‘If that is your opinion of me,’ she said frostily, ‘then I fail to see that we have anything further to discuss.’ She turned aside as if to cut him. He prevented her from doing so by simply stepping sideways and so maintaining his position directly in front of her.
‘On the contrary,’ he said, bitterness and disappointment driving him further than anything Issy could have provoked from him. ‘I have come here tonight specifically to warn you that I have received intelligence as to your manoeuvres. I suppose you have run through Lieutenant Gilbey’s fortune by now. That is why you have come to London. You are hoping to be able to dupe some other gullible fool into loosening his purse strings.’ That was certainly what Issy believed. And, believing it, had not been able to sit back and watch Miss Furnival get away with it all over again.
‘I have no intention of doing any such thing,’ she denied hotly.
‘Why else would you be using the Duchess to parade you about town, if not to catch yourself a husband?’
She frowned. Glanced at her companion. Took a breath. But before she could utter a single excuse, he said, ‘You will not get away with it. I will not allow you to get away with it.’ Issy had been right. He owed it to Gilbey, and Gilbey’s family, and every other vulnerable male of marriageable age in England, to put a stop to her scheming before she could really get going.
‘Get away with it?’ Her eyes flashed with fury. ‘And just how, pray, do you intend to stop me?’
If he’d had any doubts about her plans before, that statement exposed them. Because he could not very well hinder non-existent plans, could he?
‘For a start,’ he said, thinking on his feet, while wishing he’d taken the precaution of forming some kind of contingency plan, ‘I shall inform the poor woman you have deceived into giving you house room exactly what you really are. And then I will make sure everyone knows that she,’ he said, indicating the ginger girl, ‘the one you claim is your friend, has no right to appear in decent society, either.’
‘Cassy…’ The ginger girl took hold of her arm, a look of concern on her face. He turned to address her.
‘My quarrel is not with you, miss. If you withdraw from society quietly, I shall pursue you no further. And if you—’ he turned to Miss Furnival once more ‘—confess your crimes to the Duchess, before any harm is done to her, and leave Town, I shall not expose you, either. I am, after all, a man of honour.’
‘A man of honour?’ Miss Furnival turned up her nose in scorn. ‘Men of honour go about interfering in matters that are of no concern to them, do they? Flexing their muscles and threatening defenceless females?’
He hadn’t flexed any muscles, in a literal sense, but somehow by referring to them he suddenly felt aware of several. One in particular that had been lying dormant for some years.
If she’d really been defenceless, that reaction might have given him pause. But she wasn’t. The ease with which she could arouse a man who’d been practically dead in that department just went to prove it. So he gave a bitter laugh.
‘Defenceless? You are about as defenceless as those sirens were, luring all those sailors to their deaths.’
She looked taken aback. It was a small victory, but one he was prepared to accept. And on the principle that it was better to withdraw while he had the advantage, he turned on his heel and quit the ballroom.
Cassandra watched the Colonel stalk from the ballroom, her heart pounding and her limbs shaking. She couldn’t believe she’d spoken so sharply to him. She never stood up to anyone, or lost her temper, ever. But then he’d dragged her through so many strong emotions in such a short space of time. Perhaps that was what had made her lose self-control.
To start with she couldn’t believe he would turn out to be so…unkind. She’d had such fond memories of him. He’d been the first man she’d ever looked at with any sort of romantic interest. And although he’d been far too mature and important to return that interest, she hadn’t held that against him. On the contrary, when he’d come to her rescue, several weeks after their initial meeting, he’d gone up in her estimation even higher. So much so that ever since, she’d thought of him as her hero. Her saviour. She’d never had the chance to thank him properly for what he’d done. And so she’d been really pleased to see him when he’d marched into the ballroom.
Only to learn that he hadn’t done what she thought he’d done at all. Far from stepping in, and rescuing her from her folly, he thought he’d been rescuing Guy from her clutches. Those few curt words had shattered the bubble of pleasure in which she’d been floating, during these last few weeks since she’d come to London. No, come to think of it, he’d punctured her pleasure the moment he’d reached her side when he’d accused her of being up to her neck in mischief just as she’d been thinking how wonderful it was to be able to renew their acquaintance. Now that she was old enough to hope he might see her as a woman and not a silly schoolgirl.
‘What,’ said Rosalind, breaking through the turmoil of her reactions, ‘was all that about? Who was he? And aren’t you supposed to be smiling? Her Grace says we are always supposed to have a serene smile stuck to our lips no matter what, when we’re out in society.’
Cassandra blinked. ‘Yes, of course, you are correct. Thank you for reminding me,’ she said, fixing the required smile in place.
‘Who is he? An old flame, or something?’
‘Not an old flame, no. But I did believe he’d been my friend. He was the only person, during the whole sorry episode, who did anything practical.’ He’d been like a rock. Standing firm in the midst of all the confusion on the quayside, the only one who seemed to know what was going on and having some control over it.
‘What sorry episode? And what did he mean about you scheming? Are we done for?’
‘I am so sorry, Rosalind,’ she said, turning to the girl, rather than continuing to gaze blankly at the door through which he’d just gone. ‘I did warn Godmama that things from my past might come back to haunt us, but she assured me that she could scotch all the rumours about the indiscretion, particularly since I committed it when I was scarcely more than a schoolgirl…’
‘Indiscretion?’ Rosalind’s eyes grew round with wonder. ‘You? And you always being held up as a pattern card for me to follow.’
Yes, well, Cassandra had spoken to Godmama about that, too. But she’d brushed Cassandra’s concerns aside, reminding her that Rosalind needed to learn so much in the way of deportment and etiquette that advising her to mould herself on Cassandra would be the quickest way to effect the necessary transformation in the short time they had available.
‘After all, it is one of the reasons I brought you to Town, darling,’ she’d said. ‘So that you could help me school Miss Mollington into behaviour fitting someone who could marry a titled man.’
Of course, Cassandra had felt that it was the least she could do to repay Godmama’s generosity and hard work in attempting to restore her reputation.
‘I am so sorry,’ said Cassandra. ‘You must be so disappointed…’
‘The only thing that will disappoint me is if you don’t, immediately, tell me all about it. What kind of indiscretion did you commit when you was a schoolgirl that could get a man like that in such a pother that he’d threaten to expose you?’
‘Not here,’ said Cassandra, who’d noticed that several people were looking their way, then looking at the door through which Colonel Fairfax had just marched, and then back at them again and then whispering behind their fans. ‘Come.’ She linked her arm through Rosalind’s and sauntered along until they reached the door to the terrace. There were a few people outside taking