“I would be delighted to perform that duty for you, Cassandra.”
She whipped around, the washcloth dangling from her fingers. She looked wildly about for something with which to cover herself, but there was nothing. Her dressing gown was on the far side of the cabin, on the floor, where he had stripped it off of her the night before.
“You are awake,” she said, holding the washcloth in front of her belly.
“Yes. I missed you. Come back to bed, Cassandra, it is so early the seagulls are still at roost.”
“I am not tired.”
“Then we will talk. You do not mind that I am unshaven, do you?”
“You are very dark.”
“I really do not wish to come and fetch you.” He patted the bed beside him.
She wanted to tell him to take himself to the devil, but she found herself gazing at his body. A light, tingling sensation pulsed through her belly, and she shivered. “We will talk?” she whispered. “You promise?”
“Of course. We shall do whatever you wish.”
She placed the damp washcloth atop the commode and walked slowly to the bed, not looking at him. He held the cover back and she slipped in, pulling it down over her and clutching it to her throat.
She lay on her back, her eyes fastened on the cabin ceiling.
He was on his side facing her, his head propped up on his hand. “You slept well?”
Her wayward breathing calmed, for he had made no move to touch her. She replied honestly, without thinking, “Yes, very well.”
“Excellent. I will not remind you of the reason.” The teasing went out of his voice as he continued easily, “Don’t be afraid of me, Cassandra. I will keep my word.”
“I am not afraid of you.”
“I know. Now you have only to be afraid of yourself.”
She choked, hating him for so easily guessing her thoughts. She compressed her lips into a tight line and turned her face away.
“I told you last night that you had betrayed no one. It is true, you know.”
“That is a lie.” She turned back to face him, surprised at the desolate calmness of her thoughts and voice. She drew a deep, steadying breath. “But it will not happen again. I will not allow myself to feel such things again.”
“One cannot control passion, Cassandra. It is a mighty force, one that cannot be denied. It simply happens between some people.”
But I felt passion for Edward. But even as she thought it, she could not be certain. She had felt curiosity, to be sure; she had never doubted that the strength of her love for him would allow them to share physical pleasure.
He saw her confusion, and her pain, and sought for soothing words to help her. He was taken aback when she said suddenly, her voice deadly calm, “My mother. Did you feel such passion for her?”
“I never made love to your mother. As I told you yesterday, I was but a lad at the time, though as you can imagine, I dwelt with a boys’s fervent imagination on what the experience would be like.”
“Did she desire you?”
Constance. It had been such a long time since he had thought of her in that way. So many years. If Cassandra did not so closely resemble her, her face would have become but a blurred image in his mind long ago.
“I cannot be certain. The years blunt the edges of every memory.” He paused a moment and gazed closely at Constance’s daughter. The physical similarities to his mind were all that they shared. He saw that she was waiting for him to reply, her eyes almost accusing on his face. He said deliberately, “Even though I was quite young at the time, I can remember thinking that your mother feared anything that she did not understand. That is why, I believe, she married your father, a man who cared little for people, a man who was most content contemplating his possessions. She was but another possession, one to be prized and cherished, to be sure, but nonetheless a possession.”
She interrupted him, her teeth clenching. “You speak with such certainty about my family. Could you possibly know more of my father’s character than did I?”