t seem to notice her as he went through a stack of letters and absently took a bite of toast.
The morning light turned his hair dark ebony and traced the forms of his handsome, somber face as he frowned over what he read. His fingers absently brushed at his lips.
Her heart scampered up her throat and her pulse gave a jolt. She pressed her hand to her chest, willing everything in her to calm. He couldn’t know that her attraction to him still burned, or that her heart still ached whenever she looked at him, thinking of what they’d once shared and the mistrust between them now.
All of her power would be stripped away if he realized the effect he had on her.
The threshold to the dining room seemed vast as a desert. God, but it was hard being here, so close to him. Wearing her armor every moment of every day.
Showing weakness is the way to disaster. Or so Martin had told her—if she could trust anything he’d ever said.
She’d never had trouble fleecing men out of money on the pretext of helping a poor widow—yet now that she needed true help, now that she needed to askhimfor assistance, she felt tight and angry and sad all at the same time.
The sooner she got on with things, the sooner she could find that bastard Martin, get the money, and return to her plans of life after swindling.
Drawing back her shoulders, lifting her chin, she glided into the dining room as if she belonged there. But she’d never before been inside a ducal residence, and the whole place yawned over her like a huge cavern waiting to swallow her whole. It didn’t cow her nearly as much as the master.
Alex stood when he saw her enter the room. Then he scowled, as if remembering that she didn’t deserve the honor of him standing, and he seated himself quickly. He picked up his correspondence, deliberately not looking at her. “Morning,” he said gruffly.
“Good morning,” she answered, like she was some ordinary houseguest, for Christ’s sake.
Everything was a powder keg, on the verge of exploding. Why had she come to him for help? Enmity sparked in the air.
Brazen it out.Showing fear only meant revealing weakness, and she couldn’t have him exploit—or know—her weaknesses.
She moved to the sideboard, where a host of dishes waited. Eggs, streaky bacon, toast, cheese, fruit. A massive amount of food for just one man. The rest would likely go to the servants after Alex was finished with his meal. Cassandra took a modest amount of eggs and bacon.
