Chapter 9
Cassandra pulled on her black leather gloves and spared a final glance at her appearance. Back in black. She sighed dramatically and stuck her tongue out at her reflection. Not the most flattering of colours, especially since she was en route on her first patrol with the intriguing His Grace, Emmanuel Moire.
Just thinking his name sent her stomach into a riot of sensation. She seemed to have lost a little of her self-control where he was concerned. The man is positively mesmerising! she thought.
"But I cannot let him know that," she said to her reflection. She pulled her hood up and over her head. "Come on Cassie, this night is about catching a killer, and Lord Moire, well, he is just a man." A gorgeous one, her conscious shouted back as she made her way to the stables.
They had decided to go on horseback, making it easier to get away, should there be any trouble. George had seen to it that her mare was saddled and ready. Entering the stables, she was reminded of the sweetest memories from her childhood.
Going riding with her parents, helping the stable hands feed the horses, playing with the cats, watching James with his dogs, racing Miranda, or playing hide and seek. She stood for just a second and just inhaled the memory laden fragrances.
Nostalgia wrapped its arms around her. There were the smells from the various polishes used on the saddles, she smelt hay, fresh, and like sunshine against the cold night. And she smelt the horses. She smiled. She could almost believe she was ten again.
"My Lady, you look very far off."
Inside, her heart leapt right into her throat. Outwardly, Cassandra breathed in deeply and then opened her eyes. She stared into an ocean. Even with only the candles lighting the stable, Lord Moire had the bluest, most intensely cobalt eyes she had ever seen.
"Your Grace, you startled me."
He raised an eyebrow, questioning her calm exterior. "Apologies. And I thought we had decided to drop the formalities." He took her hand and brought it to his lips. "Please Cassandra, you would honour me by using my name."
When she could breathe again, Cassandra just nodded. Not really even sure what he had said.
"We should get going."
Emmanuel swept aside and watched her as she brushed past him. "You have some wonderful horses."
She walked up to her mare. She was saddled and ready. "Thank you, yes. My brother, James, and I fell in love with horses when we were very young. My parents loved to ride. And we would spend every moment out of doors. After my mother died, my father could not bring himself to ride without her."
Cassandra blushed at having said so much. She had never meant to. She was grateful for the long shadows which hid her face. She occupied her fretful hands by stroking the mane of her beloved horse.
"You were a gift, were you not, beloved Sadie?" The horse, recognising her mistress, nuzzled at Cassandra's hand, looking for a treat.
Emmanuel watched the beautiful woman who seemed to have forgotten his presence for the time being, enjoy her horse. Cassandra laughed, a throaty, wispy sound as she murmured, "You are a greedy little beast, are you not?"
For the first time in his life, Emmanuel felt utterly enraptured by a female. There had been many women in his past, but they had been mostly play things, used for pleasure, and amusement. Somehow, and he didn't know why, his whole being told him that this woman was different.
She certainly was beautiful. But that wasn't it. There was a sureness of character, bravery, a courageous spirit, and watching her with her horse, a devotion and compassion for her friend, and her animal. His heart shuddered a little in his chest, and he shook himself, recalling the purpose of their meeting.
He cleared his throat. "Sadie. A sweet name for a horse who leads to such dark intent."
Cassandra, still rubbing the mare, turned back and smiled. Emmanuel was sure the entire stable was lit by its radiance. "It is, is it not? I had wanted to call her Venus, or Cleopatra, after the Egyptian queen. But my twin sister had called her Sadie as a joke, and somehow, the name stuck." She looked back at the horse. "And you loved it too, did you not, sweet Sadie?" The horse snickered.
George entered the stable, leading a large black stallion. "My Lord."
"Ah, yes." Emmanuel walked over. "Cassandra," he eyed her horse, "and Sadie," he smiled, "please allow me to introduce, Kingsley."
Cassandra moved over. "He is beautiful."
The horse stomped his hooves. "And he is also impatient to get going. Shall we?"
Emmanuel would have handed Cassandra up into the saddle, but she nimbly swung up and over. He was suitably impressed.
"Ladies first."
Cassandra didn't wait another second. Smiling mischievously, she nudged the sides of her mare and sent Sadie leaping forth, and out into the black night.
Chuckling, Emmanuel did the same, feeling more vigour and excitement than he had in a long time.
They rode swiftly, their horses equally matched as they headed north of London, where many abandoned buildings were often the meeting place of outlaws and thieves. It was also home to some of the poorest and most destitute members of society, most of which were foreigners and immigrants who had come to England, hoping for a better life, and finding poverty and strife instead.
Nearing the makeshift city, Emmanuel stopped occasionally to ask stragglers at road side a few questions. She heard him speak Spanish, German, and listening to the exchange between another man, it seemed also French.
"Monsieur, Merci." He placed a few coins in the man's hand. "Adieu."
Cassandra stared for a moment. His accent was so prominent, so comfortable, that for a minute, it seemed as if he were a Frenchman, and not an English nobleman.
They veered off the road, and winded up the side of a small hill, before reaching the top. There they dismounted and tethered their horses to a nearby tree, well out of sight, cloaked by night.
