Seducing an Angel

"Oh, goodness," he said, taking her hand in his and lacing their fingers while raking the fingers of his free hand through his hair. "This was not quite the way we pla

He squeezed her hand slowly.

And he shamelessly smiled his most charming smile.

Cassandra could feel only a frozen sort of dismay.

She had been about to raise her eyebrows, don her most haughty expression, and sweep past everyone on her way to the dining room for supper. She had brazened out worse than that kiss. She could do it again.

Except that there /were/ such things as last straws, and this might very well be it.

Before she could make any move, however, Stephen had taken matters into his own hands and made his a

And /now/ what?

He released his grip on her fingers only to draw her hand through his arm and hold it close to his side.

When all else failed, Cassandra thought, one smiled.

She smiled.

And then Wesley was out on the balcony, having pushed his way past everyone else, and he stood in front of them, fury turning to an almost comic bewilderment.

"Cassie," he said, "is this /true/?"

What else could she do but lie?

"It is true, Wes," she said, and realized as she spoke that she could not after all have simply walked away from that very public kiss and so have averted disaster. Wesley had just rediscovered her. He had just atoned for his own cowardice in ignoring her when she needed him most, and now he had taken on the role of her self-appointed protector. There would have been a nasty and very public scene if Stephen had not spoken up as he had. Wesley would probably have punched him in the nose or slapped a glove in his face – or both.

It hardly bore thinking about.

Wesley smiled abruptly. Perhaps he too had realized the necessity of acting out this charade. He drew her into a hug.

"I misunderstood at first, Merton, I must confess," he said. "But I am delighted by the truth even if it seems to me you might have consulted me first. Dash it all, though, Cassie is of age."

He stretched out his right hand, and Stephen shook it.

The audience did not disperse quickly despite the fact that supper awaited everyone. There was a buzz of conversation, most of it sounding pleased, even congratulatory – or so it seemed to Cassandra, though she did not doubt there were plenty among the spectators who would be horrified to learn that the very eligible and beautiful Earl of Merton had allied himself with an axe murderer.

Many young ladies would be inconsolable tonight, she did not doubt.

Stephen's sisters all converged on him from various directions, and all hugged first him and then Cassandra with apparently warm delight. Their husbands shook his hand and bowed over hers. So did Mr. Huxtable, though it seemed to Cassandra that his very dark eyes penetrated through to the back of her skull as he did so.

It was hard to know how pleased his family really was. They could not /be/ pleased, surely, but they were polite and gracious people – and they were being forced to deal with the shock of such an a

They really had little choice but to appear delighted.

"My love," Stephen said, smiling down at her and drawing her hand through his arm again, "we must speak with Lord and Lady Compton-Haig."

"Of course." She smiled back at him.

Must they? /Why/? For the moment she could not even remember who those people were.

Most of the other guests had either lost interest at last or, more likely, chose to discuss the whole salacious incident over supper. The crowd had thi

"Yes, of course," she said again.

They had been kind enough to send her an invitation – her first apart from the verbal invitation to attend Lady Carling's at-home last week.

"Ma'am." Stephen took the lady's hand in his after they had crossed the room, bowed over it, and raised it to his lips. "I do beg your pardon for using your ball as the forum for my a

Viscount Compton-Haig pursed his lips. His wife smiled warmly.

"But you must not apologize, Lord Merton," she said, "for making the a

Come, Lady Paget."

And she linked her arm through Cassandra's and led her off in the direction of the dining room, nodding and smiling about her as she went.

She seated Cassandra at the head table, next to herself. Stephen, who had come along behind with the viscount, sat beside her on the other side.

Most of the guests seemed intent upon their supper and their own conversations, Cassandra noted in some relief. It did seem, though, that the buzz of conversation had a higher, more animated tone than usual.

And there were a number of people who looked their way and smiled or nodded or simply stared. On the whole, the atmosphere did not seem unduly hostile, though the mood of the /ton/ might well grow more ugly tomorrow when everyone had had time to digest the news and realize that a widow who was still something of a pariah – she had received only this one invitation, after all – was about to walk off with one of the most eligible, most coveted matrimonial prizes in all England.

The fu

He was going to have to suffer some acute embarrassment for a while when no notice of their betrothal appeared in the papers and when it became clear to everyone that they were not in fact engaged at all.

But men recovered easily from such embarrassments. And the female half of the human race would rejoice and quickly forgive him.

Oh, she wished she had not come tonight. Or agreed to dance the waltz with him. Or allowed him to twirl her out onto the balcony. Or allowed him to kiss her there.

Though that was unfair. She had not /allowed/ anything. She had been a full and willing participant.

But not in the a

Though honesty forced her to admit that he had had very little choice but to do exactly what he had done.

She hoped the lawyer had not exaggerated when he had said /two weeks/.

Lord Compton-Haig, at the prompting of his wife, rose to propose a toast to the newly betrothed couple, and everyone rose and clinked glasses and drank before heading back to the ballroom and a resumption of the dancing. Stephen led out the Duchess of Moreland, his sister, and Cassandra danced with the duke. Fortunately it was a rather intricate country dance and did not allow for much private conversation. From the sober look on Moreland's face, Cassandra guessed that he would have had a great deal to say to her if he had had the opportunity.