Page 10 of The Damsel
Still, she wasn’t entirely convinced of Robert Stanley’s goodness. She’d only known one man who would have done anything for her without ulterior motive. But then, a girl’s father could almost always be counted upon to treat her well.
Robert couldn’t be as pure and good as the stories claimed; and if she hadn’t already decided he would serve for her own purposes, she might have set out to prove it. However, it did not matter if he were as pure as Christ, or as evil as Lucifer … not when she intended for this night to be the one and only time she ever spent in extended company with him.
“Very well,” Cassandra murmured. “It’s him, then.”
Millicent folded her hands before her and nodded. “I will not insult you by asking whether you are certain, for I know that you are. I will simply wish you luck and remind you of what I have taught you. You are in control, and Peter and I will be here if you have a need.”
Her gaze flitted to the large footman seated beside Millicent. She’d quite forgotten Peter in all this, but the man was good at being unassuming when he needed to be, and now proved no exception. He was one of the few men of large stature who did not make her uneasy— mainly because he’d been the one to teach her how to defend herself with a knife as well as a pistol. Millicent’s servant and lover seemed nice enough, and he’d never done anything to hurt her outside their sparring sessions.
Her friend had offered his services as a protector of sorts for the night—just in case. That he would be near at hand eased a bit of the tension winding her belly into a knot.
“Thank you,” she replied, before standing from her chair.
If she did not act now, she might lose her nerve. Millicent said nothing, freeing her to make her sojourn across the room toward the man who had continued staring at her through their conversation.
He looked shocked as she approached, those bright blue eyes of his widening as if in a panic. That brought a little smirk to her face as she realized she had caught him off guard. Of course he hadn’t expected her to so boldly approach him, even after he'd stared at her for so long.
You had better get used to it, Robert … I am not the sort of woman to simper and recoil from your sort.
To prove it to herself as well as him, she made her way to the stool right beside him and sank down onto it. Facing him with an assessing stare, she arched one eyebrow and stared him down.
“G-good evening, Lady Cassandra,” he stammered, obviously caught off guard.
From across the room, she hadn’t been able to see how haggard he looked, but now the evidence of a hellish day showed itself upon his face. But, even with his mouth tight and drawn, eyes bloodshot with the hint of dark circles underneath, he was infuriatingly handsome. The urge to slap his smooth cheek and watch it blossom with a crimson stain overwhelmed her, but she refrained. She wouldn’t hurt him … yet.
“Mr. Stanley,” she replied. “What are you drinking? Whisky?”
He gazed down at his tumbler, then back up at her with a slow blink. His eyes began to show the glassiness of a man well on his way to being foxed.
“Yes.”
“Oh, good … I love whisky.”
If at all possible, his eyes widened even more when she pried the tumbler out of his grasp before lifting it to her own lips. She held his gaze while taking a sip, enjoying the rich flavor of the whisky as well as its sting going down. Amusement curved her mouth as she set the glass back down on the counter. It was so delicious, toying with him before they’d even really begun. She began to feel akin to a predator stalking a helpless doe … and how very doe-like Robert was, all wide eyes and parted lips, his breath hitching a bit as she edged closer to him.
“Now, then,” she said. “I’d like to discuss something with you, Mr. Stanley … a proposition of sorts.”
Curiosity overtook his features, and he picked up his glass once more. “A … a proposition?”
He frowned, and she could practically hear the wheels turning in his head as he tried to puzzle out what she could be talking about. They’d been formally introduced years ago, but had only a passing acquaintance of one another. As a young debutante, men like him had often intimidated her. That had been before Bertram, of course. After the horrific incident that had changed her life, she had avoided them out of a sense of preservation.
They’d never exchanged words outside of mere pleasantries, so of course she must seem quite mad to approach him this way. That did not matter to her. All she cared about was convincing him to give her what she wanted—which should not be difficult. It was appalling how easily a man could be led about by his prick. Millicent had taught her that.
“Yes,” she replied. “I will not mince words with you. There is a room upstairs that I have rented for the entire night.”
Curiosity morphed into shock once more, and he looked as if he’d tip off his stool and swoon in a dead faint.
“I beg your pardon?”
Pursing her lips, she bit back her annoyance, deciding that berating him so early in their conversation would not work in her favor.
“An upper room. I’ve rented one.”
He shook his head and frowned as if trying to decide whether this could truly be happening. “Lady Cassandra, I must insist you allow me to escort you out of this place. A woman of your breeding could not know—”
“I know very well what those rooms are for,” she interjected.
At one time, that knowledge would have shocked her, and she’d have never even thought of looking in the direction of that staircase.
