Miss Weston's Masquerade by Louise Allen Page A

her.
    ‘Cultural activities like last night, I suppose?’ she jibed. ‘Intellectual conversation with half-naked women? A philosophical study of games of chance? I can imagine what an exhausting time you will have. No wonder you won’t come to Vienna with me, it might stop you enriching yourself culturally.’
    Nicholas swivelled slowly to face her, anger etched in his features. ‘You, Cassandra Weston, are a shrew. Sharp-tongued, devoid of feminine graces and intolerant to boot. Well, I capitulate. You have your victory.’
    Cassandra swallowed her resentment at his insults. ‘You will accompany me, then?’
    ‘On the contrary, Miss Weston. You will accompany me . You can see what pleasure there is to be had in travelling on rough roads, sleeping in flea-infested inns and eating disgusting food. And, of course, I shall rely on you to draw my attention to all the cultural sights along the way.’
    He was exaggerating the difficulties to frighten her, of course. Cassandra beamed at him. ‘Oh, thank you, Nicholas. I knew you wouldn’t have been so unkind as to have left me. Marseilles and the Mediterranean and Italy . I can hardly wait. Will we cross the Alps?’
    ‘I sincerely hope not. I despair of you, Cassandra, this is not a treat, this is a punishment. Now, get ready and pack your bags. We will leave after luncheon, before the Count has spread the news of your presence round every gossip in Paris.’
    ‘Shall I travel as your daughter or your niece?’ Cassandra smoothed her muslin gown. ‘We had better decide for the passports.’
    ‘Daughter? I’m thirteen years older than you are, brat, not twenty.’ Nicholas grinned wickedly, showing a gleam of white teeth. ‘Think again, Cassandra. I have no intention of dragging a lady’s maid across Europe to lend you countenance. I brought you here as my valet, and my valet you will remain.’
     
    ‘I will say this for you, Cassie, you don’t sulk.’ Nicholas leaned back against the brocade squabs of his uncle’s travelling carriage and eyed her with more favour than he had for several days.
    They had been handed back their documents duly stamped at the Porte d’Italie and Cassandra was folding them carefully back into the leather satchel on the seat beside her.
    ‘There’s never been much point in sulking,’ she observed, with a last regretful look out of the window as Paris receded behind them. ‘When you spend all your time alone, nobody notices.’
    ‘Poor brat. What a very dull life you must have led. No wonder you wanted an adventure.’ Nicholas closed his eyes and settled his shoulders more comfortably. ‘Wake me up if anything interesting happens.’
    Cassandra sighed and gazed out of the window. It was as if the three days in Paris hadn’t happened. Perhaps she’d dreamt it. Her fingers came up involuntarily to brush her lips. No, that embrace had been no dream. She shivered with mixed pleasure and apprehension. It was foolish to dwell so on her first kiss. It hadn’t meant a thing to Nicholas, that was plain. And now she must settle back into the master-servant relationship when they were among people. When they were alone she must be even more careful because if she continued to provoke and tease him, he would soon realise she wasn’t the child she pretended.
    Or did he realise, anyway? The Earl of Lydford was no fool. Perhaps he was pretending to believe her for her own sake. If the truth came out into the open, he would have no choice but to send her off to his mother and hope she wasn’t ruined irretrievably.
    On the other hand, his taste in women seemed to run to the older, elegant, experienced and, no doubt married, ladies like Lady Broome. He wouldn’t notice well-scrubbed, innocent country girls. The carriage lurched on the rutted surface of the dry road and Cassandra grabbed a hanging strap to steady herself, wishing she’d brought a book with her. An Italian one would have served to polish up the reading she’d already done