Seducing an Angel

We are going to see to it that it is the grandest squeeze of the Season."

Cassandra looked from one to the other of them – beautiful, fashionable, elegant ladies, all well married – and wondered if they could possibly be as delighted by her betrothal to their brother as they claimed to be. It did not take much power of observation to understand that they adored him. /Of course/ they were not delighted. They must be dismayed, alarmed, worried… They were, she guessed, making the best of a bad situation, of what they thought was a fait accompli.

She made an impulsive decision. Putting on an act for the /ton/ during what remained of the Season was one thing. Deceiving Stephen's sisters was another.

"Thank you," she said. "I would be delighted to go out for coffee in your company. And I will be pleased to help with the ball. There will be no wedding to plan, though."

They all looked inquiringly at her.

"There will be no /wedding/," she said.

None of them spoke. The duchess clasped her hands to her bosom.

"I like your brother," Cassandra said. "He is probably the kindest, most decent man I have ever known. He is undoubtedly the most handsome. He is also very… well, /attractive/. I believe he finds me attractive too.

Indeed, I know he does. That kiss resulted from our mutual attraction, nothing else. It was unpardonably indiscreet – on both our parts. The Earl of Merton behaved with great presence of mind and gallantry when he saw we had an audience. He a

Yourselves included."

His sisters exchanged glances.

"Bravo, Cassandra," Vanessa said.

"It is so /good/ of you," Katherine said, "to be frank with us."

"Now," Margaret said briskly, "we have to decide whether to let Stephen know that we know. Will he be a

"Probably," Cassandra said. "I am sure he considers our betrothal real, and I believe he hopes to make me change my mind. He does not, of course, really /want/ to be married to me. But he is unfailingly gallant."

"And also," Vanessa said dryly, "incurably in love. That has been very obvious to us for a few days. And he openly admitted to me just a day or two ago that he really /likes/ you, Cassandra. That, when there is emphasis upon the word, is an enormously significant admission for a /man/ to make. I do believe that the male lips and tongue were formed in such a way that it is virtually impossible for them to utter the word /love/, especially in combination with those other two words on either side of it – /I/ and /you/."

"And so," Margaret said, "we must disagree with you, Cassandra. It would seem altogether probable to us that Stephen really does wish to marry you."

Cassandra could think of no answer to make.

"We will say nothing to Stephen of what you have told us, then,"

Katherine said, looking from one to the other of her sisters for confirmation. "And perhaps we will never need to. We must warn you, Cassandra, that his happiness is very dear to our hearts, and if his happiness can be achieved only through having you for a bride, then we will do all in our power to see that there is a wedding for us to plan."

"But you ca

She counted the points off on the fingers of her free hand.

"You need to know something about us, Cassandra," Margaret said with a sigh. "Perhaps it is due to the fact that we were not born and bred as aristocrats and have therefore found it impossible to /think/ like aristocrats even if we have almost perfected the behavior most of the time. However it is, we all contracted marriages that were potentially disastrous, and we have all somehow made them work. More than that, we have all made them into love matches. Why should Stephen be any different from us? Why should we warn him against the potential disasters of allying himself with you when the potential for happiness is there too?"

"We have learned to trust love," Katherine said with a smile. "We are eternal optimists. I will tell you /my/ story one of these days. It will raise the hair on the nape of your neck."

"If we do not leave here soon," Vanessa said, "we will be having coffee and cakes for /luncheon/ instead of for midmorning refreshments."

"I will go and fetch my hat," Cassandra said.

She was not sure, as she climbed the stairs, whether her decision to tell Stephen's sisters the truth had freed her of complications or merely entangled her in more.

He had told Vanessa, even before last evening, that he /liked/ her.

She smiled – and felt the ache of tears in the back of her throat.

William was on his hands and knees in the upstairs hallway, mending a loose floorboard that had been squeaking ever since she moved in.

After leaving the House of Lords, Stephen made his way homeward rather than toward White's Club as he usually did. He had much on his mind.

White's would be an uncomfortable place for him anyway today, after last evening. He would be the victim of some merciless teasing if he went there. The House had been bad enough, though no one there had made any open remarks. He had intercepted several knowing smirks, though.

Every gentleman's worst nightmare was that he would somehow be trapped by a small, inadvertent indiscretion at a public entertainment into an unwanted leg shackle.

His own indiscretion had hardly been a small one. And hardly inadvertent.

Good Lord!

But was his leg shackle unwanted?

He had fallen in love with Cassandra. He had lain awake last night trying to force his mind into total honesty, trying to strip away the layers of guilt and gentlemanly honor and wishful thinking that clouded it so that he might know the truth of his feelings. Not that the truth mattered one iota now. Cassandra must be persuaded into agreeing to marry him.

But the truth had stared him unwaveringly in the eye no matter how much artifice he had stripped away.

He /was/ in love with her.

But did it naturally follow that he also wanted to marry her? Did he want to marry /anyone/ this early in his life?

Those questions, of course, did not need to be agonized over. He had been caught in a rather deep embrace with her, and marry her he must.

Especially given the precarious nature of her reputation.

He was going to have a quick luncheon, he decided as he approached Merton House. Then he was going back out. He needed to talk to William Belmont. The truth of /that/ debacle had been wonderful to hear last night, but Stephen was not at all sure that blurting out the truth for the whole world to hear was the right thing to do.

Paget had committed suicide while in a drunken rage.

His body would quite possibly be exhumed from the churchyard and reburied in unconsecrated ground.

And Cassandra was his widow.

She would be embroiled in a newly unsavory sensation. /If/ Belmont's story was believed, that was. The chances were that most people would still believe the old axe murderer story. It was more salacious. The new story would merely revive a scandal that was becoming old news. Most people probably did not /really/ believe it and were growing bored with thinking it.