“You regarded him through a child’s eyes, Cassandra. I know that you suffered because you sensed his indifference to you, but so did Eliott. At least he treated you no differently because you were a female.”
She was silent. What he said was true, but it pained her too much to admit it. “We were speaking of my mother and your love for her.”
“No,” he corrected gently, “you asked me if she felt passion for me. You are unearthing old memories. In all honesty, no, I do not believe that she did. She was always afraid, not of herself, but of society and what her friends would think if they believed her to be indulging in such a liaison.”
“If she had been your . . . lover, and if she had been afraid of herself, felt that she was betraying my father, had told you that she hated you, would you have released her?”
He smiled at her ruefully. “You are like an agile spider, weaving her web. I was younger than you at the time, Cassandra. For many years I believed that all women, all women with incredible beauty that is, were like Constance: vain, without character, save when it achieved their desires, and spineless. And, because she did as she was bid, and wed your father, she sealed her own fate. She used me, a boy who adored her, worshiped her, to bolster her image of herself as a desirable woman. Your father, she admitted to me once, was not a sensual man.” He stopped abruptly, sensing her bewilderment.
“I will always hate you.”
“And I, my dear, have enough love for the both of us.”
She turned on him, rising up on her elbows, unaware that the cover dropped below her breasts. “It is ridiculous, my lord. You cannot love me. If I have my mother’s face, I cannot help it. To love someone simply because she looks like someone else—it makes no sense.”
He kept his eyes resolutely upon her face. “I suppose that I cannot expect you to have given me your full attention our first afternoon together. I told you then and I will repeat it—the fact that you resemble your mother merely pleases me, for she was a beautiful woman. All else about you is unique. It is you I love, Cassandra, no one else. When I saw you at seventeen I was more sure about my feelings for you than anything in my life.” A sudden, rueful smile lit his eyes. “If you would know the truth, I had thought that I was beyond the age of romantic attachment, and it came as quite a shock to me, I assure you. I remember—it was not above a year ago—a dinner and ball at Belford House. At seventeen, it was your first excursion into society. You were so unlike the other girls of your age. Do you not remember dancing with me and in the most candid manner imaginable telling me that you were having a marvelous time but that your slippers were pinching your feet?”
She nodded slowly. “Yes, and you offered to lift me in your arms so I would not have to walk.”
“And I recall that you laughed delightedly and told me it was a fine idea. You also told me that you were not a featherweight and trusted that I would be strong enough to oblige you. It required a great deal of resolution, Cassandra, not to oblige you.”
A reluctant smile appeared, deepening the dimples on either side of her mouth. “I do not remember how it happened, but you escorted me to dinner. You filled my plate and I choked on my lobster patty because I was laughing at one of your stories. You called me graceless while you thumped me on the back. I thought you very nice, and terribly amusing.”
“Do you not remember what else I said to you?”
She dropped her eyes from his face, and said in a voice dulled with insight, “You told me that you would be delighted to provide me instruction, since one day I would doubtless be called upon to fill a position of importance.”
“Not precisely, but your memory is accurate enough. And the day I offered to mount you on an Arabian mare that I doubted you could handle. You coldly informed me, your eyes twinkling all the while, that you were quite up to snuff and could manage any piece of horseflesh from my stable. I recall that you would have taken a nasty spill had I not, at the last moment, lifted you off the mare’s back.”