Chapter 56

Cass stood on tiptoe. Not that she needed to, when the thick rug was soundless. But have Devorlane Hawley coming in here and finding her, raking about in his belongings, when she was supposed to be pinning her hair after the accident with the fan? She couldn't risk it. Imagine the slat getting caught in it like that? How very inconvenient. And just as the coach clattered up to the door to take them to the dance too.
No. Having gained the advantage, she fully intended to keep it. There was the time she'd caught him in her bedroom in the monk's cell. Why let him feel that same smugness? It was why she hadn't even brought a candle, trusting only to the pale beam of light shafting through the adjoining door.
Hearing a burst of laughter beneath the window, she paused. The ghost of memories-too many to count-drifted up to her in the sound. The ghost of a certain past Christmas Eve too. Swallowing, she edged the bedside drawer open. How like old times this was.
She thrust her hand into the drawer. Empty. Thank God. She'd hate to think she'd quarreled with Ruby if he'd simply reverted to type, somehow getting his hands on some opium again. That he'd never stopped. It would make a complete mockery of trying to help. And go against the grain of it being asked-no demanded-she stay here.
She closed the drawer and tiptoed to the wardrobe. It was open and the shirts, in neat piles, looked undisturbed. If not there, where? Her hair was a mess and she couldn't afford to go back down stairs with it looking like a bird's nest.
Of course, tomorrow was Christmas Day. What if he'd hidden a gift for her? Hardly likely. His behavior since that night a few weeks ago had been crisply businesslike. With the exception of changing his dressings, he'd kept much to himself. Of course she'd pretended it suited her. If only she'd never denied him her bed, would any of this have happened?
Stepping gingerly past the wardrobe door-it wouldn't do to fall all her length over something she didn't see in the darker recesses of the room, like one of these damned tables, and then have to explain why her nose was bleeding-she felt her way to the writing bureau.
Whatever the post-boy had given him was here somewhere, she just had to stay calm-difficult when the bureau top was locked-and find... damn. Nothing. His coat from earlier also yielded a disappointing sodding blank.
Misgivings may have howled but she'd determined on seducing him when they came back upstairs after the walk. If he hadn't stared at his arm as if a viper, not her hand, clasped it, that was. Of course she'd done it to get what was in his pocket and not, when her heart hammered and desire pooled between her legs, for any other reason. It made it doubly frustrating when he'd set her hand aside and sent Etti for Charlie instead.
It was obvious he'd nothing to say to Charlie. Frustrating? She'd felt like a damned fool. She needed reassurance, to know exactly what was going on. Being kept in the dark was a terrible thing. As bad as being owned in some ways. Sometimes being owned she could adjust to. Wasn't she here? Maybe not terribly well. But she'd managed it.
She glanced around. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness now, and her gaze fell on the heavy mahogany trunk at the foot of the bed. More importantly on the box that was on it.
Of course, it was all very well forcing things when you didn't have to explain them after. If there was a key now? Swiftly she crossed the floor and tore the box open. A key? My God, she didn't need a key when she saw what was in it. No. This was almost too good to be true.
Her hands trembling, she set the lid down. Not opium. Not opium at all. After all this, laughter bubbled. In fact she covered her mouth. A letter, a plain ordinary letter. She snatched it up, so she could take it into the light and examine it further.
Of course she'd no business to, when it very clearly said Devorlane Hawley on it. His Grace at that. But relief flooded. Oh God, she'd thought ... Opium.
What she'd thought was silly. Even a gift was silly--at least she wouldn't have to pretend her surprise. The seal-the military seal was broken.
She tore it open. The writing that crawled across the page like a spider was hard to decipher but not illegible. Colonel Caruthers? Wasn't he the one in the war office who was such a good friend of Lord Koorecroft? The name was certainly familiar. It could only be from that night she'd dined at Koorecroft Hall. She peered hard, forming her lips round the words.
'Received your communication, with thanks, and appreciate you giving my offer the thought it deserves.'
Deserves? Cass pursed her lips. Pompous old goat wasn't he?
'As for the lady in question-'
The lady in question?
'-if she is who you know her to be, I should think we could make very good use of her. Be sure to keep me posted of all developments.'
Use of her?
Cass breathed hard. What took control of her in that second was so suffocating, the miracle was she breathed at all, or that she didn't fall on the floor. Everything around her surged, perhaps because of the way her heart didn't just hammer in her chest, it bumped. As if she were the center pin of a carousel. Except swirling around with the horses was everything she had ever done with Devorlane Hawley.
Ruby? Ruby could not be right, after all. This ... must be some other ... well, the answer was in the wording. Lady was not anything Cass was.
He didn't mean to hand her over. Did he? The sodding, lying bastard. Was it a coincidence that there was nothing in the Armstrong papers for her to find? Not that she'd exactly been looking lately. She'd not been looking at anything lately. Except perhaps at him. And now? 'Know her to be ... '
"What the hell do you think you're doing in here?"