Immediately inside the door was a narrow stone staircase, damp and smelly. Cassidy followed him down the stairs and a long, cramped corridor to another door. They emerged at the back of the house, behind a concealing shrub. The afternoon was abnormally still; no guests wandered about the gardens or took tea on the lawn, though Cassidy knew that more delegates had arrived for the Convocation. She was glad she didn’t have to meet any of them.
A carriage—small and built for speed—was waiting in the lane beside the laundry and wash house building. There was no coachman or footmen in attendance. Quentin himself handed her into the carriage and took the reins.
He started off at a swift pace out to the main drive, almost as if he were expecting pursuit. After they had driven a good mile from Greyburn, he relaxed.
“Now can you tell me where we’re going?” she asked.
He threw her a reckless grin. “I believe it’s safe enough. I suppose you know that Braden intends for you to marry me.”
She stared straight ahead. “Yes.”
“Well, I wasn’t too keen on the idea at first—I’m not the marrying sort—but I’ve changed my mind. I think we shall rub along tolerably well together. I’ve decided there’s no reason to put it off any longer.”
“What?”
“Don’t fight it, Cassidy. We’re both the captives of fate and the Cause.” He laughed and patted his coat pocket. “I’ve a special license prepared. With no further adieu, I’m carrying you off to the altar.”
Cassidy was already poised to jump off the moving carriage when Quentin caught the gathered fabric at the top other skirt and hauled her back into her seat.
“Come, now,” Quentin said, chuckling. “You can’t claim I’m so very unappealing!” He clucked to the horse and urged him to greater speed. “Is marriage to me truly a fate worse than death?”
Cassidy took hold of her panic and braced herself against the carriages rock and sway. “You surprised me,” she said. “And you lied. You said you wanted to show me something about Braden—”
“Because I was rather concerned that you might refuse to come, otherwise. I have some idea of what’s occurred between the two of you. In fact, that’s what gave me the idea that we ought to get on with this, before more damage is done.”
Damage. Did he mean to her, to Braden, or to himself?
He’d only flirted with her, tried to kiss her once and never followed up on the attempt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, mimicking Rowena’s cool, cultured tones. “Quentin, this is ridiculous.”
“Is it?” He laughed. “To misquote Napoleon the first, let’s hope that it’s but a step from the ridiculous to the sublime.”
“But you don’t want to marry me. It was Braden’s idea, not yours—”
“Yes, and for once it was a good one. You haven’t seen yourself lately in the mirror, sweetheart. There are some compensations to marriage, you know.”
She knew what he meant. But there was only one man in the world she wanted to touch her that way. And he could not be touched.
“Take me back, Quentin,” she said, clenching her fingers on the edge other seat as the carriage bumped along the lane. They were already nearing the edge of Greyburn land, and soon they’d be past the places she recognized. “I can’t marry you.”
“Why not?” He arched a brow at her. “I may even be falling in love with you. In any case, I promise that I’ll not be as indifferent as my brother.”
“He’s not—” Indifferent. He was right, wasn’t he?
“You’re unhappy, Cassidy, and it’s his doing. You’re too plucky to admit it, just as Rowena won’t let anyone see how miserable she is. Stiff upper lip, and all that. But you’re too honest to lie.” All humor left his expression. “Admit the truth. Braden is a cold, cruel, and calculating bastard who doesn’t care about anything but his Cause. You’re just another piece on his game board, like the rest of us. Oh, he may lapse from time to time, but any heart he once had is withered and dead.”