The Accidental Countess (Accidental #2)(58)
Cassandra blinked up into the blue sky, tears slipping down her cheeks. She was obviously losing the battle not to cry. “I’m sorry, Julian. So sorry. I just wanted to … spend time with you.”
“And you couldn’t do that as Cassandra?” he said, an incredulous look on his face.
She swallowed again. “No,” she whispered brokenly.
He scrubbed his hands through his hair. “What about all the letters, the friendship we shared? Did that mean nothing to you that you could lie to me this way?”
She swiped at her tears with the back of her hand. “I cannot explain myself. I only know that it made a little bit of sense to me at the time and … Oh, Julian, I’d do anything to take it back, to make it so that—”
He put up a hand. “Don’t. Just don’t.”
“You didn’t recognize me when we first met.”
He closed his eyes briefly. “So it’s my fault?”
“No. No. Not at all.” She paced forward, then turned to face him. The tears flowed freely down her face now.
He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. She took it with a small smile and a grateful sniff. “Always the gentleman,” she murmured. “The perfect gentleman.”
“I wasn’t last night. When I kissed you … or Patience … or whoever you are. But I interrupted you. You were saying?”
Cassie took a deep breath. “I just couldn’t believe you didn’t know me and then Lucy told you I was Patience and … you have to know Lucy. She’s— I’m a complete fool. I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”
“You let me kiss you, thinking you were another woman. That’s completely—”
“Wrong?”
He groaned and scrubbed his hands through his hair again. “Among many other things.”
“Julian, I know it seems mad and inexplicable, but you have to believe that I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never meant for it to go this far. I wanted to tell you a dozen times. Everything I wrote in those letters, all of it, was true. That’s me. I’m your friend Cassandra. Don’t you remember me?” She grabbed his hand then and held it to her heart.
He closed his eyes. Her fingers were cold but her chest was warm. A tingle went up his arm. But he fought it. He mentally smashed his physical reaction to her. “I knew Cassandra from her letters.” He yanked his hand from her grasp. “You’re not Cassandra. I don’t know who you are.”
He turned on his heel and walked away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“Won’t you eat something?” Jane rubbed Cass’s back. She gestured toward the tureen of soup the maid had brought up to Cass’s bedchamber on a silver bed tray.
“I’m not hungry,” Cass choked out. She was lying on her bed, wearing her white linen night rail, stoically staring at the wall in front of her. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t cry anymore. Instead, she’d been silent. Silent and resigned, and that probably scared Jane more than if she’d been sobbing her eyes out.
“You’ve been like this for days,” Jane said, worry laced through her voice. “You must eat something.”
Cass pressed her handkerchief to her eyes. Yes. She’d been like this for four long days. Silent and inconsolable. The house party had quickly disbanded after the incident in the foyer. After Julian had left her on the terrace, she’d gone up to her rooms and asked Maria to quickly pack her bags. She’d traveled to her parents’ estate and taken Jane with her. She hadn’t so much as said good-bye to Lucy.
Lucy. Cass was filled with anger every time she thought about Lucy. She couldn’t even hear her name without clenching her fists. According to Jane, Lucy had been writing letters every day, hoping to be allowed to come over and speak to her, but Cass steadfastly refused. She’d also refused her mother’s insistence that she explain everything to her. Apparently, the afternoon Pen had left to return to London, an axle on her carriage wheel had snapped and she’d been closer to Cass’s parents’ estate than Lucy’s when it happened. Of all the luck. After all the scheming, the entire farce had been ruined by a simple axle.
After the debacle in the foyer, Garrett had quickly returned to his home. Julian had left for London immediately, and Owen had happily returned to town as well, obviously pleased to be through with his sister’s mad schemes. He’d taken Penelope with him. Their cousin was only too happy to have a ride. Dear Lord Berkeley had put a hand on Cass’s shoulder and told her how sorry he was that this particular charade hadn’t ended so well but he’d be honored to be invited to the next one.
That blasted carriage-wheel axle. Cass couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not that it made any difference. And not that it was Pen’s fault. But if only that axle hadn’t snapped, if only Pen hadn’t gone to Cass’s parents’ house that night, if only Pen hadn’t told Cass’s parents that Cass was, indeed, at the Upbridge estate, and if only the three hadn’t traveled back together the next morning … Cass might have got away with it all. Well, perhaps she would not have actually got away with it, per se, but at least she’d have had the chance to try to explain it to Julian by herself, without him finding out in such a horrible manner. Then he would have known that she didn’t intend to lie to him indefinitely, that she wasn’t the horrible person he thought she was. Oh, who was she fooling? She was horrible. Loathsome, actually. The only person she could summon true anger against was herself.