Chapter Twenty-One

London 1822

Gordon Althorn was joined by his friend, Tomas Martinez, at Brooke’s Club where they were both members. Tomas clapped Gordon’s back in friendship. “How does the married man fare?” A sly grin crossed his face.

“I would affirm marriage is a new state of mind and requires attention. I make an attempt to adapt to it.”

“You could’ve knocked me over when you asked me to be your best man.” Tomas sat and ordered a drink.

“It was rather spontaneous, I’ll agree.” Gordon tapped his hand on the mahogany tabletop.

The club was filled by a number of gentlemen. Some gamed at hazard and faro, and others used the wager books. Smoke filled the air and rose like small puffy clouds to the paneled oak ceiling beams.

“Fix your cravat, Tomas, or they’ll request you to leave. They are sticklers for proper dress decorum.” He flexed his boot and gently nudged his friend.

Tomas adjusted the knot. “I hate these rules and regulations. Is it better now?”

“Yes. It’s what we pay them to enforce. Is there any news?” Gordon asked, and then he scanned the room.

“Barbados does well with our sugar factories. There’s still talk of rebellion and slave emancipation, but there is not enough support in the government. I’m inclined to believe it will happen though. We’ll need to pay special attention to elections there. I wish we had more natives we could trust there.”

“I agree, Tomas. I’d like you to make frequent visits and report back to me.”

“Consider it done, my friend, although the ocean trips are harder each time. Perhaps it’s time for me to settle down, too.” He laughed. “You could be contagious. Does your wife like your tattoo? Has she asked you about it?” He took a heavy swig of whiskey and placed the glass off to the side.

“She hasn’t seen it yet.”

“Do you have bed sport in the dark?” Tomas asked, his brow furrowed.

“No.” He turned his head. “It’s a rather long story. Since I owe you my life, I will share our arrangement with you.”

After the tale of his marriage of convenience was told, Tomas slapped his thigh. “And this contents you?”

“No, it doesn’t. It’s inconvenient to have a beautiful woman such as my wife and the inability to touch her. However, I gave my word and little will happen unless she agrees.”

“So the famous rake has met his match.” He smirked.

“Let me put it another way. I can relate to how Adam felt in the Garden of Eden. Cassandra is not only a temptation, but she has a compassionate nature. My mother adores her. The house is alive with laughter, kindness, puppies, and active children everywhere. Although, I should be grateful my dog still spends time with me in my sacrosanct study.”

“You sound domesticated, old chap.” His voice was thick with joviality.

“Perish the thought. It’s a temporary arrangement until my mother recovers.” Liar. Liar. Liar.

Uneasy and restless, just the mention of her caused his loins to clench and his member to firm.

“How long are you in town?” Tomas crossed his legs and engaged Gordon in further conversation.

“Only for the day. I came to see my tailor. Cassandra asked me to bring back gifts for the children.”

“Yet you claim you’re not domesticated? Hah. I don’t believe you.” Again he smacked his own thigh. “What do you do for your needs? A luscious low hanging apple and you cannot take a bite?”

“My hand works well. Now change the subject, or my fist will pummel your face. I’d like to remind you I’m better at fisticuffs than you. Barbados taught us that.”

“Not when I play dirty and can’t win by my hands.”

They both grinned.

“Those were the good old days,” Tomas lamented.

“Tell me, when you last visited the islands, did you see Tatenda, the dark native beauty?”

“No. It was as if she disappeared from the face of the earth. No one could, or would, speak about her. She was in love with you and when you took sick, it was she who brought the witch doctor to remove the evil spirits to quell your fever. She interpreted his requests for information about your ancestry. She had her sights set on you from the moment you landed. Personally, I like your tattoo. It tells your story. The Arawak were such a strange tribe with their culture and traditions.”

“Yes. I don’t remember much about our departure from the island. If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead now.”

“Gordon, we were always there for each other. If not for you, I’d be bullied by our school chums at Cambridge. So I’d say we’re even, amigo.”

“By God, you haven’t called me that in a long time.”

He took out his pocket watch. “I’ll have to go. Come to visit me in Brighton, Tomas. My mother would be happy to see you. She credits you for my life.”

“Send her my love. One of these days, I’ll come—uninvited, of course. Perhaps at your child’s baptism?” he joked.

