Chapter Twenty

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Kit reclined in his chair, the whiskey glass on the edge of his desk teetering dangerously close to the edge, ready to fall at the slightest motion.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much to ponder over. Emily's words, although pleasing to hear, made him wonder whether or not he should give up, despite her telling him the exact opposite. Cassandra clearly did not want him, she'd proven that twice before.

And, yet, every time he thought of that kiss, of her lips pressed to his and and her slight frame in his arms, he knew he wanted exactly that for the rest of his life. If not her, then no one else.

He'd been debating for days as to what he should do, what was right. If she did not want him, he knew it was only fair to leave her alone but he was discovering a new, rather selfish side to himself that advised him to do the direct opposite. Once again, it was a matter of listening to either the little devil or the angel on his shoulder.

Finally, he sighed and reached forward to take a sip of his whiskey, but his clumsy self knocked the glass off the edge of the table, sending it falling downwards. Fortunately, as the floor of his study was entirely carpeted, it did not break but only spilled his best scotch onto the carpet.

He groaned, and leaned downwards to pick up the glass, but found it just out of the reach of the tips of his fingers. Finally, he decided to squat rather oddly on the floor just beyond his desk to retrieve the glass, just about to pick up the glass when, to his surprise, there was a knock on the door. He jumped slightly, and fell forward, his elbows landing on the ground and leaving him in an embarrassing position.

Before he could right himself, the door opened and Mr. Thornby entered, his eyes immediately widening as they landed on Kit's incredibly odd stance on the floor.

"Mr. Thornby, what is it?" He asked, scrambling to his feet and trying to hide his embarrassment. He failed very evidently as he attempted to put the glass back on the table but had it slip out of his grip and fall yet again. This time, he managed to get it without any of the acrobatics of before, but still blushed vividly.

"Ah," The aging butler began, his eyes staying on Kit for a few minutes before regaining his stoicism. "I came up here to inform you that there is a rather finely-dressed, anxious lady pacing about in the foyer sending the household into a tizzy for she seems to be too nervous to tell any of us her name. She came alone, too, and the carriage she arrived in drove off immediately after dropping her."

"I'll see her." Kit said, standing more upright. Perhaps she was the wives of one of his tenants who needed some help. He sobered up and put on the persona of a respectable Earl instead of clumsy Christopher. "Bring some tea to the parlour. Only one cup, I won't be drinking any."

"Of course, milord." Mr. Thornby said, bowing, but Kit was out the door before he could leave. Since the house was rather broad, it took Christopher a while to reach the foyer, where he was instantly greeted by the back of a blonde head as its owner rubbed her palms together anxiously. There was a troubling sensation in his stomach as it dawned on him that he recognised that back and those hands.

"Cassandra?" He asked, swallowing. She whirled around immediately, an unidentifiable look in her eyes as she did. "Is everything alright? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She said, her voice coming out strangely high-pitched. "I'm alright. Are you free today? Might I speak to you now or shall I come back another day? Yes, I think I shall return some other time."

"Of course not." He said loudly,  "Now, come into the parlour and tell me what has happened."

Cassandra nodded reluctantly, and Christopher placed a hand on the small of her back as he led her to the door that exited into a small parlour that was originally meant for the lady of the house to entertain her guests. They wouldn't be disturbed by anyone there.

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