Page 96 of From Duke Till Dawn
“Now that the debts have been paid,” he went on, “why should anything come to an end?”
“A mutually satisfying arrangement,” she concluded. “Become your mistress.”
He sat up a little and spoke earnestly. “You’d have anything and everything you could ever want. A house. Servants. I’d settle an annuity on you that would never stop, even if...”
“Even if you married,” she finished.
“I have to,” he said somberly.
“I realize that. But it doesn’t mean I’d be content, knowing you’d be sleeping with her and having babes to carry on the name of Greyland.” She smiled sadly. “The money doesn’t matter. But my heart does.”
He was silent a long while, still and grave. “I understand,” he finally said.
She cupped the side of his face and kissed him. “We both knew I was going to say no. But you had to ask.”
He returned the kiss, and there was no mistaking the urgency or sadness in his lips. “I wish,” he said lowly between kisses, “I could see what someone as strong and intelligent as you are capable of, with your talents applied to lawful enterprises.”
“It will be a discovery,” she agreed. “But don’t count on any letters. My handwriting is awful.”
It was clear they both knew her poor penmanship was only an excuse. When she left him, it would be for good, with all connections between them severed. It would be easier—less painful—that way.
With words exhausted, they made love in front of the fire. After their breath had returned, their bodies cooling, they made their way back to bed and fell asleep in each other’s arms.
Cassandra awoke before dawn. Propping herself up on one elbow, she watched Alex as he slept. His dark slashing eyebrows folded down as if he was puzzling through something in his dreams. She wanted to run her fingers over the hawkish blade of his nose and the curves of his lips, but that might wake him.
She whispered the words, “I love you, Your Grace,” before slipping noiselessly from the bed.
After dressing quickly, she hurried to the door. She would pack up her few belongings and start off for her destination. But she couldn’t resist one last, lingering gaze as she stood at the door to his bedroom.
Do it quickly. Like cutting a purse string.
She turned and fled.
Chapter 21
Alex had heard her whispered words before she’d left him. He’d feigned sleep because the alternative, facing the anguish fully, would ruin him.
He saw now it didn’t matter. Pain lanced him, hot and unforgiving.
She had gone again, as they both knew she would. He hated that the world was as it was, where people of certain classes could only be with people of the same class. In the gray light of morning he readied himself for the day, slowly armoring himself for the hours ahead, for his ducal responsibilities too long neglected, for a life without Cassandra. The social hierarchy seemed a ludicrous, woefully out-of-date concept that had outlived its usefulness—if ever it had a purpose. He railed against it. He wanted to run to Parliament and argue that anyone should be able to join their lives to whomever they wanted, rank be damned.
He’d finally been given love, but fear kept him from voicing the words he wanted to speak. Fear of pain, fear of the impossibility of their future together. And so he’d been silent, letting her go.
Once shaved and dressed, he found himself striding to Cassandra’s room. He stood in the doorway and gazed at the bed in which she had slept—some of the time. The past few nights, she had been in his bed. Even so, he paced into the chamber, hunting for something she might have left behind, the smallest token that she’d been here. A glove, a hairbrush, a button that had come loose and fallen from an article of clothing.
Nothing. He searched the floor, the dressing table, her pillow, yet she’d been thorough in wiping away all traces of herself. He smoothed his hand over the counterpane, to no avail. She had been economically minded, unable to part with anything in her accoutrements.
He strode to the cold fireplace, holding her pillow. Unable to resist, he pressed his face to the fabric and inhaled. It bore the faintest trace of her scent—rose and vanilla. It wouldn’t take much to erase that fragrance. A few more days and it would disappear with only the memory of her scent left to linger. He set her pillow back at the head of the bed.
Where would she go? What would she do? Would she be afraid? Lonely? Would she make friends? Meet a man?
The last thought made his body hot and tight all over. He hated the idea of her with another man. Yet he could make no claim on her. All he could offer was becoming his mistress, but they’d both known she wouldn’t take his offer.
Even knowing she would refuse, it felt like hell.
His father’s voice was noticeably quiet when it came to heartbreak. The old duke knew nothing of that feeling. Or, if he did, he refused to acknowledge it. Dukes had to set their hearts aside for the greater good, after all.
But Alex was far more than his title. Through their voyages into the underworld, he’d learned to step off the narrow path of his life. He’d been wild and reckless and seen his own darkness. He’d ached with desire and given in to need, and she had been with him through every step. Cassandra had shown him that he could be so much more than a duke. And now she was gone. Gone forever.