They were going to lie low, and watch the evening's activities, watch the comings and goings, see if any one of interest visited the area. From their vantage point, high on a hilltop, a panorama of the sprawling slums lay beneath them.
Looking at the dusty surface under the tree, Emmanuel said, "Not the most comfortable accommodations I am afraid."
"Oh, it is perfect, Your Grace. I assure you, Em and I have been in much worse." She grimaced. "At least it does not stink."
Both of them lowered themselves to the ground. Many carriages were milling about, mostly gentlemen seeking female company, hoping to commandeer the services of a doxy for a few hours. Crouching down low, Emmanuel handed her a 'spy glass' and looked through the one he had brought for himself.
Cassandra was impressed. He had come prepared.
"Everything seems normal at present."
"Yes, just men seeking to... get lucky."
Emmanuel shot her a sideways glance.
Cassandra ignored him. "Or so I'm told, Your Grace."
He chuckled, and at that point, she was absolutely certain that there was no sweeter sound. The mixture of husky undertones, warmth from his mirth, and just his personality, all seemed to imbue the sound. Cassandra was sure that should she be able to capture the sound, so that it may be played to audiences, she would become a wealthy woman.
Watching the activities below, Cassandra said flippantly, as if questions about him weren't burning the insides of her brain. "You speak French very well."
A small smile passed on his face, but because Cassandra wasn't looking at him, she hadn't noticed. "My mother was an English noblewoman who travelled to France with her family and eventually settled there. She married my father," he smiled in fond memory, she thought, "who was French."
More than mildly intrigued, Cassandra didn't say anything, and hoped he would continue. Sensing her wishes, he did. "My father, he was actually the great grandson of the Dauphin of France."
Cassandra's turned to him in stunned surprise. "Which would make you the great, great grandson. B-but that means you are true French royalty!"
Another of those irresistible chuckles escaped. "True, although the French do not stand on so much ceremony as the English. I spent much of my childhood in France. But my mother, although she had come to love Paris, her heart belonged to England. We relocated here when I was a boy of thirteen."
"Which is why you sounded like a true Frenchman back there." Cassandra was enraptured.
He raised an eyebrow at her astute observation. She had been watching him.
Cassandra, aware she had just said too much, recovered with, "You have led a very interesting life, Your Grace."
"As have you, my Lady. A female version of a highwayman, not exactly the usual upbringing for a lady. I wonder if that is why you are not yet married?"
"I am determined, that only the truest affection will induce me to wander down the path leading to a marital union." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And since I have not yet met that gentleman, I am content with my single state," she grimaced with amusement, as if to make light of the conversation. Raising her voice slightly, she continued. "But the ladies of the ton would have you believe I have long since passed any chance of wedded bliss."
"I cannot believe that, Cassandra."
Something in his voice made her look at him and it was a mistake. His eyes shone like sapphires. They are bewitching. She couldn't read him, and didn't even know how. She had never met anyone like him, and she had a feeling that anyone she met from here on out, she would always compare to him.
Their eyes met, and time stood still. Emmanuel shifted closer. He lifted his hand, and lightly lifted a wayward strand of her hair. Her breath caught in her throat.
"I believe that any man would be in need of medical council if they did not see your beauty." His voice had dropped to a husky whisper. Cassandra suddenly felt the air thin. She needed to breathe, yet at the same time, even as her chest rose and fell, short choppy breathes, she remained dissatisfied.
And then he moved closer. Cassandra dropped her eyes to his lips, and then back to lock with his gaze. There was a light in his eyes, and it was mesmerising her.
His lips touched hers, and everything went dark. Her head swam, her heart raced. Cassandra pulled back, just a little. Her cheeks had bloomed with colour and she looked down shyly.
Emmanuel was enchanted. He lifted her chin, smiled a roguish smile, and slowly, softly, kissed her again.
Cassandra was lost. Slowly, she moved her hands up the front of his coat, and slowly wound her arms around his neck, to fist in his hair.
Emmanuel moved his lips, kissing her fevered cheeks lightly, her eyes, her temples. She moaned softly, like a kitten.
He kissed her lightly on her lips once more, and then pulled back, running his fingers where his lips had just touched.
Cassandra lowered her head to his chest in silent mortification.
He laughed quietly, and she felt the little tremors vibrate under her hands. Near her ear, he whispered, "Forgive my boldness, Cassandra."
Before she could answer though, there was a loud commotion down below. Emmanuel released her swiftly and, using the 'spy glass', investigated.
"A barouche."
Cassandra pulled herself together. Her head was still swimming, but through the fog she heard him. "A barouche? Here? No gentleman, not even one desperate enough for the females this side of town provides, would be fool enough to be that conspicuous!"
"That is no mere drunken gentleman. Those are vampires, Cassandra. See the crest on the side? And it looks like they are here to wreak a little havoc."
She finished his sentence. "And they do not care who will see them."
He nodded grimly. "Are you ready to get a closer look?"
Cassandra nodded, already moving from her spot on the floor.
Emmanuel caught her hand and halted her. She looked at him enquiringly, but didn't say anything. For a minute he just held on, and then let her hand go.
So much to say. This wasn't the time. There would be time later.
"Saddle up, my Lady."
They both swung into their saddles and galloped down the hill.