Chapter Three

Brighton Beach, 1822

Two weeks later

With the season in London over, the ton moved to the fashionable resort towns. Brighton was prestigious since it was the favorite of His Majesty, King George IV. Its popularity with the self-indulgent made it the center of sophisticated and jaunty society. And of course, there was his Royal Pavilion considered either a world wonder or a first-class monstrosity.

The duke strode along the beach at an early hour. He wore his light colored breeches, a white lawn shirt and cravat with his jacket carried over his shoulder. The ocean air was cool to his cheeks. This was his time of day when he could be alone and free from sycophants, maidens, and matriarchs.

He cherished the time with the waves and the sand. It fueled his soul. Here, he had time to think and ponder his life. Restlessness had overcome him of late. The duke searched his soul. He had an advantageous life as heir to the fortunes his father had amassed for the dukedom.

Gordon picked up a stone and threw it at the waves as they crashed on the beach. His gaze moved to the horizon, which brought back memories of a long ocean voyage. Fate had played a wicked trick on him. Gordon had been sent to Barbados by his father to quell a rebellion of slaves on their plantations. The ripples at his feet roiled, surged, and challenged in monotony. Yet it could not emulate memories of the trip to Barbados with his best friend, Tomas Martinez. He had no recollection of the return trip since he contracted an island disease, malaria, whose fevers left his mind blurred of everything. Tomas shepherded him on the ship home. Upon arrival in England, a weakened Gordon learned of his father’s death of disease and his older brother’s death in an accident. Deep within his soul, the fright, the uncertainty and the dread of the future rained over him like a monstrous storm. He was no longer Gordon Sedgewick, second son of the Duke of Althorn. He was Gordon Althorn, totally unprepared to assume the mantle as the Eighth duke foisted upon him by a series of circumstances. Fear closed its fist around his heart. It was he and his beloved mother now. Nonetheless, and in spite of all, his health improved.

There were years when relapses occurred and the malarial symptoms flared into fever and chills, and incidents where he’d gone a year or two without an episode. He thanked God this disease had an effective medication, quinine taken orally, which quelled the illness into submission.

Gordon Althorn accepted his responsibilities and ran a stern ship, so to speak. Yet he tired of his life as it was now. Considered a renowned rake, often he was the hunted, and not the hunter, yet the ton chose to place blame at his door.

Back in the present, in the distance, he viewed a woman poised at a large telescope. The ocean met the sky in uninterrupted vastness. The lady was dressed in a charcoal skirt, white balloon-sleeved blouse and collar, with a matched vest. Her full breasts were outlined by the form fitting ensemble; strong ocean breezes which clung to her like a second skin. His breath caught and Althorn was struck by the sight.

Her wide-brimmed hat, turned up by the wind, was held by a bow under her chin. With one hand at her side and the other on the telescope, she reminded him of a nymph. Her long ash blonde hair flew in the windy gusts like strands of brilliant spun silk.

Althorn continued toward her, and soon shortened the distance between them. Something was familiar about her. Though indeed, a lot of women were alike—some more than others. They all had the same body parts. A memorable thought awakened him and he recognized her as the jilted fiancé he’d befriended a few weeks ago.

He approached. “Lady Cassandra, how delightful to meet you again,” he stated with sincerity as he donned his jacket.

She turned and smiled. “Your Grace, likewise for me also.” Her lilted tone was warm and invitational.

He found her a fascination and in quiet moments alone pondered her strength and fortitude for a woman so deceived. It belied her statement to him that momentous night when she alleged he would leave her and not give her a second thought. In fact, he gave a third and a fourth.

Cassandra’s cheeks were rouged by the lusty currents of air. The lady’s lips were puffy and looked luscious enough to kiss, a danger sign he knew too well. He took note she surveyed his body as one would a favored statue.

“There is no need to take to your jacket, your Grace. We are alone and this is the time to enjoy informality away from unfamiliar people. I come here often. Do you?”

“Yes. Whenever I am at my villa you’ll find me on the beach barefooted with my dog. Although I haven’t seen you this past week for I would have remembered.”

“I only arrived last night at the Inn with my brother Brent and couldn’t wait to breathe in air that doesn’t stifle or cause me to gasp. The zephyrs clear the cobwebs in my head.” Her laugh was contagious, and he joined her.

“What of the telescope? Do you search for a ship that is late?” Did he sound curious?

