The Conquest of Lady Cassandra by Madeline Hunter Page A

an existence required. His own father’s lack of generosity left him living the masculine equivalent of this house. A man, however, had the option of supplementing his income, although, as the heir to a peer, strict discretion was in order when he sought employment. Fortunately, he had discovered in investigative missions an occupation that not only stimulated his intellect and provided some adventure, but one where the client desired discretion as much as he did.
    No butler or footman opened the door, but rather a woman who appeared to be a housekeeper. She took him to a small drawing room upstairs and walked away with his card.
    The chamber proved less feminine than he expected. Fabrics the colors of jewels covered the furniture. Dark wood abounded. One wall sported three framed prints by Piranesi. Not views of Rome, such as his father owned. Rather these were the bizarre prison engravings with their skeins of oppressive stairways leading nowhere.
    Did they belong to Cassandra or the aunt? The images reflected a deep streak of independent taste and thinking.
    In Cassandra’s case, she was not merely independent, he now knew, but irreverent. Irresponsible. Irritating. She was probably guilty of all the bad behavior all the
ir-
words in the language alluded to.
    He had cause to believe Cassandra Vernham had crossed the line from bold to brazen, and held no respect for even the basic proprieties and rules. It changed everything, and he no longer felt an obligation to couch his dealings with her in the sort of pleasantries that would save her pride.
    “Lord Ambury. How good of you to call.” Lady Cassandra addressed him immediately on entering the chamber. With her tumbling dark curls and ivory skin, and her body draped in a diaphanous, Grecian-inspired pale yellow dress that floated with each step, she appeared both lush and luscious. “I trust all is well with your father.”
    “He is better. He is insisting on returning to town, so he will be close to any developments in the war.”
    “Even so, it is a sad time for you. I am sorry for that.”
    She appeared sincere. For a few moments, he allowed the balm of her sympathy to soothe the ragged emotions that the situation with his father had carved. Then he set that aside. His righteous irritation with her rose again.
    “Have you reconsidered allowing me to see your aunt?”
    “It is not my decision. She is not some old lady under mycare.” She gestured for the woman who had met him at the door and who now stood near the wall, waiting to serve if called. She handed over his card. “Merriweather, bring this to my aunt. Tell her that Viscount Ambury has called on her.”
    It did not take Merriweather more than a minute to return and say that Lady Sophie could not receive today.
    Cassandra dismissed the maid. “My aunt is jealous of her privacy now. Please do not take it personally, Lord Ambury.”
    She spoke sweetly. Innocently. The sparkle in her eyes could entrance a man who was not careful.
    “I do take it personally. According to my man Higgins, she is hardly the recluse you say.”
    She batted those thick lashes at him. She widened her blue eyes. “Whatever do you mean?”
    Damnation, the woman was treating him like a fool. “He said an old retainer accompanied you to my chambers yesterday. Your aunt, I assume.”
    “You assume a great deal, but then you have the reputation for doing so with women.”
    “Are you saying your chaperone yesterday was not your aunt?”
    “Higgins’s description of her as a servant should settle it for you. Surely your man can spot the difference between a servant and a lady.”
    “Not if the lady is working hard to appear as a servant.”
    “You give Mr. Higgins too little credit.”
    “On the contrary, I give you and your aunt a great deal of it. If the two of you set out to deceive Higgins, he would not have stood a chance.” He moved closer to her. “Did you flirt with him? Were you that bold? That shameless? Did you