“You have such faith in my talents, my friend.”

They both stood and walked out the famed doors to St. James Street and left in different directions. The duke headed for Bond Street to shop. He was determined to be home by late afternoon.

****

Back at Brighton, a servant advised Cassandra the seamstress and milliner were there for an appointment. She instructed him to show them to the drawing room. The duke had arrived and he ushered her into his study.

“I’m glad to have you alone for a moment. You’re always occupied.” He sat in his chair. She seated herself opposite him. “Would you join me for a cordial tonight here?”

She became aware of his mischievous glint. “I find I don’t care for strong spirits, your Grace. It does rob me of my clothes.” She waited for a reaction.

From his guffaw, she gathered he knew exactly her inference. “I wondered when you would bring up the subject. I have asked for a light cordial and ratafia to be placed in the decanters. You may have your choice of mild drink. Please join me. We should talk.”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Since it’s just the two of us, perhaps we could have a light supper? I would like that.” His tone was bemused.

“Would you?” she asked, her gaze locked to his. No man should have such a risqué smile.

“I will arrange an early light supper at seven?”

The duke nodded.

They soon left the study and joined the seamstress and the milliner whose staff held many bolts of fabric. Her gaze went to him. Did he intend to buy her a dozen gowns?

The merchants curtsied to them both.

“The King’s Ball is this Saturday and since we are newly married, there hasn’t been time for the Duchess to travel to London to her regular modiste. I suggested she could be impressed with the quality of your people.” He took her hand in an intimate gesture. “She designs fashions for Madame Lisande, the French modiste in London. I have prevailed upon her to have you view them. Is this something you might wish to endeavor?” His voice was fluid and commanding. Cassandra found his demeanor an example of regal deportment.

“Your Grace, we would be honored. We’ve heard much about the disappearing chemise. The concept of the front-laced corset is decadent.”

Cassandra’s lashes lowered, her cheeks turned red. “Yes, I designed the lingerie for a trousseau, but its popularity has reached many shores. The funds go to a favorite charity of…ours—a school for orphaned girls.”

She glanced at him with a sense of pride. “My husband has prevailed upon me to show him my designs for a ball gown and other day gowns. While I have serviceable casual wear, here at the beach with the children I tend to prefer simpler styles.”

“May we see your sketches?” asked Madame Claudette.

“They are on the table next to you in the large notebook. The duke hasn’t seen them as yet. He would have to approve.” Her hands straightened her skirt. She absorbed the expression on Madame’s face in review of the designs. She tilted her head and raised her brows in appreciation.

The duke rose to view the fashions. “These are quite good. Although I feel the evening gown should have a bit more décolletage to do you justice, my dear. The half sleeve is an attraction.” His expression warmed her in all the wrong places. She wondered why her nether regions were warm—correction—hot, wet, and molten.

“I suggest, my dear wife, gloves and slippers to match?”

“If it is your wish.” She hoped the session would soon end.

“Please show us some fabrics that shimmer and glitter perhaps in a purple or citron? Also, something scarlet?”

Shocked, she asked him, “Scarlet? Such a strong color, your Grace.”

“Yes, it befits a Duchess and will complement her spun-gold hair. Also, a deep blue to accentuate her eyes; they have a way of speech without words.”

She smiled at his compliment, but was it more double talk? How many balls?

Bolts were unrolled and they touched each of the silks and velvets.

“I prefer the scarlet and the purple to be ready for the King’s Final Season Balls. The others may follow the next week. She will need a cape for each. Is this possible, Madame Claudette?”

The modiste smiled with an affirmative nod. “For you, your Graces, it shall be a pleasure.”

“Good, then it is settled. As for headwear, I like my wife in a fashion she’s created. Flowers and pearls or diamonds in her hair. A tiara perhaps? Yellow diamonds? Have the jeweler consult with me. Yes?”

Madame Claudette nodded with a broad smile. “It shall be done.”

“Now I leave you to take my wife’s measurements.” He faced Cassandra. “We have an appointment. Kindly remember.”

He kissed her hand. He pulled her aside. “Have you been in the kitchen again? You continue to amaze me. I find the smell of cinnamon and lemon a memorable appetizer. I wonder whether to enjoy the scent or eat you like a bun.”

