Patricia Rice by Dash of Enchantment Page A

deadly still. Her mother was all she had
left. She lived in dread of the terrible attacks that left the invalid blue and
gasping for air. She had promised time and again to curb her temper, but she
was justified in her fury this time.
    “Touch one hair on my head, Duncan, and I will scream the
house down. Aunt Matilda is still here. You’ll never inherit a cent from her if
she knows you beat me.”
    “I’m not likely to inherit more than loathing from the
stiff-necked old biddy in any case. I haven’t time to beat you, Cass. I’m
meeting Rupert so I can begin collecting your settlement. I’ll leave you to
him. I daresay he’ll know how to settle your childish tantrums.”
    He caught Cassandra’s wrist in his gloved grip as she
reached for his box of pistols. “Merrick isn’t man enough to beat you and bed
you until you’re biddable. Rupert is. I’d suggest you learn to curb your temper
in this next week, Cass. I’ll not come to your rescue if your new husband feels
called upon to make you mind. My sympathies are entirely with him.”
    Duncan didn’t attempt to hide the threat in his voice. He
never had. Her father had beat her on more than one occasion, but he’d never
allowed Duncan to touch her. But once the marquess was dead, Duncan had no
barrier to his behavior.
    “I won’t, Duncan,” she whispered as the pain of his grip
twisted her arm backward. “You can’t make me marry him. Let me marry Merrick.
Then you will be rid of me.”
    “I would have, if he’d offered enough. It would have served
you right to marry such a milk-livered man. But he’s too clutch-fisted to waste
his coins on the likes of you, Cassie. Go order up your bride clothes, little
sister. Saturday is your wedding day.”
    Cassandra blanched. Less than a week. She had to find Merrick
and make him elope with her.
    As if reading her thoughts, Duncan smiled and released her
hand. “Don’t even think it, Cass. I need only tell Merrick who your real father
is, and he’ll cut you cold. You wouldn’t want our dirty linen aired in public,
would you, now? Or should I say, our mother’s dirty linen?”
    He donned his hat, leaving Cassandra staring white-faced and
cold at the portrait of the late marquess over Duncan’s mantel: the devilish
black-haired marquess who had given his name to a changeling red-haired child
like Cassandra.
    She shivered and slid into a hunched ball at the bottom of
the closed door. No one could save her but herself, as usual.

Chapter 7
    Merrick lifted the beautiful hand-blown crystal goblet to
the fire’s light and admired the flash of gold and diamonds created by the
contents. The heady liquor left burning trails along his palate, and he savored
the fire.
    He had almost possessed just such a fire of his own. He
could still taste the passionate liquor of Cassandra’s mouth, still feel the
fire of red-gold silk against his palms. One brief moment to last a lifetime.
    Sighing, he took another deep draft of the expensive brandy.
He was well on his way to being solidly in his cups, but a man had a right to
an occasional lapse from sobriety. The wedding night of his intended bride was
one of them.
    “Never saw a lovelier bride, Wyatt. Never did, old boy. Wasn’t
she splendid?” Bertie asked. “All that shimmery gauze, and hair like fire.
Rupert don’t deserve her. Not our Cass. She’s a wild one, but young. What
happened, Wyatt? How did she get away?”
    Wyatt wished Bertie to hell, but then he would be drinking
alone, and he’d sworn he would never drink alone. He lifted the glass for
another sip, but it was empty. Staring at the goblet for a moment, Wyatt shook
his head to clear the fog.
    “She wasn’t ours, Bertie. Never was. She’s a Howard. Was a
Howard. Not country folk like us. They’re off to Paris on their wedding trip, I
hear. Would you have thought to take her to Paris? I never would. They were
just fighting battles over there a few months ago. We’re getting old and dull,
my friend. We