Chasing Cassandra Read online

  Lisa Kleypas graduated from Wellesley College with a political science degree. She is a RITA® Award-winning author of both historical romance and contemporary women’s fiction. Her novels are published in fourteen different languages and are bestsellers all over the world. She lives in Washington State with her husband, Gregory, and their two children.

  Visit Lisa Kleypas online:

  www.lisakleypas.com

  Facebook & Twitter: @LisaKleypas

  Praise for Lisa Kleypas:

  ‘A funny and charming story that will delight readers from the first page to the last’

  Kirkus Reviews

  ‘Flawlessly written … pure reading magic’

  Booklist

  ‘Magical’

  RT Book Reviews

  By Lisa Kleypas

  HISTORICAL

  The Ravenels

  Cold-Hearted Rake

  Marrying Winterborne

  Devil in Spring

  Hello Stranger

  Devil’s Daughter

  Chasing Cassandra

  The Hathaways

  Mine Till Midnight

  Seduce Me at Sunrise

  Tempt Me at Twilight

  Married by Morning

  Love in the Afternoon

  The Wallflowers

  Secrets of a Summer Night

  It Happened One Autumn

  The Devil in Winter

  Scandal in Spring

  A Wallflower Christmas

  (ebook only)

  Bow Street Runners

  Someone to Watch Over Me

  Lady Sophia’s Lover

  Worth Any Price

  Standalone

  Again the Magic (ebook only)

  CONTEMPORARY

  Friday Harbour

  Christmas Eve at Friday

  Harbour

  Rainshadow Road

  Dream Lake

  Crystal Cove

  Travis Series

  Sugar Daddy

  Blue-Eyed Devil

  Smooth Talking Stranger

  Brown-Eyed Girl

  Copyright

  Published by Piatkus

  ISBN: 978-0-349-40771-5

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Lisa Kleypas

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  Piatkus

  Little, Brown Book Group

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  www.littlebrown.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Contents

  About the Author

  Praise for Lisa Kleypas

  Alos by Lisa Kleypas

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Lady Cassandra’s Afternoon Tea Scones

  To Carrie Feron,

  my editor, my inspiration,

  and my safe place in the storm.

  Love always,

  L. K.

  Chapter 1

  Hampshire, England

  June 1876

  IT HAD BEEN A mistake to invite himself to the wedding.

  Not that Tom Severin gave a damn about politeness or etiquette. He liked barging into places where he hadn’t been invited, knowing he was too rich for anyone to dare throw him out. But he should have anticipated the Ravenel wedding would be an utter bore, as weddings always were. Nothing but romantic drivel, lukewarm food, and far, far too many flowers. At the ceremony this morning, the tiny estate chapel of Eversby Priory had been stuffed to the rafters, as if the entire Covent Garden Flower Market had disgorged its contents there. The air had been so thick with perfume that it had given Tom a mild headache.

  He wandered through the ancient Jacobean manor house, looking for a quiet place to sit and close his eyes. Outside, guests congregated at the front entrance to cheer for the newly married couple as they departed for their honeymoon.

  With the exception of a few guests such as Rhys Winterborne, a Welsh department store owner, this was an aristocratic crowd. That meant the conversation consisted of subjects Tom couldn’t give a rat’s arse about. Foxhunting. Music. Distinguished ancestors. No one at these gatherings ever discussed business, politics, or anything else Tom might have found interesting.

  The ancient Jacobean house had the typical dilapidated-but-luxurious look of an ancestral country manor. Tom didn’t like old things, the smell of mustiness and the accumulated dust of centuries, the worn carpets, the ripples and distortions of antique window glass panes. Nor did the beauty of the surrounding countryside hold any enchantment for him. Most people would have agreed that Hampshire, with its green hills, lush woodland, and sparkling chalk streams, was one of the most naturally beautiful places on earth. In general, however, the only thing Tom liked to do with nature was cover it with roads, bridges, and railway tracks.

  The sounds of distant cheers and laughter funneled into the house’s quiet interior. No doubt the newlyweds were making their escape amid a shower of uncooked rice. Everyone here seemed genuinely happy, which Tom found both annoying and somewhat mystifying. It was as if they all knew some secret that had been kept from him.

  After having made a fortune in railways and construction, Tom had never expected to feel the bite of envy again. But here it was, gnawing at him like woodworm in old timber. It made no sense. He was happier than most of these people, or at least richer, which was more or less the same thing. But why didn’t he feel happy? It had been months since he’d felt much of anything at all. He’d been overtaken by a gradual, creeping awareness that all his usual appetites had been blunted. Things that usually gave him pleasure now bored him. Nothing, not even spending a night in the arms of a beautiful woman, had been satisfying. He’d never been like this before. He was at a loss to know what to do about it.