“I’m not sure. I do believe I wait. A gypsy at a market stall read my fortune yesterday and informed me my life would take a momentous turn. Some part of the prophecy is already true, as you well know. She also foretold a handsome prince would enter my life. Of course, she’d hoped to receive sufficient remuneration for that daydream.”

He noted she raised her head to laugh again, this time a touch more vibrant. Her left brow quirked. “And there you were, Althorn, in all your regal glory.”

“I regret I’m not the Prince you seek, although a duke is next in line of the honorific titles. Will I not suffice?”

“I’m not sure, your Grace. I would like to know your qualifications and references, although perhaps I don’t need details. Such information might not be appropriate for me.” Both hands flew like wings to her mouth. “Please accept my apologies. I didn’t mean the words the way they were spoken. Humor isn’t one of my strong points. I am always much too practical.”

“Understandable since you have many responsibilities. Yet I do believe underneath all that seriousness, there is a tad of joviality. Have your brothers forgiven your former fiancé?”

“They are convinced I’m much better off without him. I did have misgivings about a marriage to Harold Viscount Fox. His actions caused me to realize the kind of man I seek. Perhaps it is why I search with my telescope—the expectation a god will come out of the ocean to claim me. Foolish, I guess.”

“If this god did decide to show himself, I would hope he’d be clothed. All the pictures I’ve seen of Neptune have him stark naked with a rather large…trident in his hands.” He winked. “He might shock you.”

A blush colored her cheeks and she took his remark in good stride. “Now wouldn’t that be the talk of the ton.” She pouted her lips with a dimpled smile. “It would be something else to wag their sharp tongues.”

Cassandra reached for the telescope to retrieve it and return from whence she came, but he insisted, folded the instrument, and carried it. They walked back to the Castle Inn where he handed it to a footman.

Her feet stamped her boots to dislodge the sand as she retrieved gloves from her waistband. “I dislike this society and all its manners, pomp, and circumstance. Without a doubt, I am a fraud and do conform. Do you believe in conformance?” She answered the question for him. “For a moment, I forgot to whom I spoke. No, I would say you do not. Jolly good for you. I would love to stuff everything up their proper uplifted noses as you do. You will just have to be scandalous for both of us.”

Althorn’s cautionary grin emerged, his brow arched at her suggestion and the implied levity. He searched her face with more than interest at the invitation. Was this a natural tendency of hers? She gave no indication of grief at the loss of her fiancé. He should be wary of such a delightful woman. Did she flirt with him? He took full note she stared in surveillance.

“And when I read about your escapades in the Tattler Tales, I will live vicariously through you.”

Her exhaled sigh caused him to reassess her.

“I am simply a woman.”

“And a rather delightful one.” His tone was more than humorous. “You have wit, charm, amiability, and I might add, you are outspoken. Are you always so?”

He found he wanted to know more about her. In addition, her body could tempt a saint. To his good fortune, he was more of a sinner.

“All my life, I’ve done the proper things. I avoided temptation and protected my virtue. My nature is to be kind and considerate to all. Rather dull, I’m sure.”

He sensed her nervousness as her gaze withdrew from his. She stared beyond him. “Then there was a circumstance that changed my life through no fault of my own. And I was never the same carefree girl again.”

She further intrigued him. What other circumstance? She referred to herself as a girl. So it could not be about the lost fiancé. Something happened in her young life. But what? He hoped there’d be time to find out.

Cassandra continued her banter as if she spoke to a long time friend, “Now, I desire to be slightly wicked.”

“I do not think the adverb signifies, dear lady. One cannot be somewhat bad, wicked or—enceinte. It’s all or nothing.” His tone was aristocratic and he became bemused by her.

“That is an excellent analogy, sir.”

His quizzical glance pierced her topaz depths. Cassandra’s wistful sigh invited decadent thoughts—he envisioned her body beneath him in his large four-poster bed.

“Tell me, Althorn, do you give lessons in non-conformity and salaciousness from afar?”

“Indeed, I could, Lady Cassandra, but the best instruction is learned intimately as you experience the warmth of my lips upon your blushed cheek.” His grin reflected the vision of her in his arms, molten against his body as he taught her ways of sexual nonconformity—and, oh, yes, wild wickedness. He excelled at that. It might not have been what she had in mind, but it would be a good place to start. It wasn’t from afar that he contemplated.

The fall of his breeches tightened as his pulse coursed in large measure throughout his loins. Cassandra could trouble him, and since when did he shy away from such an attractive difficulty? Oh, yes, he surmised, she could become a significant diversion.

