A Scoundrel of Consequence. Helen Dickson

do you suggest I do?’

      ‘Can’t you order your cousin to avoid her, or failing that, send him away somewhere?’

      ‘Your anxieties and fears may soon be at an end. Edward is shortly to enter the Military Academy as a cadet, with the hope of purchasing a commission. In the current climate it’s inevitable that his regiment will see service overseas.’

      Cassandra’s relief was enormous. ‘Oh—thank goodness. That would be the answer to everything. What you may do for me in the meantime is to speak to him, keep an eye on him. I don’t relish the idea of having a Lampard as kin.’

      A pair of cool blue eyes regarded her dispassionately. ‘How extraordinary,’ William mocked. ‘All my life I have harboured the delusion that all young ladies yearn to snare wealthy husbands—and, despite having made his home with me on the demise of his parents, Edward is wealthy in his own right. I am amazed that you have objections to my family’s suitability, for their breeding is unexceptionable and they are better connected than most.’

      Cassandra was so carried away with making sure that he understood her concern, and that her sister’s reputation must be protected at all costs, that she didn’t heed the muscle that was beginning to tick in his tightly clenched jaw.

      ‘I’m sure you’re right, Captain Lampard,’ she hurried on, her tone straightforward, not facetious, ‘and that your family’s credentials are impeccable, but wealth and an illustrious name does not give a man the right to do as he pleases and to do it with impunity. I am sorry to have to say this, but if Edward turns out to be anything like the hellion you are reputed to be—for I do understand that you have great experience in living—then he will make an exceedingly bad husband.’

      William heard the insult in her smoothly worded statement, and any amusement that was left vanished from his expression. In one swift movement he whisked her off the dance floor and released her. He then looked down at her with hard, unforgiving eyes, a scowl drawing his brows together.

      ‘Miss Greenwood,’ he said in a voice dangerously low, ‘if you imagine for one minute that I would approve of Edward marrying your sister, then you are living under an illusion. However, there is a whole procession of society matrons who are eager to lure me into marrying their daughters and who are perfectly willing to overlook my excesses in “living,” as you so baldly put it. I’m beginning to realise that I do not rate highly in your estimation. As a rule I have never cared for anyone’s opinion, and I most certainly would never let them influence my actions—and this includes you.’

      Stung at being manhandled from the dance floor and offended by the tone of superiority with which he delivered this lecture, Cassandra gave him a lofty look, but on searching his shuttered features and taking judicious note of the taut set of his jaw, she realised that she had gone too far in voicing her disapproval of his character and was unable to retreat from a predicament into which she should never have put herself in the first place.

      Biting her lip, suddenly feeling very small and very foolish, she said, ‘I—apologise if I have offended you, but I only said what I thought out of concern for my sister.’

      ‘You have said quite enough, Miss Greenwood,’ he snapped, irrationally angry at her unprovoked attack on his character. ‘If it is your intention to humble me, then you can forget it. Rest assured that my donation to your institute will be with you in the morning, and let that be an end to the matter. And now I bid you good night.’

      William turned on his heel and strode purposefully from the ballroom, leaving Cassandra staring in his wake. Mortified, shocked and bewildered by his sudden departure, these emotions were banished in a blinding flash of fury. How dare he walk away from her like that? The man was rude beyond bearing, too full of himself, affecting pompous poses and delighting in turning the head of every female in the room.

      As the music died she became aware of being stared at and noticed the whispered conferences as people gathered in groups, having witnessed the altercation that had taken place between Cassandra Greenwood and Captain Lampard. With as much dignity as she could muster, she lifted her head and returned to Aunt Elizabeth, and it wasn’t long before she left the ball and went home without seeing anything more of the arrogant and pretentious Captain Lampard.

      Then why, as she climbed into bed, did the thought of his smile and the remembered touch of his hand make her heart beat faster? Suddenly at a loss, she blew out the candle.

      Chapter Three

      Seated in his carriage taking him back to Grosvenor Square, the anger caused by Miss Greenwood’s censure to his character continued to burn inside William. Normally he would have smiled and shrugged such comments off as being of no consequence, whereas this time the self-confident, invulnerable Lord Lampard, who always treated women with amused tolerance, had been driven to walk away from Miss Greenwood because she had artlessly spoken the truth.

      The wager he had made with Charles against his better judgement bothered him, and his conscience that he thought long since dead chose that moment to resurrect itself. Realising the enormity of what he’d done, already he was regretting it. He had taken the wager to seduce and dishonour a woman he had found to be full of goodness, trusting and candid, with a combination of wisdom and naïveté and undeniably lovely. Miss Greenwood was above a mere dalliance. May God forgive him. It was madness, and he hated himself with a virulence that nearly knocked the breath out of him.

      For the first time in a long time, he had met a woman without guile. Her young innocent face passed before his mind’s eye, a face of much seriousness, a ripe, opulent beauty that made his blood stir hotly. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined anyone like Miss Greenwood. What an enchanting creature she was, artlessly sophisticated, part-angel, part-spitfire. For some peculiar reason that was quite beyond him, it mattered to him what she thought of him.

      By the time his carriage drew up outside his residence, his anger had abated and his stomach clenched at the unmannerly way in which he had left her. He had decided not to pursue Miss Greenwood. She would be in no danger from him. There was no room in his life for women like her—not even her blue-green eyes, her face of an angel and a body to rival that of Venus, would make him change his mind.

      To hell with Grisham and his wager, he thought as he shoved open the carriage door and stepped down into the street. It was off. He could have the damned horse.

      

      The following morning Cassandra left for Kensington, leaving Emma to spend the rest of the day with Aunt Elizabeth, who, according to Emma, was to indulge her young charge in her favourite pastime of shopping. Not having retired until the early hours, Aunt Elizabeth had not surfaced from her bed so Cassandra had to take Emma’s word for this—although she had no reason to doubt what she said, for Emma spent a good deal of her time at Monkton House being pampered by Aunt Elizabeth.

      When Cassandra bade her sister farewell, she thought how pale Emma looked. There was also a strange, vague look in her eyes that told Cassandra her mind was on other things. She did not pay any heed to it just then, but she would have reason to remember it later.

      

      Cassandra and her mother had just finished their evening meal when a flustered and highly distraught Lady Monkton arrived.

      ‘Oh, my dears, something quite dreadful has occurred—something so dreadful I don’t know how I am ever going to tell you.’

      Concerned, Cassandra immediately went to her, anxiously studying the worried lines on her face. ‘Dear Aunt Elizabeth,’ she said, taking her hand, ‘you are upset. Come and sit down.’

      When her ample body was comfortably ensconced in a large winged chair, Lady Monkton snapped open her ivory fan and began to agitate the air close to her face. ‘What I have to tell you will come as such a shock to you. I wonder how to break it.’

      Instinct told Cassandra that her aunt’s distressed state had something to do with Emma. ‘It’s Emma, isn’t it? Tell us quickly, Aunt Elizabeth.’

      ‘It’s not good news, is it, Elizabeth?’