Ah, yes, chapter 7? What's with that? Wasn't there already a chapter 7? Yes, yes, but I changed some things and deleted a chapter that I felt didn't fit with the flow of the rest of the story. I'm kinda going through and editing out some of the stuff that made me not want to write this story, because it was off in some way or another. So, yep, this is actually a new chapter.

"What do you think you're doing here?" Cassandra snapped, taking a step toward the center of the room, anger building a cloud behind her lowered brows.

"I told you I'd be back to see you soon." Robert casually moved forward, tossing a pair of riding gloves to the floor with fluid nonchalance. "I was invited for the. . .celebrations." His gaze raked over her with appreciative slowness, a single brow raised suggestively. "Perhaps you and I could have a little. . .fun of our own." He licked his lips.

"You've come to the wrong place, Robert. This isn't whorehouse where you can supply your needs, so take your filthy insinuations and get out." Cassandra's fingers closed over the handle of the letter opener tucked in her pocket.

He laughed carelessly. "Or what? You'll call for help? You and I both know what that would do to your already tattered reputation." He moved closer. "Go ahead." There was an unmistakable taunt behind his words. "Call. It'll only prolong this moment."

"You honestly think you'll be able to get away with waltzing into my home like a common thief?" Cassandra scoffed at him. "Please, you insignificant, little fool, you've spent far too long listening to cheap women stroking your already considerable ego." Suddenly, she was aflame with anger. Who did he think he was? "What did you think? I'd welcome you with open arms? Let me just tell you: hell will freeze first!"

"I had no intention of being received well." Robert spoke tightly, and she could see that her words had affected him. "Riding is so much less exhilarating if the creature has been tamed by another. Trust me, by the time I've finished, you'll be begging for more, and who knows? Perhaps I'll grace you with a second round. Although, I'm sure a cheap doxy from the docks would please me far more."

"How dare you!" She spat, anger building like ominous clouds within her until she shook with the effort to contain herself. "If you so much as touch me, I'll sever your fingers from your unfortunate hand and feed them to my dog!" Her voice rose in volume as she gained momentum.

Robert's wrist flicked out before she had time to catch the movement, and his riding crop cut across her face with burning pain. Jerking away from the hurt, she tripped over the desk and fell backwards. Stars blurred her vision as her head connected with something hard on the way down, and she was numbly aware that she had lost her grip on her knife.

"I believe I'm going to enjoy this more than I'd anticipated." Through the pounding in her head, she could hear the pleasure in Robert's voice.

Wincing at the pain, she turned over, glaring defiantly up at him. He grinned viciously, dark passion lurking behind his gaze as he looked down at her. Moving slowly as though he had all the time in the world, he removed his fine riding jacket and loosened his cravat, his eyes never leaving her.

Her rage built as warm liquid trickled down her cheek, and her hand unconsciously searched for something with which she could defend herself. He had actually struck her! No man had ever touched her in such a way, and the thought that one had dared infuriated her.

"Now, that's more like it." Robert leered down at her as he tossed aside his cuff links. "I wouldn't want to be uncomfortable for this." He moved toward her, undoing the restraining buttons of his vest as he walked.

Pushing herself away from his approach, she searched her surroundings for something to give her a means of defense. In shifting position, her hand pressed down on something hard. She recognized her father's ornate paper holder without looking. She had played with it often in recent periods of boredom, and her fingers closed over its familiar bulk just as Robert reached her.

"I'm curious, what will you tell your father when he discovers you're a soiled flower? You can't expect him to believe—" And then she struck with all the force of her anger. The weight hit him squarely in the side of his jaw, and he gave a startled exclamation of pain, jerking back with the impact, but she didn't wait to watch his pain, pushing herself to her feet she fairly flung herself toward the door and the freedom that awaited just outside.

With a roar, Robert reached blindly out to her, grabbing madly for a handhold. There was a moment when she thought she was free, but then with the popping sound of breaking stitches, he jerked her backward by her skirt, sending her plummeting face first to the floor. The air was torn from her lungs, and she gasped for breath, blood pounding in her ears, blurring the string of expletives flowing from Robert's lips.

"You're going to pay for that." The words were clear in her buzzing brain, and she felt his slender fingers close over the back of her thigh, and something in her awoke enough to squirm feebly.

Dully, she was aware that he was pulling her skirt up, but her groping fingers had closed over something cold. It was sharp, too, and bit into the flesh of her hand before she fully understood what was in her grasp. Warm, sticky liquid pooled in her palm, and she sucked in a sharp breath, the ghost of a smile touching her lips. The penknife.

His fingers stroked the flesh of her legs, and a tremor of disgust shook her body. His hands were soft and warm, almost sweaty, and proved the perfect means to propel her into action. Without warning, she twisted about, lashing out with her knife.

For the second time, Robert was too slow. The small blade bit into the flesh of his cheek as he jerked away, lost balance, and sprawled on his back on the floor. His mind was numbly aware of a stinging pain in his face, but the passion a feel of her soft skin had stirred in him spurred him onwards without a moment of recognition for the pain.

As he toppled over, Cassandra leapt to her feet, hardly aware of what she was doing as she put the desk between them. Still struggling to catch her breath, she gripped the small knife as though it were her lifeline. Gritting her teeth, she locked her eyes on her assailant as he pushed himself to his feet.

"Perhaps when news of this spread through the ton, I'll allow you to take refuge in my home." Robert panted, his tongue darting out to catch the trickle of blood spilling down his cheek. "A man needs a bed warmer in his own house on the occasion he doesn't feel like finding it elsewhere. Considering your lowering of station, however, the dining room table would be a far more appropriate place to ravage you. The servants would appreciate a good show every now and then." He smiled coarsely, revealing blood-stained teeth.

