“Yes.”
“Well?” He paused. “Three reasons, Cassandra. Three honest reasons. You owe me that.”
“Yes.” She shuffled awkwardly on the spot, wrung her hands and struggled to calm her erratic breathing. Eventually, she said, “When life drags you through the dirt, you need to know there are people you may depend upon. Today, you proved to be the only trustworthy gentleman of my acquaintance.”
“A trustworthy gentleman?” He was impressed. “Not the spurious son of a philanderer?” She had called him that on many occasions.
“A gentleman.” She nodded. “I saw a strength in you I have never seen before.”
“Is that the second reason?”
“No.” She lifted her chin. “I would like to marry you because an undeniable connection exists between us.” She bit down on her bottom lip as her gaze dipped to the opening of his shirt. “I’ve felt it my whole life.”
“A connection so undeniable you cast me aside,” he mocked.
“I cannot undo the past, Benedict. You wanted a reason, and I have given you one.”
This lady was as dangerous as he feared. Already, his heart thumped faster, and the warmth in his chest took to journeying southward. “And the third reason?”
“To reveal the third would leave me more exposed than when you found me in Hyde Park. Soon, when I am strong again, I will confide in you. For now, my third reason must be that I admire the fact nothing fazes you. You walk tall despite every wicked accusation I have hurled your way.”
And there had been many.
“Tregarth once told me that a man should not be ashamed of situations beyond his control. Equally, when people push a man to the outskirts of society, no one can blame him for making his life there.”
Silence descended.
Cassandra shuffled nervously. “Now you have heard my reasons you must tell me your answer.”
His whole life—his future happiness—hung on this one decision. He wasn’t sure how they would survive the lies, the deceit, how they would live in the aftermath of their bitter war. Still, he gave the only answer he could under the circumstances. The only answer his heart would allow.
“Yes, Cassandra. I will marry you.”
Chapter Five
When Lady Cassandra Mills married in St George’s it would be the most elaborate wedding of the year, the decade. With her mask in place, she would walk gracefully down the aisle in a dress designed exclusively by Madame de La Tour and show the world that power and position mattered more than truth and love. The aristocracy were too intelligent to live life from the heart. One only had to glance around Mayfair to know that strength came from a healthy bank balance and the right connections.
During the last five years she had worked tirelessly, convincing herself that real ladies made sacrifices. Blue bloods had a responsibility that went beyond the realms of lesser mortals. And so, in the process of pretending, she had lost herself. She had become a mere pawn in a game, a piece her parent had surrendered for the greater good.
But now, as she stood opposite Benedict Cavanagh in her father’s drawing room in Cavendish Square, a mere two days since the tragic event that changed her life, she had never been more terrified.
The joining of two people should be a happy affair, and yet practically every person in the room despised her. The Earl of Tregarth did not look at her once but kept his intense gaze focused on his beloved son. Mr Damian Wycliff and Mr Lawrence Trent watched the proceedings with solemn faces, shaking their heads when Benedict agreed to take her for his wife. The men’s wives dabbed their eyes and sniffed as if attending a wake, not a wedding.
The three people there to offer her support—her father and her friends Miss Sybil Atwood and Miss Rosamund Fox, the latter having arrived late—looked on with faces marred with shock, denial and a good dose of pity.
And then there was Benedict.
He looked so handsome in his dark blue coat. The diamond pin in his cravat conveyed the sparkle missing from his eyes. Many times, she had lain awake at night and imagined marrying him. A romantic union under an arbour of white and pink roses. A time of smiles and gaiety. But there were no flowers today, no smiles, no laughter—just two people converging onto a road that was sure to lead to disaster.
The last few minutes of the service passed by in a blur. Only when Benedict placed a guiding hand at her back and steered her towards their guests did the gravity of what they’d done hit her. How did one salvage something from a wreckage ravaged by harsh words, battered by the cruel hand of fate?
“You declined Worthen’s offer of a wedding breakfast?” Mr Wycliff placed his hand on Benedict’s shoulder—a gesture of support and friendship. “There’s to be no celebration?”
Benedict’s downturned mouth reflected everyone’s sullen mood. “Tregarth and Worthen cannot tolerate each other’s company. We will return to Jermyn Street, though expect the announcement will cause another bitter row.”
“My father insists we live here until we find a more suitable place to reside.” Cassandra’s stomach roiled with nerves. His friends would never approve of her, but she could not remain silent her entire life. “Benedict refused, but my father struggles to accept other people’s opinions.”
Oh, Lord! Her chest was so tight she thought she might swoon.