Page 60 of Impetuous

“Well, I…” Cassandra looked back at the dress. It was so pretty that her fingers itched to pick it up and try it on, but she felt vaguely that it would be wrong of her to take it. “Surely you don’t want to just give it away.”

“What else can I do? I shan’t wear it, I know. Lady Neville would say something, I’m sure, and I would regret it.”

“But there must be something else you could do with it, someone else you could give it to….”

“Who? You were the only one I could think of. Of course, if you don’t like it, I will understand. I would never—”

“No! It isn’t that! I love it. It’s just—“ She couldn’t quite explain her dread of wearing someone else’s clothes; it was too much like accepting charity for her to feel comfortable. But of course Lady Neville could not understand that feeling; she was too wealthy and had always lived so.

“Why don’t you just try it on and see if it fits?” Violet suggested.

“All right.” Cassandra could not resist. With Lady Neville acting as her lady’s maid, she took off the dress she was wearing and slipped into the one Lady Neville had brought.

Even before Violet had finished buttoning up the tiny pearl buttons in back, Cassandra was in love with the gown. It fit her as if it had been made for her, and the lavender was a perfect complement to her coloring. It was exactly the sort of dress she had been longing for yesterday. She thought of wearing it to supper tomorrow night and wondered if Philip’s face would change when he saw her in it.

“It’s beautiful on you!” Lady Neville exclaimed. “My dear, you simply have to wear this dress. It looks far better on you than it ever would on me. Please, tell me you’ll take it.”

“All right.” Cassandra smiled at her reflection in the mirror, smoothing down the front of her skirt. Whatever her feelings about accepting charity, she knew that she could not bear to give up this dress. “Thank you, Lady Neville.”

“It’s a pleasure, my dear,” Violet replied, beaming.

The next morning, when Cassandra went down to eat, Philip was no longer at the breakfast table, so after eating, she went to the library to see if he was already at work. He was there, but seated in one of the chairs, reading a newspaper. He stood up when she entered and took a step forward, then stopped and gave her a polite nod.

“Good morning, Miss Verrere.”

“Sir Philip.”

“I noticed you were not at supper last night. I hope you were not feeling ill.”

“No. I ate with the children. I have been neglecting them of late.”

“I see.” They stood for another awkward moment, then he turned toward the circular staircase. “Well…shall we get to work?”

They climbed the staircase and went to their usual places. Cassandra began to work her way through another shelf. She had never guessed that looking for treasure could be so boring. After a few minutes she began to get a vague, uneasy feeling, the sort of twitching between her shoulder blades that she got when someone was watching her. She turned quickly. Philip was indeed looking at her.

“Yes?” she asked, raising her brows in cool inquiry.

He started to say something, stopped, then closed the book in his hands with a snap and shoved it back into place. “Damn it! This is enough!”

He turned and clattered down the stairs. He went to the bell pull on the wall and yanked it. When a footman appeared moments later at the door, he said something to him in quiet tones, then closed the door and returned to the loft. Cassandra watched the whole performance in silent mystification. He strode across the loft to her and seized her wrist.

“Come,” he said peremptorily. “I think it’s about time you saw something.”

“Saw what?” Her flesh tingled where his hand curved around her wrist, and his nearness made her tremble inside. She told herself she was an idiot. There was no reason to feel like swooning just because an attractive man was standing only inches away from her. But she could not shut off her heightened senses, could not keep from being inordinately aware of his size and strength, of his familiar, masculine smell. She swallowed, trying to pull together some semblance of self-assurance.

He did not reply, merely pulled her toward the staircase. She went with him, unable to stop herself. She would have liked to think that it was only because his greater strength compelled her, but she knew that she went willingly. She could not bring herself to break away from his touch.

Philip led her down the stairs and out of the library to a side door. “What are you doing?” Cassandra asked. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” He headed toward the stables. “We are going to pay a call this morning.”

“A call?” Cassandra was even more puzzled. “Whatever are you talking about? We have work to do.”

“And I cannot do it. Not until we have settled this.”

Cassandra’s stomach coiled uneasily. “Settled what?”

He shot her a brief, irritated glance. “Must you ask so many questions?”