wrong to speak the truth. She gave him a firm look. "And that set-down was meant for me, was it not?"
" Yes, but it was not very effective, was it?"
" No," Cassandra replied baldly. "I spoke nothing but the truth, after all."
Lord Blytheland 's eyes lightened, and he laughed. "I see it was not at all effective."
She looked at him uncertainly. How unpredictable he was, to be sure!
They came to where the dance set had formed, but their conversation with Mrs. Bradstead had delayed them and the dance had already started. "Alas, we are too late. Would you mind taking a stroll along the terrace instead, Miss Hathaway?"
A little disappointed that she was not to dance with him, Cassandra nodded. Feeling a little diffident, she cast a glance at her mother across the room.
Apparently catching her look, Lord Blytheland said, "I will ask your parents for permission, of course." Cassandra nodded and watched him maneuver through the crowd, then bow before her mother and father. She saw them talk, and then saw her mother look in her direction. Lady Hathaway merely smiled at her, and Cassandra felt more at ease.
The marquess gave one more bow before he turned back toward Cassandra. He was carrying something, and as he came closer she could see it was her shawl. How thoughtful of him! A glowing warmth crept into her heart, and Cassandra smiled at him. She had not thought that she might be chilled in the night air, but he had.
As they stepped through the threshold onto the terrace, Cassandra felt suddenly uncertain. She thought there might be others on the terrace as well, but she could see only the vague shapes of a low stone wall and shrubbery beyond that, for the curtains kept much of the candlelight from escaping the ballroom. She did not see any people, but there must have been, for she thought she heard the murmur of voices some distance away. Well, it was not, certainly, as if they were totally alone.
The night air was cool and a light breeze brushed the curls around her face. Something else intimately brushed her neck and shoulder, but it was not a breeze, for it was warmer. Her heart beat faster. She turned to find the marquess smiling down at her, and then her small spark of alarm faded, for he had only draped her delicate woolen shawl across her shoulders. Really, Cassandra! she scolded herself. As if Lord Blytheland would do anything improper! She let out her breath in a long sigh.
" I thank you, my lord. This is pleasant, is it not? I am glad you suggested it." She looked up at the stars sparkling like tiny candles in the sky and gave a little chuckle. "When I was a girl, I used to think each star was an angel that played an instrument, and that someday I would hear a symphony if I listened hard enough."
" Ah, but they are angels, don't you know."
His voice was closer to her than she expected, and she quickly glanced at him to see him gazing reflectively at her. I will not be missish, she told herself, and looked steadily out at the night.
" It is best on a clear night like this; you need only concentrate, and listen," the marquess said softly. She could feel his breath upon her ear as he spoke, and then felt his fingers brush against her shoulder. He lifted a curl that lay against her neck and let it drop. She looked up at him, wondering what he was thinking, but felt she dare not ask.
" I—I am afraid the noise of the guests from the ballroom drowns them out."
" Pretend the guests are not there." He put his fingers under her chin, lifting it so that she looked him in the eye. He was gazing at her with a serious, considering expression. Cassandra held her breath. Was he . . . was he going to kiss her? And if so, would she let him?
She closed her eyes briefly, and felt a touch upon her mouth—but it was not a kiss. His fingers still held her chin, but his thumb slowly, gently outlined the contours of her lips. It seemed he watched his thumb 's movement, then looked at her as if searching for something. He
" Yes, but it was not very effective, was it?"
" No," Cassandra replied baldly. "I spoke nothing but the truth, after all."
Lord Blytheland 's eyes lightened, and he laughed. "I see it was not at all effective."
She looked at him uncertainly. How unpredictable he was, to be sure!
They came to where the dance set had formed, but their conversation with Mrs. Bradstead had delayed them and the dance had already started. "Alas, we are too late. Would you mind taking a stroll along the terrace instead, Miss Hathaway?"
A little disappointed that she was not to dance with him, Cassandra nodded. Feeling a little diffident, she cast a glance at her mother across the room.
Apparently catching her look, Lord Blytheland said, "I will ask your parents for permission, of course." Cassandra nodded and watched him maneuver through the crowd, then bow before her mother and father. She saw them talk, and then saw her mother look in her direction. Lady Hathaway merely smiled at her, and Cassandra felt more at ease.
The marquess gave one more bow before he turned back toward Cassandra. He was carrying something, and as he came closer she could see it was her shawl. How thoughtful of him! A glowing warmth crept into her heart, and Cassandra smiled at him. She had not thought that she might be chilled in the night air, but he had.
As they stepped through the threshold onto the terrace, Cassandra felt suddenly uncertain. She thought there might be others on the terrace as well, but she could see only the vague shapes of a low stone wall and shrubbery beyond that, for the curtains kept much of the candlelight from escaping the ballroom. She did not see any people, but there must have been, for she thought she heard the murmur of voices some distance away. Well, it was not, certainly, as if they were totally alone.
The night air was cool and a light breeze brushed the curls around her face. Something else intimately brushed her neck and shoulder, but it was not a breeze, for it was warmer. Her heart beat faster. She turned to find the marquess smiling down at her, and then her small spark of alarm faded, for he had only draped her delicate woolen shawl across her shoulders. Really, Cassandra! she scolded herself. As if Lord Blytheland would do anything improper! She let out her breath in a long sigh.
" I thank you, my lord. This is pleasant, is it not? I am glad you suggested it." She looked up at the stars sparkling like tiny candles in the sky and gave a little chuckle. "When I was a girl, I used to think each star was an angel that played an instrument, and that someday I would hear a symphony if I listened hard enough."
" Ah, but they are angels, don't you know."
His voice was closer to her than she expected, and she quickly glanced at him to see him gazing reflectively at her. I will not be missish, she told herself, and looked steadily out at the night.
" It is best on a clear night like this; you need only concentrate, and listen," the marquess said softly. She could feel his breath upon her ear as he spoke, and then felt his fingers brush against her shoulder. He lifted a curl that lay against her neck and let it drop. She looked up at him, wondering what he was thinking, but felt she dare not ask.
" I—I am afraid the noise of the guests from the ballroom drowns them out."
" Pretend the guests are not there." He put his fingers under her chin, lifting it so that she looked him in the eye. He was gazing at her with a serious, considering expression. Cassandra held her breath. Was he . . . was he going to kiss her? And if so, would she let him?
She closed her eyes briefly, and felt a touch upon her mouth—but it was not a kiss. His fingers still held her chin, but his thumb slowly, gently outlined the contours of her lips. It seemed he watched his thumb 's movement, then looked at her as if searching for something. He
Similar Books
