Devil's Embrace (Devil 1)

“You look beautiful, Cassie.”

Cassie looked up to see Edward standing at the foot of the stairway, dressed elegantly, without affectation, in black and silver, his chestnut hair powdered like hers and drawn back with a black ribbon at the nape of his neck.

“And very grown up.”

“It’s all this dratted white powder,” she said, smiling up at him as she rested her hand in the crook of his arm.

“What? My lady doesn’t want to be fashionable?”

“If that is what you wish, my lord,” she said demurely. “Realize though that it all must be brushed out at night—before one can go to bed.”

“An irrefutable point. Ah, Eliott and Miss Pennworthy.” Eliott’s fair curls were powdered and brushed in artful disarray. He took Miss Pennworthy’s small hand in his, thinking that she made the perfect foil to Eliott’s blond handsomeness, with her pert oval face framed with rich black curls.

“Well, one more week, old boy, and she’s all yours.” Eliott cast a critical eye over his sister and gave her a wink.

“Take care, Eliott, else Eliza will think that you don’t care for your poor sister.” Cass turned and smiled down at the diminutive Miss Pennworthy. “I am so abused, my dear. Eliott throws me at the first gentleman who offers marriage.”

“Oh no, Cassandra, you disremember,” Miss Pennworthy said in great seriousness. “Eliott told me that he’d been plagued for the past six months by your suitors. Why, there was Oliver Claybourne, somewhat of a slowtop, I admit, but still—”

Eliott groaned and firmly took Miss Pennworthy’s hand in his. “She’s teasing you, Eliza, don’t heed a word she says.”

“Well, I know, Eliott,” Miss Pennworthy said. “But it amuses you so to see me teased. Come, my dear, I must return to my mama.”

“You mean that it is marriage that I offered?” Edward said in an appalled voice after Miss Pennworthy had removed Eliott.

“If you want my money, my lord, then you must first place a wedding ring on my finger.”

“Since I am a fortune hunter—at least in Miss Petersham’s eyes—I suppose I am doomed to take the chaff with the wheat.”

Cassie suddenly felt the baleful eyes of Edward’s mother turn in her direction. She held out her hands to the short, sparse little woman.

“I am delighted that you could come, ma’am. We shall see to it that you do not overtire yourself.”

“Dear child.” Lady Delford sighed. “Though I am unw

ell, I felt it my duty to stand together with you as one family this evening. How very white you look, Cassandra. I vow I would not have recognized you. And look at Miss Petersham. Such energy she has. She tells me that she has never been ill for a single day in her life.” Lady Delford sighed again and gazed up at her son.

“You must be brave this evening, Mama, else people might think that your illness is not really illness at all, but rather that you are not delighted to welcome Cassie into the family.”

“People who know me, dear Edward, are quite aware that my illness is never feigned. Now, my dears, I believe I shall speak to Lady Halfax. Such a wasting cold she has suffered, and all because she wouldn’t heed my advice. Riding in the rain after the hounds with Lord Halfax. I trust that you, Cassandra, will be more alert to the dangers that can afflict a lady’s fragile health.”

“Yes, ma’am, of course,” Cassie said.

Edward grinned at his mother’s retreating back and said behind his gloved hand, “Don’t worry, Cass. She is leaving for Bath, to live with her sister.”

“Oh, that is terrible, Edward,” Cassie said, truly distressed. “I am certain that we can deal well together under the same roof. I promise you that I am not the managing type of female.”

“It has nothing to do with you, Cass. If you must know, I told her that Miss Petersham would be making her home with us. That information quite resolved her to leave.”

“You are a wicked man, Edward Lyndhurst.”

“That is probably very true. Come, love, let us greet our guests.”

They stood with Eliott and Miss Petersham beneath the great stone arch that led into the ballroom, an addition to Hemphill Hall made by the third Baron Tinnsdale, their father, some twenty years before, and accepted congratulations from the colorfully attired local gentry. Sir John Winslow, Old Winslow as Edward called him, greeted them; he was bluff, good-natured, and suffering from gout.

“He always smells of the stables,” Cassie whispered behind her hand. “I think I should take him swimming with me in the sea.”

“Lord and Lady Dawes,” Menkle said.