Page 51 of The Damsel
It would seem she was only capable of letting go of the fight in her for so long.
“I would never hurt you, Cass,” he whispered before kissing her forehead, then the bridge of her nose. “You are safe with me.”
Tucking her against his chest, he held onto her and refused to let go. For the first few minutes, her breathing and the rigidity in her spine told him she still insisted on resisting. Before long, her breaths slowed and her weight grew heavier against him, her limbs going slack. Tucking his chin and gazing down at the fierce bundle of a woman in his arms, he smiled, finding her eyes closed and her lips parted, the furrows in her brow smoothed away by peaceful sleep.
Chapter 9
Cassandra stood near a window in Robert’s bedchamber as the sun rose on the horizon, casting orange rays over the object she held in her hand. She’d only just awakened, an odd departure from the usual sleeplessness plaguing her nights. Horror had overwhelmed her the moment she’d opened her eyes to find Robert beside her, one arm still draped over her waist. He appeared younger in sleep, his plush lips parted and his eyelashes fanned out over his cheekbones. That she’d been comfortable in his hold, warm and content, should have made her happy.
Instead, it only made her angry at herself for allowing him to get too close.
Last night, the news of Lady Downing’s death had ripped her apart, and she’d been unable to think past one stunning realization.
It was entirely her fault.
She did not believe the story about the woman tumbling down a flight of stairs for a moment. Cassandra was certain he’d pushed her. Upon accosting him, her aim had been to save the woman any further torment. Instead, she’d provoked the man to retaliate, and now the person she’d wanted to defend and protect was dead.
Her fingers tightened around the box clutched in her right hand, her jaw clenching until it ached. Guilt had overwhelmed her in the dark of night, but now rage overshadowed it, bursting forth from her gut like the rays of the sun thrusting upward in the distance. Sir Downing had no notion what he had done. By killing his wife, he’d set his own death in motion.
As he had paid for the abuses he’d subjected Lady Downing to over the years, he would pay for this … Cassandra would make certain of it.
The sound of rustling bed sheets had her turning to find Robert had awakened. He came upright, rubbing at his heavy-lidded eyes. His open shirt displayed the purple bruise left by her lips and teeth, a brilliant blossom of color against his skin. Instead of being pleased by the sight of it, she became annoyed with herself all over again.
How had she allowed a simple affair to become so complicated?
He might take her acquiescence last night as a desire for closeness and intimacy. And why wouldn’t he after she’d fallen apart in his arms and allowed him to hold her throughout the night? It was exactly the sort of thing she’d vowed to avoid, and now she had allowed him to see the parts of her she always kept hidden.
No more.
He’d been kind to her when she had needed it most, but the moment had passed. She had a mission, a cross to bear. There could be no room for him in her life, and she could not allow him to unravel her any more than he already had.
As he stood and approached her with a soft smile, she steeled herself against him, tucking away the things she’d allowed to show last night.
“Good morning.”
He faltered when he noticed the small box she held, his smile fading and a questioning glance overtaking his expression. She opened it and stared down at the sapphire ring hidden inside.
“I did not mean to pry,” she said, turning the box this way and that so the light glittered off the facets of the stone. “I saw it on the washstand last night, and when I went back into the dressing room this morning I saw it again and became curious.”
He nodded, reaching out to pluck the ring from her grasp. After studying it for a moment, he snapped the box closed.
“It was meant for Daphne.”
She expected him to display some sort of emotion over the betrothal that had never come to pass, but his face betrayed nothing.
“Did you ever present it to her?” she asked, more curious now than ever about his severed connection to the woman who was now the Countess of Hartmoor.
“Twice,” he replied with a little shake of his head. “I brought it back from London and … I left it on the washstand, and I suppose Felix has been waiting for me to tell him what to do with it. I’ve been a bit preoccupied the past few months and have hardly thought of it.”
His piercing gaze told her everything she needed to know. She had been the thing keeping his mind off Daphne. Before he could voice those thoughts, she pressed on, needing to keep the focus upon him.
“Why didn’t you fight for her?”
He seemed taken aback by her question, brow furrowing as his gaze flitted back to the closed box in his palm. “It is difficult to fight for someone who does not want you. She wanted Hartmoor. There was no longer anything to fight for.”
“But … you loved her.”
“She did not love me,” he replied. “At least … not the same way I loved her.”