"What news, Robert?" Cassandra glared at him with all the intensity of her anger. "Can you possibly mean the story of how you attempted to deflower a lady and received nothing but a cracked skull and a scar? Oh, I believe your servants would appreciate the telling of such a tale, and if you think this will end here, you're dreaming!" She spat.

"Oh, trust me, I'm counting on it spreading. After such a compromising situation as this, there will be nothing left for you except to become my bride." He took a step closer, his eyes glinting dangerously.

"I'd rather die." Cassandra sputtered. For some reason the words brought back a memory, and an all-too-familiar voice rang in her head: 'I will have the fame and fortune, that should have been mine long ago, through you yet. Just wait and see. You'll regret this.' Her mother's words spun around her brain like the ripples on a lake. Could it be that—no, she couldn't—wouldn't—let herself think such things.

The moment's distraction was all Robert needed. Launching himself across the desk, his hand closed over the wrist of the hand that held the knife with the bruising power of a steel trap, spinning her around so that her back was to the desk. His other hand had tangled in her hair, and he jerked at it painfully.

"I should have warned you not to anger me." He growled, his fingers twisting further into her updo as though he were trying to rip her hair out. "This might have been a little more enjoyable for you, but now," he raised a brow and the scathing promise in the depths of his eyes sent fear down her spine.

Gritting her teeth, she spat in his face. "You're miserably disgusting, and I would rather die than willingly give in to your threats."

He jerked as the spittle landed directly below his eye, and his lips split into a wicked smile. His hand moved so quickly she had no warning. The blow caught her off guard, and her neck cracked harshly as her head snapped backwards. Righting herself, she looked him directly in the eye, channeling all the hate she possessed at him. The second and third blows set stars dancing in her vision.

Something hard connected with her throat and then her stomach, and she choked wildly for breath. Clawing wildly at the hand on her neck which still deprived her of air, she felt panic flood her body. Her future flashed before her eyes as he shoved her back onto the desk.

As a damaged woman, the only path for her would be to hide away in secret, reliant on her father's income to sustain her. And if her father were to die, there would be nothing for her but a life on the streets, becoming some other man's property for a night if the price was good enough, and if she were treated poorly. . .well, no one heard the cries of a woman of that trade.

She found her senses when his lips connected with hers so roughly she tasted blood. She clawed at him weakly, attempting to kick her way to freedom. Heedless of her attacks, he jerked her skirts out of his way. Tears of frustration gathered in her eyes. She was defenseless against him. Never had she felt so small and helpless, and the feelings filled her with unwelcome despair.

"This'll have to be quick. We don't have much time, but we'll have plenty of time to make up for it later." Robert grunted, his eyes glazed with needy lust.

"I'm afraid you have no time, Smithers." The masculine voice startled both of them, and a thrill of joy filled Cassandra at the sight of her father, his hand on the handle of the side door. In the efforts of their tussle, neither of them had noticed his entrance. "Get your filthy hands off my daughter. Now." She'd never seen such rage on her father's face in her life. Beneath the calm veneer of a gentleman lay the wrath of an injured bear, and Cassandra felt tears of relief slide down her cheeks as she struggled to hold in a sob. She wasn't alone. Not anymore.

"Lord Antrucha." Robert face went white with alarm before he could stop himself, but he made no move to do as he had been commanded. "I wasn't expecting you so soon."

"Evidently." It took a great deal of effort for Ezra Antrucha to speak the word without flying into sudden and irreversible action. "Get. Your. Hands. Off. My. Daughter." He put careful pause between each word.

"Look here, Antrucha—" Whatever Robert had been about to say was suddenly cut off as Ezra pounced. His fist connected with the well-shaped jaw of Robert Smithers, knocking him to the ground. Cassandra gasped. Never had she witnessed her father lose himself in such a manner, and she was both shocked and disbelieving, but there was also a thrill of pride beating out a pattern in her heart.

"I'm not one of your gaming partners, boy." Ezra dragged the boy up and slammed him against the wall. "I expect you to give me the respect of my title." For perhaps the first time in his life, Robert felt cold, sweat-inspiring fear run through his veins like ice. "Now, get your filthy hide out of my house and off my property before I lose my waning clutch on self-control and beat you within an inch of your life. If you ever set foot on these grounds again, I swear I'll have you cut down before you can straighten your fine clothes."

Ezra slammed Robert against the wall a second time before dropping him to the floor with a disgusted fling of his hand. Young Lord Smithers got to his feet, aware of the piercing eyes following his every move. Without the lustful adrenaline, he was suddenly tired and in pain, and the idea of simply mounting up and leaving without having achieved his goal was distasteful.

"Forgive me, Lord Antrucha, but I was invited by Lady—" Ezra once again struck before the sentence was completed. Once, twice, thrice. His fists flew with all the unleashed speed and power of his fury. Robert was too stunned to even respond, and then something crashed wickedly into the back of his neck, and he was falling. Nauseating pain ran from his nose through his face as he hit the floor, and with a groan, he gave in to the blackness of his unconsciousness.

—————————————

A/N - Sorry for the posting delay! Work has been keeping me extra busy lately, and it's all I can do to find time (let alone will power) to write. By the time I'm done, I want nothing more than to take a long nap which hasn't helped in getting this written. (There's also the fact that I wanted to make sure this chapter was written properly which was surprisingly difficult!) Well, anyway, it's longer than usual this time, so hopefully that helps ;). I'm gonna try to post again on Wednesday, so keep your eyes open for that!

Your thoughts and opinions are more than welcome (and highly appreciated whatever they are!!)! What did you think of this chapter? I'd love to hear! Isn't Robert just the sweetest, most bestest guy you'd ever want to meet? (Heavy tone of sarcasm there. . .)