  He’d thought it might do him some good to spend some time with Devon and West Ravenel, whom he’d known for at least a decade. The three of them, along with the rest of their disreputable crowd, had often caroused and brawled their way across London. But things had changed. Two years ago, Devon had unexpectedly inherited an earldom and had assumed the role of responsible family patriarch. And West, the formerly carefree drunkard, now managed the estate and tenants, and talked incessantly about the weather. The weather, for God’s sake. The Ravenel brothers, formerly so entertaining, had become as tedious as everyone else.

  Entering an empty music room, Tom found a large upholstered chair occupying a shadowy nook. After turning the chair to face away from the door, he sat and closed his eyes. Th
e room was as silent as a sepulcher, except for the delicate ticking of a clock somewhere. An unfamiliar weariness settled over him as gently as mist, and he let out a sigh. People had always joked about his vitality and his fast-paced life, and how no one could keep up with him. Now it seemed he couldn’t keep up with himself.

  He needed to do something to jolt himself out of this spell.

  Maybe he should marry. At the age of thirty-one, it was high time to take a wife and sire children. There were dozens of eligible young women here, all blue-blooded and well-bred. Marrying one of them would help to advance him socially. He considered the Ravenel sisters. The oldest, Helen, had married Rhys Winterborne, and Lady Pandora had married Lord St. Vincent this morning. But there was one sister left … Pandora’s twin, Cassandra.

  Tom had yet to meet her, but he’d caught a glimpse of her at dinner last night, through multiple bowers of greenery and forests of silver candelabra. From what he’d been able to tell, she was young, blond, and quiet. Which wasn’t necessarily all he wanted in a wife, but it was a good start.

  The sound of someone entering the room broke through his thoughts. Damn. Of the dozens of unoccupied rooms on this floor of the house, it would have to be this one. Tom was about to stand and make his presence known when the sounds of a female sob caused him to shrink deeper into the chair. Oh, no. A crying woman.

  “I’m sorry,” the unfamiliar feminine voice quavered. “I don’t know why I’m so emotional.”

  For a moment Tom thought she might have been talking to him, but then a man replied.

  “I imagine it’s not easy to be separated from a sister who’s always been your closest companion. A twin, no less.” The speaker was West Ravenel, his tone far warmer and more tender than any Tom had ever heard him use before.

  “It’s only because I know I’ll miss her. But I’m happy she’s found true love. So very happy—” Her voice broke.

  “So I see,” West said dryly. “Here, take this handkerchief and let’s wipe away those tears of joy.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It would hardly be unnatural,” West commented kindly, “for you to feel a touch of jealousy. It’s no secret that you’ve wanted to find a match, whereas Pandora has always been determined never to marry at all.”

  “I’m not jealous, I’m worried.” The woman blew her nose with a soft little snort. “I’ve gone to all the dinners and dances, and I’ve met everyone. Some of the eligible gentlemen have been very pleasant, but even when there’s nothing terribly wrong with one of them, there’s nothing terribly right either. I’ve given up looking for love, I’m only searching for someone I could come to love over time, and I can’t even find that. There’s something wrong with me. I’m going to end up an old maid.”

  “There’s no such thing as an old maid.”

  “Wh-what would you call a middle-aged lady who’s never married?”

  “A woman with standards?” West suggested.

  “You might call it that, but everyone else says ‘old maid.’” A glum pause. “Also, I’m too plump. All my dresses are tight.”

  “You look the same as always.”

  “My dress had to be altered last night. It wouldn’t button up the back.”

  Twisting stealthily in the chair, Tom peeked around the edge. His breath caught as he stared at her in wonder.

  For the first time in his life, Tom Severin was smitten. Smitten and slain.

  She was beautiful the way fire and sunlight were beautiful, warm and glowing and golden. The sight of her dealt him a famished, hollow feeling. She was everything he’d missed in his disadvantaged youth, every lost hope and opportunity.

  “Sweetheart,” West murmured kindly, “listen to me. There’s no need to worry. You’ll either meet someone new, or you’ll reconsider someone you didn’t appreciate at first. Some men are an acquired taste. Like oysters, or Gorgonzola cheese.”

  She let out a shuddering sigh. “Cousin West, if I haven’t married by the time I’m twenty-five … and you’re still a bachelor … would you be my oyster?”

  West looked at her blankly.

  “Let’s agree to marry each other someday,” she continued, “if no one else wants us. I would be a good wife. All I’ve ever dreamed of is having my own little family, and a happy home where everyone feels safe and welcome. You know I never nag or slam doors or sulk in corners. I just need someone to take care of. I want to matter to someone. Before you refuse—”

  “Lady Cassandra Ravenel,” West interrupted, “that is the most idiotic idea anyone’s come up with since Napoleon decided to invade Russia.”

  Her gaze turned reproachful. “Why?”

