“No.” He jerked her nearer, feeling her heartbeat through her bodice and his waistcoat. “It is seldom fair.”
She stiffened, and then her body went boneless against him, sinking into his hold. Her arms below his grip bent so that her hands lay flat against his ribs.
“Why do you make this wall around yourself?” she whispered. “I spent most of my life alone, wishing for someone to share with. But you have your family. You have…” She broke off, settling her cheek on his chest. His heart slammed a frantic drumbeat. “You lost someone you loved. I know what that’s like. We aren’t very different at all.” His grip on her loosened, and she took the lapels of his coat in her hands. “Give us both another chance.”
He didn’t know quite how it happened; one moment she was speaking, and the next she was pressing her lips to his. The first kiss had been an exploration; this was deliberate action. Cassidy knew what she was doing. She had learned from his single lesson. Her lips parted, inviting him to do the same. He groaned and caught her around the waist, deepening the kiss, taking control of it.
There was no point in denying it any longer. He was profoundly, dangerously attracted to her, in every way—not only to her freshness and unaffected honesty, to her simple courage, but to her woman’s body with its mane of hair and lush curves, the face under his fingertips both stubborn and lovely.
He couldn’t view her as an abstract, a carefully placed game piece in the great Cause. She was less than he’d hoped, and yet she had become more than he’d ever anticipated. It wasn’t her strict obedience he wanted now, or her susceptibility to his power and authority. But he did want. Oh, yes. He wanted very badly.
If he let this continue, it wouldn’t stop until he had that firm young body naked in his arms again. And he wouldn’t have the strength to walk away, as he had in the wood.
If he took her, she would be ruined for Quentin, or for any other worthy mate. He was not worthy. Passion had blinded him before. His lust would betray the Cause, not further it.
He drew back abruptly. She murmured a protest. “Braden—”
“I will speak to Mrs. Smith,” he said. “I will give her the chance you wish. Will that satisfy you?”
“Isabelle? Yes.” Her breath shaped a sigh. “I knew you would—”
“Go. Send her to me.”
He made it a dismissal she couldn’t contest. If she chose to interpret this as a victory, he would let her so believe. It was better than the alternative.
And Mrs. Smith might yet serve a purpose.
“Thank you,” Cassidy said quietly. Her step was a little unsteady as she made her way to the door.
He sat down heavily in the chair and tried to regain the cool detachment that had once been so easy for him.
Isabelle was fully prepared to be ejected from the house when she saw Lord Greyburn’s face. No other man she’d known in her long years of experience could project so much anger and menace with such a lack of expression.
But that stony face didn’t mean he couldn’t feel. No, indeed. She tried to remember that as she walked into the room and stood before him. He did not invite her to sit.
“I am permitting you to stay at Greyburn, for Cassidy’s sake,” he said without preamble. “You will conduct yourself with complete propriety while you remain. I will see that your things are transferred to a room in the family wing. When my guests arrive, you will remain confined to that wing alone. Is that clear?”
“Abundantly,” she said.
“I’ll brook no insolence from you, Mrs. Smith,” he said, “if that is indeed your name. I know what you are. Your position here is precarious at best. If I learn your unchaste habits have in any way affected my cousin—”
“My habits?” she said, outrage overcoming caution. “Cassidy told me how you kissed her.” She caught his flinch because she was watching for it. “Yes, I know men, Lord Greyburn. And I know when a man wants a woman, the way you want Cassidy.”