Page 39 of The Lady's Last Mistake
As Grant took another bow and bid them a good afternoon, he cut Cassie a knowing arch of his brow. He was aware of what he’d just done. And as his eyes slid past Miss Emily Strafford—the disruption over calling her Miss Banks now completely overshadowed—she comprehendedwhyhe’d done it. To help her. And yet, in doing so, he’d also solidified the rumors of their attachment.
Cassie suffered through the first round of fabrics that Mrs. Lindquist showed to Jane, all the ladies pretending nothing untoward had just occurred. When the modiste left to fetch another few bolts in a different color palette, Cassie stood and apologized, saying that she was expected at Violet House. The lie wasn’t contested, and she took her leave.
When she arrived home, she unpinned her hat roughly and impatiently shrugged out of her pelisse.
“A servant from Thornton House delivered this not long ago, my lady.” Pierce, her footman, said as he presented a letter that topped yet another small mountain of notes and calling cards.
Cassie took it and detached the dark blue wax wafer,pressed with a T. Inside, a brief message had been scrawled in the center of the paper.
I will pick you up at 8 o’clock tonight. - G
Cassie loweredthe paper with a fluttering of her pulse. What on earth was the interminable nuisance planning now?
Chapter
Twelve
As they entered the gallery inside Madame Archambeau’s Kensington estate, Grant reluctantly treasured the sensation of Cassie’s hand tightening around his arm.
“I don’t recognize anyone,” she said softly as they strolled across the black and white marble tiles.
“That is because we have stepped outside the bounds of polite society,” he told her, keeping his voice low as well.
“And straight into the realm of depravity,” Cassie rejoined.
Grant laughed. She had no idea what true depravity the demimonde had to offer. “This is as tame as a church sermon, Lady Cassandra.” He leaned closer to her ear. “Did you truly believe I would take you to some illicit club?”
She stiffened at his side, her hand releasing the pressure she’d kept on his arm since walking toward the estate’s front entrance. He regretted teasing her. She was in no mood for it. He’d sensed it when he’d arrived at number twelve Grosvenor Square at eight o’clock just as his message had informed her.
The footman who opened the door had bowed and said that her ladyship was not in. Grant had come prepared. “Please tell her ladyship that if that is the case, I have a dinner with the Duke of Fournier to attend.”
He’d waited in the foyer while the footman delivered his response, and to his delight, Cassie had come to the top of the stairs, backlit by wall sconces. She was beautiful when she was furious.
“I could have a dinner with the marquess, if that is the game we are going to play,” she’d said.
She’d been dressed and ready, as if she’d known she wouldn’t be able to get out of their evening together. Or perhaps, hadn’t been willing to try very hard.
“I don’t think you would enjoy that very much,” he’d replied. It was the truth, too. His father was an arse.
“About as much as I enjoyed the stunt you pulled at Lindquist’s, I imagine,” she’d shot back as she’d come down the stairs.
“It got their minds off Miss Banks, now didn’t it?”
Cassie had not spoken again, ending all conversation until they’d been on the carriage ride to Kensington.
“I don’t understand why we have to be at odds,” Grant had finally said.
“Stop threatening to tell my brother about my work and perhaps we won’t be.”
“It isn’t safe, Cassie. Look at what happened with Isabel’s beau.”
“Do not patronize me,” she’d snapped. “Hope House is just as important as your clinic. And the father of Isabel’s child is a shining example as to why.”
Grant hadn’t been able to argue with that. Once the heat of her temper had subsided, she’d drummed her fingers upon her thigh, draped in the burnt umber silk of her gown, embroidered with black thread and onyx crystals. Wearing it, she’d looked like a flame. Inviting, yet dangerous.
“Do you know a gentleman by the name of Mr. Young?” she’d asked.
He’d run the name through his mind, attempting to find a memory of it. But shook his head. “It isn’t familiar. Why?”
