“But, César—”
He stood up. “I can see,” he said coldly, “that you have made up your mind to side against me.”
“I’m never against you!” she cried, stung. “I am your friend, and you know that.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but she rushed on: “As your friend, I tell you it would be unwise to go against Calderon at this stage.”
“If you don’t wish to plan this party for me,” he said, his voice now like ice, “I will do it myself. But I never thought you, of all people, would take the side of my enemy.”
With that parting shot, he stalked out of her office in a fury, and she let out her breath on a slow sigh, appreciating that getting these two men to cooperate with one another and work together was not going to be easy.
Perhaps she ought to just stay out of it. After all, she didn’t seem to be very good at brokering truces these days. On the other hand…
Her gaze strayed to Cassandra’s letter, and she wondered if perhaps she could accomplish two good deeds in one fell swoop. It was, she decided, worth a try.
13
Simon was town bred. Though he’d spent most of his military service in Africa and trekked through the bush with Devlin a time or two when he was on leave, in all the thirty-six years of his life, he’d never lived in the English countryside. But he knew it was considered a peaceful, serene sort of life, and peace and serenity were things he badly needed just now.
Delia’s kiss had left him a hot, hard, unholy mess, and walking away from her had felt like ripping himself in half, but thankfully, there was little cause at Ivywild to think of her, though he did take her advice. He paid calls upon his neighbors, and just as she had predicted, the county returned the favor, ensuring that Cassandra would have the pleasure of company and amusements whenever he could not be with her. When she suggested a dinner party for their newfound friends in the county, he gladly agreed, his only qualification being that he did not have to plan the menu.
Since receiving the estate along with his title eight months ago, he’d spent very little time here—an occasional weekend to see his sister, a week at Christmas, and that was all. But to keep his mind away from thoughts of Delia, he threw himself into estate business and country life, and as the last days of February slipped away and March began,he found that tramping muddy lanes in the rain, visiting the cottages, and touring the farms with his land agent, Mr. Beecher, cooled his blood more effectively than all the willpower he possessed ever could. And much to his own surprise, he discovered that he liked country life.
Two weeks after his arrival, he and Beecher decided to tour Lowe’s Farm and see how his pigs were getting on. When they arrived, they found that six of the pigs had gotten out and were happily rolling around in the mud of the field beyond. Both of them were roped in to help by Lowe and his two sons, and by the time all the recalcitrant animals were safely back in the pen, all five men were covered in muck. It was nearly dark by the time Beecher’s wagon pulled back into the drive at Ivywild.
To his surprise, Cassandra was on the front steps as his boots hit the gravel, and she came running down to greet them.
“At last!” she cried, stopping beside the wagon. “I thought you’d never return. You were supposed to be back ages ago. Heavens,” she added, looking them over in dismay. “You two look as if you’ve been rolling in the sty with the pigs.”
“Perhaps because we have been. After a fashion.” Simon glanced down over his muddy trousers and boots and those of Mr. Beecher, and he laughed, shaking back his wet hair. “God, we do look a sight, don’t we?”
“One of the hazards of country life, my lord,” his land agent replied. “If we’re finished for the day, I’ll be off home.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you, Beecher. Perhaps we should have a look at the warrens tomorrow?”
“If you like.” Beecher tipped his cap to Cassandra. “Miss Hayden.”
The land agent departed, and Simon turned to his sister. “I’m going up to bathe and change before dinner.”
“Excellent idea,” she approved, her nose wrinkling up. “But, Simon, I have something to tell you before you go up.”
“Walk with me, then.”
He gestured to the house, but to his surprise, she hung back, shaking her head.
“I can’t,” she said, glancing past him down the drive. “It’s best if I tell you right here. We don’t have much time, you see.”
Puzzled, he studied her, and when he saw her lift her hand to her neck and begin twirling a loose tendril of her hair around her finger, he felt a hint of misgiving. Cassie only twirled her hair when she was nervous.
“Time for what?” he asked, bracing himself.
She opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, the sound of wheels on gravel and the rattle of horses’ traces told him a visitor was coming up the drive. But when he turned, he was surprised to see the vehicle approaching was his own carriage, with his own driver on the box.
“What the devil?” he muttered in surprise.
He glanced at his sister, who was looking decidedly guilty, then back at his approaching carriage, which was now circling around the fountain in the drive, and when he saw the face of the passenger inside, a delicate face of dark blue eyes, finely arched black brows, and a dazzling, dimpled smile, all the composure he’d spent the past two weeks striving to achieve went sailing straight off into the wind.
The carriage pulled to a stop, his driver rolled out the steps, and Delia exited the vehicle, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of her filmy petticoats, dainty foot, and stocking-clad ankle beneath the hem of her dark green traveling suit, and Simon was caught between wanting to haul her into his arms and kiss her senseless and shoving her into the carriage to send her straight back to London. It wasn’t until she stopped in front of him and her gaze traveled down over his body did he remember the state he was in, and when she pressed her lipstogether against a smile, he felt as foolish and painfully embarrassed as a schoolboy caught writing a love letter to the girl next door.