  “Among a dizzying array of reasons, you’re too young for me.”

  “You’re no older than Lord St. Vincent, and he just married my twin.”

  “I’m older than him on the inside, by decades. My soul is a raisin. Take my word for it, you don’t want to be my wife.”

  “It would be better than being lonely.”

  “What rubbish. ‘Alone’ and ‘lonely’ are entirely different things.” West reached out to smooth back a dangling golden curl that had stuck against a drying tear track on her cheek. “Now, go bathe your face in cool water, and—”

  “I’ll be your oyster,” Tom broke in. He stood from the chair and approached the pair, who stared at him in openmouthed astonishment.

  Tom was more than a little surprised himself. If there was anything he was good at, it was negotiating business deals, and this was not the way to start off. In just a few words, he’d managed to put himself in the weakest possible position.

  But he wanted her so badly, he couldn’t help himself.

  The closer he drew to her, the harder it became to think straight. His heart worked in a fast and broken rhythm he could feel against his ribs.

  Cassandra moved close to West as if for protection, and stared at him as if he were a lunatic. Tom could hardly blame her. In fact, he already regretted this entire approach, but it was too late to hold back now.

  West was scowling. “Severin, what the devil are you doing in here?”

  “I was resting in the chair. After you started talking, I couldn’t find a good moment to interrupt.” Tom couldn’t take his gaze from Cassandra. Her wide, wondering eyes were like soft blue midnight, star-glittered with forgotten tears. The curves of her body looked firm and sweet, no hard angles or straight lines anywhere … nothing but inviting, sensual softness. If she were his … he might finally have the sense of ease other men had. No more spending every minute of the day striving and hungering and never feeling sated.

  “I’ll marry you,” Tom told her. “Any time. Any terms.”

  West gently nudged Cassandra toward the door. “Go, darling, while I talk with the insane man.”

  She gave her cousin a flustered nod and obeyed.

  After she’d crossed the threshold, Tom said urgently, without thinking, “My lady?”

  Slowly she reappeared, peeking at him from behind the doorjamb.

  Tom wasn’t sure what to say, only that he couldn’t let her leave thinking she was anything less than perfect, exactly as she was.

  “You’re not too plump,” he said gruffly. “The more of you there is in the world, the better.”

  As far as compliments went, it wasn’t exactly eloquent, or even appropriate. But amusement sparkled in the one blue eye that was visible before Cassandra vanished.

  Every muscle in his body tensed with the instinct to follow her like a hound on the scent.

  West turned to face Tom, his expression puzzled and annoyed.

  Before his friend could say a word, Tom asked urgently, “Can I have her?”

  “No.”

  “I have to have her, let me have her—”

  “No.”

  Tom turned businesslike. “You want her for yourself. Perfectly understandable. We’ll negotiate.”

  “You just overheard me refusing to marry her,” West pointed out irritably.

 
; Which Tom hadn’t believed for a moment. How could West, or any man with working parts, not want her with this all-consuming intensity? “Obviously a strategy to reel her in later,” he said. “But I’ll give you a quarter of a railway company for her. Also shares in an excavation company. I’ll throw in some hard cash. Name the amount.”

  “Are you mad? Lady Cassandra isn’t a possession I can hand over like an umbrella. In fact, I wouldn’t even give you an umbrella.”

  “You could talk her into it. It’s obvious she trusts you.”

  “And you think I would use that against her?”

  Tom was perplexed and impatient. “What’s the point of having someone’s trust if you won’t use it against them?”

  “Lady Cassandra is never going to marry you, Severin,” West said in exasperation.

  “But she’s what I’ve always wanted.”

  “How do you know? So far all you’ve seen is a pretty young woman with blond hair and blue eyes. Does it occur to you to wonder what’s on the inside?”

  “No. I don’t care. She can be whatever she wants on the inside, as long as she lets me have the outside.” As Tom saw West’s expression, he said with a touch of defensiveness, “You know I’ve never been one of those sentimental fellows.”

  “You mean the ones with actual human emotions?” West asked acidly.

  “I have emotions.” Tom paused. “When I want to.”

  “I’m having an emotion right now. And before it obliges me to wedge my boot up your arse, I’m going to put some distance between us.” West skewered him with a lethal glance. “Stay away from her, Tom. Find some other innocent girl to corrupt. I already have enough excuses to murder you as it is.”

  Tom’s brows lifted. “Are you still sour about that contract negotiation?” he asked with a touch of surprise.

  “I will always be sour about that,” West informed him. “You tried to cheat us out of the mineral rights to our own estate, when you knew we were at the verge of bankruptcy.”

  “That was business,” Tom protested.

  “What about friendship?”

  “Friendship and business are two separate things.”

  “Are you trying to claim you wouldn’t mind if a friend tried to fleece you, especially if you wanted the money?”