“My dear Cassandra, what am I to do with you? Your suggestions are promiscuous, and yet there is a touch of innocence about them. Perhaps curiosity is a better term.” He withdrew his watch fob and glanced at the time.

“Althorn, do you have an appointment?”

Her question was to be expected. “Yes, I’m to meet with the King in a few hours. His Majesty is used to indulgence and expects instant gratification of his wishes.”

“I take it you are used to his royal presence?” She held the brim of her bonnet with two fingers.

“If he summons me, I make myself available. He is my sovereign. In actuality, he is a gentleman with exquisite tastes in architecture—and women.”

“So I have heard. His wish is everyone’s command. In one way, he cost me a husband. In another, he saved me from a miserable man. I’m not on his invitation lists,” she said in likeable banter as she touched the vine that grew along the latticed wall.

“He has a fine interest for the opposite sex. I would enjoy the opportunity to take you to one of his balls. Would you like to go with me? His fetes are the talk of the ton—as I think you would be.”

“I’m not sure it would be an experience to which I could relate, just a new face or curiosity to be explored—and perhaps used?”

“Perish the thought. I would never allow that.” He moved his hand upward and adjusted his cravat, but what he desired was to caress her face with the back side of his knuckles as a prelude to a lesson. “Now where was I? Oh, yes, you spoke of wickedness, my lady. May I suggest it’s not always what it seems and there are consequences to our actions? I’m amused that you continue to speak what is on your mind.”

“Yes. I grew up with brothers. I strived hard to be heard. They were a rough sort, but devoted, and now desire to protect me from my ruinous engagement to that scoundrel. They don’t believe I’m happy about it. After the initial shock, I thank God everyday for His providence.” She plucked a cerise flower from the vine, inhaled the scent, and leaned back against the column. “The fragrance is delightful.”

“As are you.” His gaze bespoke of seduction prominent on his mind.” He held her stare with rigid attention. “Your eyes beguile me.”

“So I am told, Althorn. It has been said, but not with such beauty and eloquence. Everything about you is lyrical.”

“I have been called many things, but never has such a word entered the lexicon.” He stood in front of her, one hand rested against the rippled column, his back to the ocean, with a blue sky that framed him.

She blinked from the undulated sunlight on the waves. “I shall not keep you further, duke. You were kind to me that night. If I continue to speak with you on the veranda—” Before she could finish, her brother walked toward them.

The duke removed his hand and turned to the earl.

“Ah, Cassandra, I wondered where you were.”

In order to respect her, he allowed himself to deviate from ducal protocol, this once. “Allow me to re-introduce myself,” the duke spoke in a silken tone, offered his card to the earl who read it and slipped it in his pocket.

“My sister didn’t tell me she was reacquainted with you,” her brother stated.

The duke noted the term reacquainted, and assumed she’d told him of the incident with Viscount Fox. Cassandra stepped forward. “Brent, I’m sure you remember the Duke of Althorn? We met at the Shackleford ball two weeks ago.”

It was obvious there were no secrets between them as sister and brother. So she had told them the unvarnished truth. Lady Cassandra directed a wrinkled brow to her brother and nodded to the duke. “Thank you, for everything. I believe my children seek me.” She walked away and up the spiral steps with such grace and charm. Entranced with how she swayed her hips, he could not withdraw his interest from her. She had the motion of a nymph he would very much like to seduce.

“Children?” he asked her brother. Had she been married before? Was she a widow? Or was the gossip correct?

“My children,” Montgomery offered. “They are my ward, Alicia, and my son and heir, Alfred. My wife died two years ago and I’ve remarried. Cassandra has assisted me in their upbringing. Of course, we have a governess, but it’s Cassandra they love as a mother. My ward is considered a daughter to me. She is eight, and my son is four. In actuality, I have legal guardianship, but Alicia belongs to Cassandra.”

“I understand. Lady Cassandra speaks often of the children. You are pleased with her caretaker skills?”

“I would have it no other way.” Montgomery spoke in an affable tone. “My sister loves the fact she is reunited with me.”

“Were you separated long?” His curiosity was piqued.

“More years than I care to remember. She was a young girl when we lost our parents. I was too unsettled and in the university. She has so many talents, I wouldn’t know where to start,” he said.

Gordon Althorn knew where he would start. It would be to instruct her in the joys and delights of wickedness. Just the thought of those long legs wrapped about him caused an arousal. He smiled and stepped off the veranda to head to his own villa where his turgid manhood would cause no notice.