From Duke till Dawn: 2018’s most scandalous Regency read. Eva Leigh

anyway?

      A dark-haired, brown-eyed man with a hawkish nose and unshakable integrity . . . ?

      The need for such a man was so powerful that it was like a second heartbeat. Wanting him was a dream, a foolish fantasy she couldn’t dismiss as a girlish infatuation. He made her feel safe, cared for, respected. No one had ever given her as much.

      And no one would again.

      Yet, as if she’d conjured him from wishing, Alex appeared at one end of the main hall, looking devastating in black evening dress, his hair slicked back, his cheeks freshly shaven. Her imagination must have fabricated this illusion of him. But no, the image of Alex looked right at her, causing her heart to jump. As he began walking toward her, she realized he was no illusion, but real. He stopped in front of her.

      She swallowed hard as he gazed down at her with his unwavering dark stare. Had he been speaking to people? Somehow learning her secrets? Her mind hastily slapped together stories, excuses, explanations.

      He gazed at her, and she could only look back, like a doe being spotted by a wolf.

      But his eyes were warm as he gazed at her. “Cassandra,” he murmured.

      Her body heated in response to hearing him say her name in his low, gravelly voice. Her pulse stuttered, and that hot, bright gleam of happiness and hope cut through the darkness within her—just from having him near.

      “Staying away is impossible,” he went on. “Not when I know you’re here.”

      Her heart leapt again, damn the stupid thing.

      She glanced around. Martin was busy in the foyer, greeting guests. He had to know that Alex was here, which meant he would try to urge her to gull him again.

      What should she do? Send Alex away? That would be wisest.

      Her fingers wove between his—thank God, he wore gloves tonight, so she wouldn’t face the temptation of his skin against hers—and she led him toward the back of the main hall. She tried to quiet her thundering pulse, and almost physically shoved aside the hope and excitement swelling within her.

      A set of doors opened out onto a small, secluded terrace. The heat lessened here, while intimacy increased. In the shelter of the darkness, Cassandra could pretend that she truly was a woman of quality, without a blight on her name, and that she could have a future with a man like Alex. Self-deception was chancy, however. She needed to remember that, especially with so little distance between her body and Alex’s, and his scent of soap and sandalwood casting a cunning spell.

      Having him near was too painful. She ached with the desire to be something she wasn’t—a real lady of gentle birth, the kind of woman with whom he truly belonged. He thought she was, but she knew differently. If he ever felt anything for her, it was all an illusion, based upon her lies. What would he do if he knew she was only a fabrication? Would he forgive her and pull her close, promising to make everything all right? Or would he angrily push her away and walk off without a backward glance, leaving her to collect the fragments of her heart?

      She knew the answer, and it made her hurt throb all the more. Better to head off that pain before it could take hold and ruin her.

      Her only consolation was the end of her career as a swindler. Once the gaming hell closed shop, she would be free. Free to live as just a woman without pretense. It would be a solitary life, but she was alone already. The isolation couldn’t be much worse than what she now experienced.

      She turned, and her hands lightly rested on the stone balustrade. A neat enclosed garden slept behind the building.

      “I cannot be out here long.” She rubbed her hands against the stone to remind her of who she was and what she needed. “I’ll lose my position if Mr. Hamish thinks I’m not attending to the other guests.”

      “It’s for that reason I’ve come back,” Alex said softly. “It doesn’t need to be like this.”

      Her pulse kicked, and she couldn’t stop herself from turning around to face him, leaving only a foot’s distance between them. Cassandra had to tilt her head back to look into his eyes—unusual for her, given her height.

      “And what do you propose?” she challenged. “There are not many honorable ways for a woman to earn her coin. I am a lady’s companion, not a gentleman’s.”

      Though it was dark on the terrace, she thought a flush stained his cheeks. It was as close as she could come to saying the words courtesan or mistress in his company.

      “Is that what you are suggesting?” she pressed.

      “Cassandra,” he said roughly, “I’d never insult you that way.”

      Of course he wouldn’t. Alex was too much a gentleman to suggest anything so impolite. Yet she’d tasted the fires of his passion, felt him groan against the skin of her belly. He wasn’t as cool or removed as he believed himself to be.

      Yearning welled up. To break open the dam that held back his desire. See him wild with need, loosened from the role he had to play. To let herself be wild with him. To be truly herself with him.

      Here. In this dark space where no one could see them.

      Had she picked this spot on purpose? Was she guided by her own unknowing hand?

      A dangerous game. There were times for risks, and times for sticking to what was known. Her mind had to be firmly turned to the running of the gaming hell and the goal of financial freedom. She couldn’t let her needs or the demands of her heart dictate her direction. If she did, she may as well tie stones to her feet and walk into the Serpentine.

      “I know you don’t mean any insult,” she murmured. “I’m not the first female to find herself in . . . dismal circumstances.”

      “They needn’t be so dire.” He clasped her hand between both of his. She wanted to tug herself free. She wanted to sink into the comfort he believed he offered. “I have the ear of England’s best families. Say the word. I’ll find you a good, respectable position with any of them. Girls in need of a chaperone, or dowagers who require companions. Stay in England. Travel abroad. See the world, now that we have peace. Anything you want, Cassandra, and it’s yours.”

      “And you can guarantee that?”

      “You know I can.”

      His absolute certainty broke her heart. His longing to be her savior was obvious, like a thick blanket that warmed and suffocated. She had no doubt that he could and would give her whatever she desired.

      Not everything.

      Damn, but hearts were fragile, easily wounded things. They needed protecting. Armor. Yet if she let someone slip past that armor, that meant the chance of a terrible wound. One she might not survive. It was hard enough, to endure having Alex so close, with his desire to rescue her. But he didn’t realize how impossible it was for him to play her savior.

      She’d seen her own father waste away in the Marshalsea, more heartbroken over his wife’s desertion than his own debt-riddled circumstances. She’d watched countless men and women in London’s dismal corners suffer and fail at affairs of the heart. Why? Because they’d put their faith, and love, in someone else.

      The brokenhearted haunted Whitechapel and Southwark, the ghosts of the lovelorn and wretched.

      Wisdom was a hard-won gift. She’d become wise at a very young age.

      Send him away, her mind whispered. Protect yourself.

      Never let him go, cried her heart.

      But who would she listen to? Her heart or her brain?

      Sadly, she knew the answer.

      “I made a promise,” she said at last. “Mr. Hamish is relying on me.”

      “He’s using you,” he answered bitingly. “He’s thinking only of himself, not your honor. Not your welfare.”

      Part