Page 8 of The Damsel
That breath left him in a rush when her unsettling stare fell upon him and held. There, he found her hidden beauty—a pair of eyes in the most puzzling shade of pale blue. Much lighter than his own eyes, they seemed almost gray at times. Not that he’d spent much time staring into them, as the woman almost always kept them cast down as if loath to look upon anyone, or have anyone look at her. He’d bumped into her once at a soirée, and she’d had no choice but to look up at him while murmuring an apology.
They were mystifying, those eyes, like a clear stream one could see straight through. Yet for all their clarity, he still could not quite puzzle her out. They were as mysterious and shuttered as her expressionless face.
Robert blinked when she looked away, turning to speak to her companion. The hairs on the back of his arms stood on end when the blond woman glanced at him before turning back to Cassandra. The two exchanged words, and he held no delusions about the subject of their conversation.
Him.
The prickling sensation increased as Cassandra stood with a few last words to her friend. Then, to his utter shock, she turned and began to cross the taproom toward him.
WHAT THE DEVILam I doing here?
The thought flitted through Cassandra’s mind for the umpteenth time, yet she couldn’t force herself to rise from her chair and vacate the taproom. Coming here had been a mistake, she realized that now. Millicent had insisted she was ready for this, yet her roiling belly and sweating palms proved otherwise.
“Cass,” her friend snapped, pulling her out of her reverie.
She blinked and glanced up at Millicent, who might be one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen. Why a diamond of the first water would want to keep company with a dowdy spinster like her was beyond Cassandra. The Ravishing Widow Dane, they called her. She’d been one of the most coveted debutantes upon her coming out, but had wed a baron old enough to be her father. Fortunately for Millicent, her husband had died within a few short years of their union and she’d been set free. Now, she boasted a fine London townhome and a tidy sum of money left to her by her deceased husband. She’d borne him no children, the lucky thing, and had no responsibility to anyone other than herself. It showed in her lifestyle, this woman who had gone unwed for years, despite boasting a slew of admirers from here to Scotland who would have given their two front teeth to call her theirs.
"I see so much of myself in you," the widow had said upon approaching her and offering friendship.
She'd been one of the only people to show Cassandra kindness following the scandal that had ruined her reputation. Since then, Millicent had given her far more than companionship, and she was grateful for all that the other woman had taught her.
That was why she was here … because Millicent had insisted she must take this final step to be free of the demons of her past. She had agreed to this, realizing she might never find the strength to move on with her life otherwise. The past several years had passed her by in a blur, as she’d walked about beneath a cloud of constant rage, despair, and fear. She didn’t want to feel that way anymore, so had leaped at the chance to free herself from it.
“Yes?” she replied, finding her voice after a long pause.
“Are you certain about this?”
Millicent did not appear annoyed at her for woolgathering, or for her reluctance. Concern creased her brow, her gaze penetrating Cassandra and probing deep.
“Of course,” she stated, her words coming out clipped. “I just haven’t seen the right man yet. You were the one who insisted my selection would be crucial to ensuring success.”
“Naturally,” her friend agreed. “What about him?”
She followed Millicent’s gaze to the rather plain-looking man who had just entered the taproom. He did not look as if he stood quite as high on the social ladder as Cassandra, but that was not altogether a bad thing. She could see why her friend had suggested him: his unassuming presence, average stature, and well-tailored but plain clothing. He would be forgettable, but also seemed nonthreatening. The sort of man she could use for her own ends and forget.
Still …
“He is too short,” she grumbled, glancing down at the supper she had been picking at for the past quarter of an hour.
She had not eaten all day, and the offerings on her plate smelled heavenly. But her stomach churned and she felt as if swallowing one bite would make her sick.
Millicent snorted. “My dear, perhaps I ought to have warned you to lower your standards in that regard. If you use a man’s height against him we may never find the right one.”
Cassandra rolled her eyes, but had to admit that her friend was right. She'd been convinced for quite some time that God had played a cruel joke while creating her. Why else would he make her so plain to look at, then give her such substantial height—as if wanting to make her stick out in a crowd so everyone could stare and notice how unremarkable the rest of her was?
Still, it was her decision, and on this she would not be moved.
“I’d like him to at least stand tall enough for me to look him in the eye,” she argued
Millicent sighed. “Very well. What about that one?”
She followed the discreet point of Millicent’s finger to the tall man making his way toward the stairs. She wrinkled her nose while raking her gaze over the man’s near emaciated form. While she could see he might not be strong enough to harm her, his spindly limbs proved offputting.
“Too thin.”
“Very well. Hmm … oh, he looks charming.”
“Millie, he’s clearly a servant.”
