Cassandra, her heart in her throat, came back to reality with a start. The terrace was now virtually empty, but Lucia was approaching them with Sir Humphrey in her wake. All that had happened, Cassandra told herself, was that Nicholas had taken her in his arms, yet she felt stripped naked before everyone.
Behind the mask, Lucia’s eyes were quizzical. ‘We came to tell you that supper is being served and dancing will follow. Will you not join us? It would give us great pleasure, would it not, Sir Humphrey?’
The diplomat was totally under her spell. ‘Of course, of course. Damned good supper, by the look of it.’
‘Of course.’ Nicholas took Cassandra by the hand to escort her back into the salon.
‘One moment,’ Lucia said. ‘Look, my dear, your lace is torn. Gentlemen, allow us a moment while I pin it up. Please, go ahead, we will meet you inside.’
As soon as they were alone, she turned urgently to Cassandra. ‘What are you about, little one? You must tease, tantalise, flirt with him. Inflame him, yes, but not yield to him. At least,’ she added, ‘not yet.’
‘I couldn’t help it,’ Cassandra admitted. ‘I love him, I do want him… How could I realise it would be like this? What am I to do, Lucia? I have no experience.’
‘You have two choices. Flee now while you can, or take him back to my palazzo and there give yourself to him.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘You want him to know you as a woman. But I wonder if you understand truly what that means. I cannot dictate to you whether you follow your heart or your head, you must decide. Come now, they will be becoming impatient.’
Nicholas had heaped a plate of dainties from the buffet for her and Cassandra made herself eat, hoping the food would counteract the wine and clear her head.
Somehow she kept up her part in the light-hearted badinage which passed between their party, remembering to keep her voice low and accented. Yet, all the while, she was aware of Nicholas at her side, the touch of his sleeve against her bare arm, the caress of his fingers as he handed her peeled sections of fruit.
His regard was warm on her and she sensed his impatience to touch her was reined in only by the demands of good manners. Even as she chatted and flirted, her mind whirled on a treadwheel of indecision. What should she do?
The safest thing would be to disappear now. But meeting his eyes as he smiled down at her, she knew she wanted more than anything to be in his arms, for him to kiss her again as he had in Paris, for her to show him her love.
She wanted to be his wife, to be with him always. By giving herself to him tonight, he might come to love her as she loved him. But it was a terrible risk. He might reject her and an illicit love affair would be a betrayal of everything she felt for him, of her upbringing and sense of what was right.
‘You are very thoughtful, ma belle,’ he said lightly, tipping up her chin.
The touch sent the blood burning through her veins and she smiled at him, moving closer, wanting to be held. ‘Let us dance, Nicholas. Listen, it is the waltz.’
She had never performed this daring, intimate dance with a man as her partner. The Vicar’s four daughters, with whom she was friendly, had wheedled their dancing master into teaching them the waltz and Cassandra had learned it from them.
But dancing and giggling with Verity Lamb while sister Charity played the spinet was quite a different matter from standing close to Nicholas, his hand resting lightly at her waist, the other clasping hers. She gathered up her skirt gracefully in her free hand and tried to concentrate on the steps of the dance, not the touch of his palm against hers.
At home to have danced more than twice with the same man would have been shockingly forward, but in Venice, such conventions held no sway. Dance after dance passed, and Nicholas took no other partner, had eyes for no-one else.
As the clock struck three, he pulled her closer than the dance demanded and whispered huskily, ‘I can bear it no longer, I must be alone with you. Come to my palazzo.’
‘No.’ Cassandra was startled into bluntness, then remembered Lucia’s whispered instructions earlier in the evening. ‘I never go to a gentleman’s house.’
The look on his face gave her a feeling of power, of strength, she had never before experienced. This assured, experienced man was in her thrall, hanging on her decision. She wanted him – and he was hers.
‘You would leave me?’ His eyes were dark and glittering, although he kept his voice light.
‘No, my lord. I did not say that. Come, instead, to my palazzo. Come home with me.’
Chapter Sixteen
The blaze of torchlight on the Grand Canal seemed almost to ignite the water, the reflections were so bright on its dark surface. To Cassandra’s relief she had to give no orders to the boatman and Lucia’s gondolier followed his mistress’s instructions to return speedily to her palazzo, but by a route his passengers would not recognise. He steered south, not north, turning off to avoid the main waterways.
Cassandra was lost within seconds, but their route was of small importance beside the effect of being alone with Nicholas in the intimacy of the gondola. Now, in the velvety darkness, with the discreet silhouette of the gondolier above them, she felt panic, and a sudden doubt. Despite her overwhelming love for this man, was she doing the right thing? Would he understand that she was driven to behave like this only because she loved him?
Through the thin silk of her gown, Nicholas’s thigh was warm and hard against hers. He put his arm around her shoulders,
drawing her close against his chest, his lips moving in her hair.
Cassandra stiffened, then made herself relax as one hand slipped under the lace at her shoulder and he began to caress her skin. Any maidenly shrinking would betray her instantly, but how was she to restrain his mounting passion until they reached the palazzo?
‘Nicholas,’ she whispered. ‘Do you intend to stay long in Venice?’