Seducing an Angel

"Not /all/ men are," Alice said, tapping her on the arm, and they resumed walking. "But /that/ one was rotten right /through/ the core. I pity his poor wife and six children. He thought because you are a woman he could make a great deal of money from you. And he could have. You would not have argued with his fee, would you, though it was outrageous.

Unfortunately for him, he was too greedy to wait."

Cassandra sighed deeply. So much for taking charge of her life. So much for firmness of purpose and pla

No more today, though. All she wanted to do now was creep home to lick her wounds. As if in sympathy with her mood, heavy clouds had gathered overhead and a wind was begi

There was a sudden chill in the air.

"It is going to rain," Alice said, looking up.

They hurried home and arrived just as the first large, round drops were begi

Mary came hurrying from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

"There is a gentleman in the sitting room, my lady," she said.

"Mr. Golding?" Alice said, brightening. /Stephen/? Cassandra did not say it aloud. He had not said anything after the picnic yesterday about seeing her today. It had been a relief – she was seeing too much of him. And yet there had been something dreary about today without him – alarming thought.

She opened the door to the sitting room to find a young man pacing inside.

She turned cold as he stopped to look at her.

"Cassie," he said. He looked miserable.

"Wesley." She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Alice had already disappeared.

"Cassie, I – " he began. He stopped, and she heard him swallow. He ran the fingers of one hand through his auburn hair, a gesture that looked very familiar. "I was /going/ to say that I did not recognize you the other day, but that would be stupid, would it not?"

"Yes," she agreed, "that would be stupid."

"I don't know what to say," he said.

She had not seen much of him in the last ten years, yet she had always adored him. He was someone of her very own. Foolish her.

"Perhaps you could begin," she said, "by telling me what happened to the walking tour in the Highlands."

"Oh," he said. "A few of the fellows could not – Dash it all, Cassie, there was no such tour."

She took off her bo

"You must understand," he said, "that Papa did not leave much money behind – or much of anything at all, in fact. I decided this year that I must look seriously about me for a bride who could bring a decent portion to the marriage. I did not want you to come here and spoil everything for me. Not /this/ year."

Wesley was doing something not very different from what she had done, she thought – he was looking for someone who could provide for his financial needs.

"I suppose," she said, "having an axe murderer for a sister /does/ rather interfere with your matrimonial chances, does it not? I am sorry."

"Nobody believes that," he said. "Not the axe part, anyway."

She smiled, and he resumed his pacing.

"Cassie," he said, "that time I visited when I was seventeen. Do you remember? You had the yellow remains of a black eye."

Had she? She could not remember his being there close to the time of any of her beatings.

"I had walked into the door of my bedchamber, had I?" she said. "I seem to recall that happening once."

"The stable door," he said. "Cassie, did – Did Paget ever /hit/ you?"

"A man has a right to discipline his wife when she is disobedient, Wesley," she said.

He looked at her, frowning and troubled.

"I wish," he said, "you would talk in your real voice, Cassie, not in that… sarcastic one. /Did/ he?"

She stared at him for a long time.

"He was an infrequent drinker," she said. "When he /did/ drink, he did so for two or three days without stopping. And then he would – turn violent."

"Why did you never let me know?" he asked her. "I would have – " He did not complete the thought.

"I was his lawful wife, Wes," she said. "And you were a boy. There was nothing you could have done."

"And you killed him?" he said. "Not with an axe, but you /did/ kill him?

Was it self-defense – when he was beating you?"

"It does not matter," she said. "There were no witnesses who will ever talk, and so there will never be proof. He deserved to die, and he died.

No one deserves to be punished for killing him. Leave it."

"It /does/ matter," he said. "It matters to me. Just to know. It makes no difference to anything, though. I am thoroughly ashamed of myself. I hope you will believe that and forgive me. I have been thinking only of myself, but you are my sister, and I love you. You were my mother too when I was a child. I never felt alone and unloved even when Papa was out gambling for days on end. Let me – Let me at least /be/ here for you, Cassie. Late enough, admittedly, but not /too/ late, I hope."

She rested her head against the back of the chair.

"There is nothing really to forgive," she said. "We all do selfish, despicable things from time to time, Wes, but they do not have to define us if we have a conscience strong enough to stop us from /becoming/ selfish and despicable. I did /not/ kill Nigel. But I am not saying who did, not to you or to anyone else. Ever. And so I will always be the prime suspect even though his death was ruled an accident. Most people will always believe I killed him. I can live with that."

He nodded.

"The lady in the park," she said. "Are you still courting her?"

"She was a shrew," he said, and pulled a face.

"Oh." She smiled at him. "You had a fortunate escape, then."

"Yes," he said.

"Come and sit down," she said. "It is giving me a stiff neck to keep looking up at you."

He sat in the chair beside hers, and she held out her hand to him. He took it in his own and squeezed tightly. Heavy rain was beating against the window. It sounded almost cozy.

"Wes," she said, "do you know any good lawyers?"

/16/

STEPHEN had suffered another night of disturbed sleep. He really ought not to have interfered in business that was absolutely none of his concern. He ought not to have called upon Wesley Young, and he certainly ought not to have questioned the maid even so far as to ask what had happened to the dog.

It was not in his nature to interfere in other people's business.

He half hoped he would not see Cassandra again. He wanted his old, placid life back.

Had it really been /placid/?

Was he that dull a dog – at the grand age of twenty-five?

He only half hoped never to see her again, though. The other half of himself leapt with what felt very like gladness when he did.

He was walking down Oxford Street with his sister Vanessa, since when he had called on her earlier she had complained of being in the mopes because the children were still sleeping and Elliott was out of town for a couple of days and would probably be home only just in time to dress for the evening's ball, for which she desperately needed a length of lace to replace a torn frill on the gown she wanted to wear.

The errand had already been accomplished when Vanessa exclaimed with pleasure and Stephen, following her gaze, saw Cassandra approaching on the arm of her brother.

That was when half of some part of his being – his heart? – leapt with gladness. She was looking elegant and lovely in a pale pink walking dress and the straw bo