Chapter 112

He allowed his eyes to rove over her face with the strange attentiveness of a man who had been deprived of something precious for far longer. He took in the familiar blue of her eyes, the shade unlike any he had encountered elsewhere, the soft contours of her features and the golden hair framing her face, lingering as if he were reacquainting himself with every detail.

Cassandra noticed him standing stiffly and smiled.

Her smile was the prettiest thing he had ever seen.

He was in front of her in the blink of an eye

Taking her hand, he lifted it to his lips and kissed her knuckles, all while holding her gaze.

The intimacy of it made Cassandra’s stomach swoop.

Before she could recover, he stepped closer and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek.

It was becoming his preferred way of greeting her.

She was beginning to suspect that he knew exactly how much it affected her.

"Have you been well?" he asked.

"I have been very well. And you?"

"My day has improved considerably now that you are here."

Cassandra chuckled.

"You do not need to put on such an act when we are alone. No need to flatter me, there is nobody here to perform for."

Draven looked genuinely puzzled by this.

"Who says I am performing? I am simply showing my affections as your future husband."

He sounded so sincere, it was hard for her to tell if he was being serious or not.

Cassandra shook her head, clearly unconvinced.

"They say distance makes the heart grow fonder and I miss you, my dear friend." Draven offered her his arm. "Take a walk with me. I want to hear all you have been up to without me."

She slipped her arm in his and allowed him to lead her outside.

The palace grounds stretched beautifully before them, the gardens transformed by the fading light. They walked through one section after another without any particular destination in mind, passing carefully tended flower beds and stone paths bordered by hedges. The deeper they went, the quieter it became around them.

They eventually wandered toward the orchard.

The trees stood in orderly rows, their branches heavy with fruit. The air carried the faint sweetness of apples and damp earth, mingling with the fragrance drifting from the gardens.

Cassandra asked him about Norham.

Draven told her only about the pleasant parts, withholding the unsavory bits.

He spoke of his mother and Genie, of the time he had spent with them at Westmarch, of the social obligations Octavia had dragged him into and the meals they had shared together. He told her about the castle, about familiar places he had not realized he had missed until he returned.

He told her about Bran.

"My dog," he explained when Cassandra looked curious. "He is fifteen now."

"Fifteen? I imagine he is quite old."

"He is ancient. My mother swears he will outlive us all." The amusement in Draven’s voice was unmistakable. "He is a mastiff. My father gave him to me when he was still a puppy."

"He must be very dear to you." Cassandra commented. She hung on his every word as he regaled her with one tale after the other.

Her smile was soft, and Draven found himself basking in her attention. He savoured the moment, relishing the way her eyes lingered on him. He wanted to keep them there, fixed on him like this, and he suspected he would do anything to make certain they remained so.

Madness. What in God’s name was this woman doing to him?

"He is. My father died only a few months after giving him to me. Bran has been with the family ever since."

He described the old dog in affectionate detail: the grey spreading across his muzzle, the way he still followed Draven around. Not to mention how startlingly intelligent Bran was.

Cassandra laughed more than once. Draven enjoyed the sound.

Eventually he asked what she had been doing while he was gone.

Cassandra seemed eager for the question.

"Where should I begin?" Her eyes brightened.

She told him about the progress she made among the councillors’ wives, the invitations she had received, the trust she had cultivated in them and the friendships she had begun developing.

She spoke particularly fondly of Georgiana Harrington and her daughter Constance, explaining how naturally those relationships had developed.

She had continued widening her social circle.

"The first phase of our plan is going splendidly," she told him with obvious satisfaction. Supremely pleased with herself.

Her enthusiasm was infectious.

Draven found himself smiling as he listened, his attention fixed upon her rather than the path ahead.

They had reached the fountain.

The last light of the sun reflected across the water, turning its surface into shifting gold. Cassandra stood with the evening light behind her, her blonde hair illuminated around its edges, their surroundings providing a riot of colour beyond her.

She looked beautiful. Not merely beautiful in the way other women were beautiful, but in a manner that had become increasingly dangerous to his peace of mind.

He watched her speak and felt that familiar pull toward her that had become impossible to dismiss as mere attraction.

She had no idea what her presence did to him.

After a while, her enthusiasm faded into thoughtful quiet.

"There is something else I have been thinking about. While you were away, I thought about our arrangement." She hesitated only briefly. "I think I would like us to marry sooner, if you do not mind."

For one suspended moment, he could only stare into her eyes and was pleased when she didn’t turn away.

She had no idea that he had spent the journey back to Caldor thinking of precisely the same thing. She had no idea that his mother had placed his father’s ring into his hands only moments ago. She had no idea that the small leather case had been resting against his chest throughout the entire walk.

Cassandra’s gaze followed his hand as he reached slowly into his coat.

Draven withdrew the little leather case. Opened it.

The ring gleamed inside. It was an old-fashioned diamond set in a gold band. Smaller stones surrounded the central diamond in a delicate setting, beautifully and artfully made.

Cassandra’s breathing hitched.

Draven held her gaze as he lowered himself slowly onto one knee before her.