* * *
He whistled as he kicked his horse faster, heading back toward Balstead’s home. Patting his pocket, he made certain the papers he’d had drawn up were still tucked safely in his pocket.
He knew several things for certain. First and foremost, he wanted Cassandra with a passion that was consuming him. He’d hardly slept or eaten. And a taste of her had only sharpened that desire.
But also, she had a temperament that suited him. While he’d only known her a day, he was a decisive man and he’d already made up his mind. She was kind, caring, but she lacked strength and money, and needed a man willing to fight her battles.
He’d spent the night thinking, and drinking, and he’d come to several conclusions. He wasn’t likely to find another woman who would both incite such passion and suit him personally. In addition, she was too moral to be a mistress. She’d take the roll but she’d withdraw from him, sooner rather than later.
And for whatever reason, that unsettled him. Likely because he wanted her to run hot in his bed, not cold.
Therefore, rather than take her as mistress, he’d decided to act on his other inclination, to just marry her, which was the correct course. She’d make an excellent wife and mother and he doubted very much she was capable of even the smallest acts of violence. Everything he’d witnessed showed him she was nurturing.
And of course, there was the bedsport.
He’d enjoy teaching her about passion. She clearly needed a husband. One who could provide for her financially and personally.
In his mind, he’d already helped her in one area of her life. He’d aid her in more and he’d certainly keep her in whatever lifestyle she’d envisioned. Surely, she was better off with him than the other suitor that Balstead had chosen.
Balstead. He was the only hitch in this plan.
The man was a rake and a force in his own right. He’d chosen a groom for Cassandra and he might think he’d made the best possible decision.
His gut tightened. He’d have to explain to Balstead himself, unless Cassandra was inclined to do so. But he was getting ahead of himself.
First he needed to ask and gain Cassandra’s consent. Balstead was tomorrow’s problem or, with any luck, the day after.
The manor came into view and he slowed his horse, trotting up the long drive. Strange, Balstead’s home reminded him of his time with Amelia.
Perhaps it was just the bucolic setting. After his face had been scarred, he’d retreated to London. There was anonymity in crowds.
At home, he’d have to face the curious and sometimes revolted stares of people who knew him.
But as he sat on his horse, memories assaulted him. Amelia in his bed, in his home. The laughter and heat they’d shared. The quickness with which that passion had turned dark.
First, she’d begun to fight with him, suffering from fits of jealousy. Even a wrong glance at one of the maids would send her into a fit of rage. She’d scream, yell, hit. He hadn’t really been afraid, he was nearly larger than her by half. And then when she’d repent, the passion such anger evoked had been explosive.
But the longer their relationship lasted, the worse her temper became, and the more easily she flew into irrational anger.
And then he’d made the difficult decision that their relationship wasn’t tenable.
The ensuing fight had left his face scarred.
She’d left that day, never to return. He’d discovered three months later that she’d taken her own life.
Regret lanced through him, hot and deep. He’d have cared for her the rest of his life. Even with how they’d ended things. And he might have married her anyway except…he needed an heir and she, well… He ran a hand over his face. She had not been fit to be a mother.
The thought of a child being subjected to her rage, knowing her capable of such violent behavior even toward him, was more than he could bear.
He grimaced as he stared at the house, the sun sinking low in the sky as night fell. It bathed the world in shades of pink and orange. He was burning for another woman now.
He touched the papers in his pocket once again.
This time, however, he’d weighed her personality as well as his attraction. And…he’d not allow himself to fall in love. He’d slate his lust, make an heir, and settle into a life of companionable matrimony. Most likely he’d leave her in the country as he travelled about his duties. They’d live their own lives and he could trust her to raise their child with a gentle hand. Easy. Simple.
It was an excellent plan.
But his plans rarely worked out the way he intended.