Page 34 of An Unwitting Alliance
From the corner of his eye he saw her set her jaw. “Neither can I.”
“Good,” he said, facing her again. “We will no longer be at odds but will work together to break the contract our tyrannical mothers created.”
“Tyrannicalsounds a bit thick.”
“When it comes to Matchmaking Mamas, Miss Vail, never let your guard down.”
Cassandra bit back a laugh. “Never.”
Pleased his antics amused her, Tom added a stern nod. “Very good. Should we shake on it?” He put out his hand with full awareness of how ridiculous he was making this. But if it made her smile again, it was well worth it.
Cassandra slid her hand into his. Something about the way she looked at him or the way herfingers tickled his palm set his head spinning. Warmth ran up his arm and spread to the rest of his limbs as he curled his hand around hers. Her small intake of breath revealed she felt the crackling connection too. That was his first clue to release her, but again Cassandra’s eyes pulled him in, and his hold lingered, pulling a smile unbidden from his lips. Acting of its own accord, his thumb moved over her smooth skin, and he reveled in how intimate the simple touch of two hands joined together could feel. Her fingers encased in his own held perfectly still beneath his gentle caress.
He could throw everything to the wind right now and stop fighting. He could rescue her from Patricia and be the one to chase away all her tears and disappointments. He could hold this hand all night. He wanted to hold this hand all night.
There was a way.
He could marry Cassandra.
She could be his wife.
That last thought shot like a warning to his mind. Because if he married her, he would love her and love the family that followed. And loving like that was a recipe for the greatest pain he had ever experienced. He instantly released her and jerked back. Thick, uncomfortable silence permeated the air between them for the space of several breaths.
“A truce, then?” Her voice wavered, and she bit into her bottom lip, heightening its color even in the dark.
He couldn’t fall in love with her, but he wanted to tell her to stop what she was doing. It was a shame to puncture such perfect lips. If they were his, he would not let them be so abused. But since they were not his, he would not say a word. He swallowed down his distracted thoughts and replaced them with a running list of his priorities: freedom to choose, the workhouse, his duty to the Rebels. Then he spoke the words she’d been waiting for. “A truce.” His answer rang with finality, echoing faintly from the vaulted ceiling above the stairs with forceful reiteration.
Chapter 14
Cassandra could hardly look atMr. Harwood over her breakfast the next morning and concentrated much too hard on her roll and sausage. Something had shifted last night, and not just because she had agreed to a cease-fire.Shewas different.
Ever since she had learned he was not behind their betrothal.
Or ever since he had held her hand and smiled at her under the soft candlelight on the stairs.
It was difficult to explain what she could not understand, but suffice it to say she was more conscious of Mr. Harwood. His movements. His conversation. His very presence. Megan had already left the table, as had the younger boys, and her parents were most likely taking a tray in their room. There was far too little to distract her from her thoughts. She swallowed down a bit of toast and pretended interest in Peter’s explanation of rising prices of textiles. He was the only other person in the room—the only distraction she had. It was clear he was trying to impress Mr. Harwood with whatever he had gleaned from the papers, but even so, Cassandra managed to hear only every other sentence.
Despite her best efforts, her eyes drifted slowly toward Mr. Harwood. Was he possibly more handsome than he had been only yesterday? It was hardly fair that he have everything: money, position, charm, and a jaw that flexed just so when he chewed. His gaze connected with hers, and her heart fluttered. She knew she was staring, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away. This was exactly what she had determinednotto do when she had sat down at the table.
And Peter had ceased talking. When had that happened?
Mr. Harwood’s lips pulled into a grin. “Miss Vail, what thought has prompted your satisfied expression? I must know.”
She sucked in her cheeks and squirmed. “I was only thinking how fortunate it is that industry is booming.” She coughed and reached for her glass.
“Oh? Since you were staring at me, I thought perhaps you took pleasure in my appearance.”
Cassandra’s eyes darted to Peter, whose fork had frozen midair. She gave a short laugh. “Mr. Harwood is quite the tease, Peter. Do not heed a word he says about me.”
“It’s all right,” Peter said, setting his fork down. “You will be married soon, and such things are perfectly natural to, er, talk about.”
“How very mature of you.” Mr. Harwood gave him an approving nod.
Cassandra shook her head briskly. “Peter, you are wrong. It isnotperfectly natural to discuss such things openly where others can hear it. I am sure Mr. Harwood will refrain from any public interjections pertaining to his personal feelings or emotions about his wife when he is married.”
“I certainly will not.” Mr. Harwood drew back. He lifted his own toast and pointed it at Peter. “When I am married, my wife will have no doubt how I feel about her, in public or otherwise. Kissing, for example—”
“Who was talking about kissing?” She stared hard, hoping Mr. Harwood would take the hint.
