Chapter 105

Eventually the men returned to join them, flushed from the afternoon heat and pleased with themselves, eyes lighting up when they spotted John.

By the time they finished eating, the wind had picked up. Someone suggested they go for a walk, and the others readily agreed.

Cassandra declined. She needed a moment alone to herself, away from the others, away from John.

The women and men gradually moved away from the picnic site, following one another along a path that curved toward the trees. Cassandra remained seated on the blanket, gazing into the distance as she struggled to quell the unease John had stirred within her.

Footsteps sounded behind her, and there was no need to turn around to know who it was.

He made to settle himself beside her, but the instant he lowered himself onto the blanket, Cassandra sprang to her feet. Gathering her skirts, she turned her back on the picnic and walked away. It was too much.

She had swallowed her pride once already that day, and she would endure no more. Whatever else he might presume, he would not be granted such easy access to her. Yet he appeared to have no intention of allowing her to dismiss him so easily. He rose to follow her.

"Funny, isn’t it?" he said behind her, amusement evident in his voice. "That we should find ourselves together again."

Cassandra continued walking, keeping her eyes trained straight ahead. He would likely see any response she gave him as encouragement, so she gave him none.

"You have been rather difficult of late," he drawled. "I suppose I should be offended. You were the one who cast me aside without a second thought, after all. But I have kept an eye on you and I must admit, there have been some very interesting developments. You were never half so entertaining when you were with me."

Still she did not look at him.

He laughed, relishing her discomfort. John’s stride was longer and he kept pace with her. The distance between them narrowed despite her efforts.

"I heard you were nearly married. You seem to have developed a habit of jilting men. First me," he continued taunting her. "Then, apparently, another unfortunate man."

Cassandra’s steps faltered. Her breathing picked up, keeping pace with a pounding heart. No, it wasn’t possible. He couldn’t know, right? Yet there was no mistaking the smugness in his tone. He knew exactly what he was talking about. He would never have mentioned it otherwise.

She turned only slightly, enough to look at him over her shoulder.

"How did you know?" She asked before she could think better of it.

His smile widened.

"Ah," he said. "There you are. I was beginning to wonder what it would take to get your attention."

Until now, Cassandra believed the scheme to marry her off was concocted by her family and Whitmore. In her mind, it had been their doing, their scheme, their calculated attempt to force her into a marriage she never wanted.

John stepped even closer, invading the little space separating them.

"I know a little about your intended groom, Whitmore." He chuckled derisively. "Quite the bore, from what I hear. Though I suppose money can compensate for a great many deficiencies but it can never buy a man class."

Cassandra barely heard the rest. Her mind was spiraling.

Was he involved and in what capacity?

Was it another way for him to cause her misery?

She wanted to pry the answers from him but he would only use her desperation against her.

How much did he know about Whitmore? She wondered as she turned to face him fully.

"First me," he repeated, "a future Marquess. Then Whitmore, with all his money. And now the Duke." His smile became cruel. It reminded her of the smile he wore at her execution. "Is Montague your next target?"

He was standing too close. She wanted him gone.

Every instinct told her to put distance between them, to turn and run toward the others, toward the carriages, toward anywhere he was not.

Her skin prickled. It felt like tiny ants were moving beneath it. She wanted to scratch at her arms.

She wanted to flee.

She did not feel safe, not with John standing so close. Not with that smile on his face.

He had done this before.

In her past life, he spent years of their marriage teaching her to fear his displeasure, his temper, his voice, his presence. He had made her small and frightened and obedient.

He wanted that woman back.

He wanted to see her panic.

"You should have stayed with Whitmore," he said at last. "After so cruelly tossing me aside, I doubt you will ever get anyone better. At least he has money. For a woman in your position, that may be the best you can hope for."

Something inside Cassandra snapped and she went perfect still. Numb, she felt numb.

A long tense silence stretched between them.

Then she laughed.

She looked directly at him and laughed as if he just delivered the funniest joke she had heard in years.

John’s smugness waned, his smile disappearing altogether.

Yet she continued laughing. It was a mocking sound and she made no attempt to hide it. She laughed in his face until the amusement drained completely from his features and irritation took its place.

"What?" he demanded. He could endure hatred. What he could not endure was ridicule. He needed to believe himself superior and he did so by hurting others.

"Do you truly think," she asked, her voice almost breathless from laughter, "that you are the best I can do?"

His brows drew together in confusion. This was clearly not the reaction he anticipated.

While married to him, she never dared do anything of the sort, always afraid that he might strike her for it.

"You call yourself a future Marquess," she continued, "but are you quite certain that is what you will become?"

"What are you talking about?" For the first time since he had approached her, John looked genuinely unsettled.

"I think you ought to have a conversation with your father." Cassandra taunted. Their positions were reversed and she relished it like the way a predator relished its kill. "Last I heard, your father submitted a special written request to Her Majesty asking for permission to pass you over in the succession and name your cousin as his heir instead."

John went utterly still. Shock and disbelief warred for dominance.

"He doesn’t want you to inherit," she said. "Your own father does not want you to become Marquess. If you are not good enough for him, what makes you think you are good enough for me?"

This was something his father ought to have discussed with him, yet it seemed Lord Ravenshire was determined to keep his son in the dark. Cassandra could not resist wielding that truth against him, and the look on John’s face was gratifying enough to make the temptation worthwhile.

She knew only because of her closeness with the Queen. On occasion, she assisted Her Majesty in sorting through the many requests awaiting her consideration and seal of approval. It was during one such occasion that Cassandra had stumbled upon the petition Lord Ravenshire had submitted to the Queen.

She had kept the discovery to herself ever since, never breathing a word of it to anyone. The Queen had yet to grant the request, but Cassandra knew it was only a matter of time before she did.

It was certainly an odd request but Lord Ravenshire was hardly the first person in the kingdom’s history to make such a demand.

"No." The word was spoken quickly, harshly. "You’re lying."

"Am I?"

"Yes." He looked like he wanted to throttle her. "You are deceitful."

"Then you have nothing to fear. Speak to your father."

Let him believe whatever he wants. Even after calling her a liar, a part of him still doubted his conviction. A part of him knew she was telling the truth.

Cassandra could see the questions racing behind his eyes now. For once, he was not enjoying himself. This was one thing he could not twist to his advantage or wield against her. For once, he was completely defenseless.

She enjoyed knowing she was the cause.

Her heart was still beating too fast. Her hands were cold and sweaty. Behind her bravado and outward calm, she still felt unsafe.

A muscle ticked in his jaw, a sign of his annoyance.

Without another word, he turned abruptly and walked away.

Cassandra watched him go and the relief she felt was enormous.

A servant later came to tell her that Mr. Ravenshire had approached Georgiana and apologized for having to leave so suddenly, claiming he remembered an urgent matter requiring his attention.

Hester no longer looked so smug.

From time to time Cassandra caught her watching from the corner of her eye, irritation barely concealed beneath the pleasant face she presented to everyone else.

She glared at Cassandra when no one was looking.

Hester expected John to remain and torment Cassandra throughout the afternoon. Instead, he left, ruining her plans.

And Hester had no idea why. But she suspected it was because of Cassandra.