at him. His face was in shadow, but she could see that he was smiling. His eyes glowed and he looked at her appreciatively as he continued to lounge with careless ease against the balustrade, his arms folded across his chest. He was all lean hard muscle and for a moment she forgot her outburst and wondered what it would be like to love and to be loved by such a man.
He was strong, his manner one of complete assurance—and a cynical humour twinkled in his black eyes. There was also a dangerous, cool recklessness about him and a distinct air of adventure—a trait that so reminded her of her father. They might have been cast in the same mould except that Stuart Marston would despise her father’s chosen, unlawful way of life.
‘Aren’t you shocked by my unseemly behaviour, Captain Marston?’ She met his eyes and saw they were teasing and suddenly he laughed outright, a deep, rich sound, and she relaxed.
‘Not in the least—and I asked you to call me Stuart. It is part of your make-up that attracts me to you, and you know it. And I do not believe I am mistaken when I say the attraction is mutual.’
Cassandra turned her face away from his close scrutiny. There was an unfamiliar look in his eyes that turned her into a woman she no longer recognised. She was weakened by it and did not understand what was happening to her—the result being total confusion.
‘I—I really don’t know what you mean.’
‘Oh, I think you do, so do not be coy with me. Tell me, what is your opinion of me?’
‘This is our second meeting—which is hardly time for me have formed an opinion of you,’ she answered primly.
‘But each has been no ordinary encounter. I think you have formed a very strong opinion of me, and for my part I find you an immense challenge. You intrigue me. So, tell me, how would you feel about agreeing to become my wife?’
Cassandra stared at him in a kind of disorientated, bewildered state. Their gazes held, the silence punctuated by the persistent call of a night bird.
Stuart’s eyes smiled, but his voice was quiet, seductive. ‘I can see I have rendered you speechless.’
She spoke, but her voice was a strangled whisper. ‘Sir—you—you jest.’
‘I would not jest on so serious a matter to me.’
He was smiling, a mocking smile, calmly watching her from beneath his lowered lids, but Cassandra sensed he was alert and that an unfettered power struggled beneath his calm. His tone was perfectly natural, as if he were merely asking her to take a stroll around the garden with him, but its very ordinariness caused a feeling of panic and the mystery of the unknown to flow through her.
Without logic or reason she was drawn to Stuart Marston as to no other and she experienced a moment of terror when she was with him, for the sheer magnitude of her feelings threatened to overwhelm her. She felt weak, vulnerable, suddenly—at his mercy and standing on the threshold of something new. He was essentially worldly, emanating raw power that was an irresistible attraction to any woman. She was stimulated by him, he excited her, and he exuded an element of danger that added to the excitement.
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