Duplicity was not her strength anyhow, but with a large, devilishly handsome duke touching her, she could barely think. Her inability to string together reasonable sentences had likely contributed to her attempt to lie her way out of the situation in the first place. If her mind had been working, surely she would have come up with a better plan.
Raithe was supposed to be at the estate, explaining to this man that there was no debaucherous party. And also discussing the fact that the duke was here as a potential candidate for Cassandra’s hand. Instead, she’d just completely ruined any chance of a marriage by professing herself already engaged. Brilliant.
He still held her wrist between his fingers. “You’re about to marry?”
She swallowed. Think, Cassandra. Her upper teeth caught her lower lip as she looked into the fire. “That’s the plan.” She nearly huffed a breath at herself. Why couldn’t she formulate an intelligent or at least witty answer.
“I’ve only just realized that I don’t know your name, love.”
His voice had dropped lower, deeper, and even more tantalizingly dangerous. She ached in places she wasn’t sure she’d known even existed before this moment. “Mrs. Winterset,” she whispered, trying to control her body’s speeding pulse.
His fingers tightened, her first indication she’d just said something wrong. “You’re already married?”
She shook her head. “I’m a widow.” She looked back at him then, the dark grey depths of his eyes drawing her in. She clenched and unclenched her fingers. “But I need to wed again. I’m…” There was little to say but the truth. Her face heated as she shifted her weight. “I’m not financially…”
His eyebrows rose. “I see.” And then he moved her just a bit closer again. But now, she could feel the heat radiating from him. The fire, which had warmed her minutes before was now overly hot and a flush surely filled her cheeks given how much they flared with heat. “And who have you chosen for your next groom?”
“I…” she shook her head. What did she say now? “Raithe…that is to say Lord Balstead…”
“You’re marrying Balstead? As his dear friend?”
Oh dear. That wasn’t what she’d meant to happen. “No. Lord Balstead has chosen—”
He let out a sudden bark of laughter. “Are you trying to tell me that you allowed Balste
ad, the most well-known rake in all of London, to choose your husband for you?” And then he let her wrist go. “Have you met the man? Signed the contracts?”
Well, she may as well stick as close to the truth as possible. “No.”
He finally removed the whisky from her hand and took a large swallow. “Interesting.”
She winced. Her situation wasn’t simply interesting. No. Her current circumstances filled her with shame, made her want to rewrite every decision she’d made thus far in life and in this conversation. At least she didn’t want him, this large and arresting duke, to find out the truth. The more he poked around her explanation, the more he would realize she had lied. “I thought my situation rather mundane,” she said, unable to admit the reality.
“And how do you know Balstead?” he asked, turning toward her. “What’s the nature of your relationship?”
She narrowed her gaze as she took a decided step back. “We’ve known each other since childhood. My husband was his best friend.” John. His face rose in her mind, thin and pale, only his eyes still burning with life and resentment.
“Hmm,” he answered, taking another swallow.
“My lady,” the butler called as he entered the room. “The refreshments you requested.”
She sighed with relief at the interruption. There was a tension about the duke that was both a bit frightening and terribly exciting. If she could just break that pull she’d surely be able to gain control of this situation. “Thank you,” she answered automatically.
Cassandra crossed to the tray and assessed the contents. The staff was more than capable, she just needed a reason to put space between her and His Grace.
She pressed her hands to her stomach, covering her abdomen as she turned back to her…guest. “Please, help yourself.”
He took another sip from his drink, his grey eyes burning into hers. “I already told you. I’m not hungry.”
Probably better. The last thing she needed was for him to cross the room and be close to her again. His proximity scrambled her thoughts, unnerving her. “Lord Balstead should return very soon with the rest of the guests.”
He paused, silence filling the space between them. “I thought the party was supposed to start four days ago. Why isn’t there anyone else here?”
Finally, an easy question. “There was a storm. A bridge was washed out on the coastal path north and the guests were delayed.”
“Did you know what sort of party he was hosting?”
Cassandra frowned. She had some idea of what Raithe did with his free time, though they’d never discussed it and she hadn’t asked when he’d mentioned his duplicitous plan. He hadn’t been the same since he’d lost his wife and child. She sighed. Here Raithe was helping her, when perhaps, she should be helping him. “I didn’t ask. What Lord Balstead does is his own business.”