Midnight's Wild Passion

Instead she broached the most urgent matter between them. “I wasn’t sure what to do. I can leave Cassie with the Merriweathers but I wanted your approval. If you’re here, my departure won’t cause comment.”

“I was appalled when I got your letter. Left Paris as fast as I could. How dare that reprobate Benton show his face in England?”

“My father is no longer a threat,” she said dryly. “I imagine Johnny wants to return to social acclaim and the bosom of his family. He’s been away for ten years after all.” She sipped her brandy. The warmth trickling down her throat felt alien. As the night progressed, she’d grown colder and colder. As if the life slowly seeped out of her.

Damn Ranelaw. He wasn’t worth this agony.

“Have you seen him?”

“I met him by chance in the park.” Was it only four days ago that she’d left Ranelaw’s bed in a sensual daze? She no longer felt like the same woman. “He recognized me.”

“You haven’t changed from the girl I took into my house, except you’ve become more beautiful.”

Antonia frowned into her glass. Flattery wasn’t Demarest’s usual conversation. “Johnny’s wife is dead. He wants to marry me.”

“I hope you sent him to the devil.”

“I was too startled to be so succinct, but, yes, I refused. He hasn’t changed either.” She struggled to keep the conversation going. She felt as though her head were stuffed with wool.

“Do you think he’ll spread scandal?”

“His role in the elopement does him no credit. Discretion might rule. It’s still best that I leave Cassie under someone else’s supervision. Are you staying?”

“For the moment.”

“Good. I’ll leave tomorrow.”

He rose to lean one arm on the mantelpiece. His eyes fixed on her. “Antonia, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.” He sounded unusually serious. “Something I’ve thought of for a long time.”

Oh, no, not today. Grim premonition weighted her belly. Her fingers tightened on her brandy glass. She’d barely dealt with Ranelaw’s betrayal. Losing her home as well seemed too cruel, although she’d known this day would come when Cassie entered the marriage market.

Just not so soon.

Demarest stared down at the fire. “I expect Cassie will receive many offers.”

“She’s beautiful, bright, and rich. Any man would be lucky to take her to wife.”

“Serious contenders?”

She shrugged. “Lord Soames seems a suitable match and Cassie likes him.” She paused and forced herself to speak the loathed name. The words crammed in her throat but she got them out. “The Marquess of Ranelaw has shown interest.”

Demarest didn’t react with noticeable guilt. It was difficult to reconcile this urbane gentleman with what she knew of Eloise. But then remorse had never been her cousin’s forte.

“I hope you gave that scoundrel short shrift. I’d heard he was sniffing around. Must have decided it’s time to set up his nursery. He must be over thirty now.”

“Cassie knows what she’s about.”

Another pause, then Demarest spoke almost idly. “When she marries, what of you?”

Antonia squashed a cowardly impulse to delay this discussion. “She says she wants to take me with her. I suspect her new husband may have different ideas.” She swallowed and ventured a hesitant suggestion. “I thought as you’re away so much, you might consider allowing me to continue running your estate.”

When he shook his head, her heart shrank. Her hand clenched harder around her glass although she struggled for outward composure. Demarest had done so much for her. No reason he must keep her as a charity case forever.

His voice was uncharacteristically somber. “Once Cassie is no longer in residence, that wouldn’t be suitable.”

Antonia set her glass on the table between the chairs. Her hand shook so badly, the brandy spilled. “You’re right.” She raised her chin and wondered if she had courage to endure this on top of everything else. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me and it’s been a joy bringing Cassie up. Will you supply me with a reference for another position?” Another position with a family who would indeed treat her as a servant. How would she bear it?

Demarest didn’t seem to realize the blow he’d delivered. “If that’s what you want.”