Her eyes were held captive by his. Cassandra looked over her shoulder, cheeks heated at his conversation. She didn’t want the tradespeople to hear. She withdrew her hand quickly. How could he smell the cinnamon? She did grease the bowls for savory casseroles, but washed her hands after. She’d asked Cook Hannah to show her some recipes she could prepare when it would be just she and Alicia in the cottage with no servants.

She felt deserted when he left the room with a smirk and a jaunty stride.

At Madame Claudette’s suggestion, she turned and submitted to the endless measurements she never liked.

Cassandra was relieved when the merchants finally left. She’d just enough time to check on the light supper to make sure all was in order. She took a deep breath and exhaled quickly, stood in front of his study door, and knocked.

She entered and he motioned her to sit in front of his desk. God, she looked gorgeous.

“Are you happy with your selections?” He took a sip of the cognac in front of him.

“They are an extravagance, your Grace. Thank you, they’re beautiful.”

“Join me with a cordial?” he asked, his glance held her china-blue ones. “Has anyone ever mentioned you have exquisite eyes?”

“No, your Grace. Has anyone ever told you the same thing?” She laughed with him.

“I seem to remember the first time we met that fateful day I walked you to your brothers, you told me my eyes were beguiling.” His fingers played with the quill on his desk.

“You do remember my compliment. It was quite a night for both of us,” she was quick to say.

“I remember you on the balcony when your brother interrupted us.” His smile held a salacious bent.

“I recall you and I and balconies are a dangerous triangle.”

“Thank God for that, Cassandra.” He poured a cordial for her. “Try this to see if it’s more to your taste.”

She accepted the crystal glass and sipped. “This is good, your Grace. It doesn’t bite.”

“Cassandra, when we’re alone, do you think you can call me Gordon? Husbands and wives do that.”

What had he said?

“We are husband and wife in name only, Althorn. Has anything changed?” she asked and waited patiently. “Why am I here?”

“Because we need to speak about the other night.” He gulped another swig, and then poured two more fingers of his favorite cognac.

“You mystify me. One day I’m your mother’s keeper. Another day I’m the housekeeper. And yet another time, you put me to bed and strip me bare. Have I lain with you, Gordon of Althorn? In the biblical sense? If so, I don’t remember. Please enlighten me.”

“Let me clarify that I did not strip you bare. Your maid prepared you for bed. If I have guilt, it’s because I asked her to dress you in the infamous chemise. I wanted to see how it looked. By the way, it was a delightful sight to behold.” He arose from his chair. “I didn’t know you in the biblical sense. To make my point clearer, we did not fornicate.”

Her expression changed. “Why then did you let me believe we did?”

“I confess I teased you.” Perhaps because I wish it were true. “No, Cassandra, you are still as pure as the fallen snow.”

“My position here is tenuous. Yet you buy me expensive gowns and tiaras. You send a mixed message. What is it you expect of me?”

“I wish I could answer you, Cassandra. I’m not sure what’s happened. I am more than pleased with my mother’s progress. In a short week, you have the staff in control. I can find no fault with anyone, but me.” He stood and went to her, tilted her chin up to him and bent to kiss her lips.

“Please don’t do that again, Althorn. A kiss is a personal intimate gesture. It should not be given lightly or taken as such.” Her eyes brimmed. He wondered why.

“You’re correct in all you say, but I find myself drawn to you. I have a need to protect you and the children with the strength and force of my ducal power. It gives me substance as a man. You have no idea how much I needed to feel substantial. Never will I deliberately hurt you.”

He walked to her again, touched her mouth and caressed her lips with the pad of his finger. “I will take liberties with my wife for I enjoy your kisses.” His hand moved to her pinked face. “I’m afraid there’s little you can do about it, Cassandra.”

“You once said, I was a perfect bride, beautiful and innocent. You also said, ‘And innocent you shall remain. It was a temptation you could not afford.’ What am I to deduce from that?”

He examined the expression on her face as if mischievous fairies laughed and danced inside her stomach. He felt a magical moment of tenderness when she looked at him adoringly. He would know that look anywhere. “I am a rake. Rakes do not fall in love…ever. You would never be satisfied with less.”