Fortune's Lady (23 page)

A few seconds later the door opened and all three Lloyd sisters tumbled in, clamoring for billiard lessons. Cass excused herself and went upstairs to her room. Wade's last words had reassured her, but that night, as soon as Ellen left, she locked her door.

The next morning she rose early. After bathing and drinking a cup of chocolate, she went downstairs. As she'd hoped, no one was up yet except the servants. “May I have some tea in the library?” she asked one of them. That would establish her whereabouts for the next thirty minutes or so. While she waited for the tea, she prowled around the bookshelves, examining titles. Riordan's library was much better, she thought with a silly flutter of pride. Some of these volumes had never even been opened. More to the point, none seemed incriminating in any way—no
Layman's Guide to Regicide,
for example. She sighed with disappointment.

A maid came with a tray. She thanked her and waited until her footsteps died away, then went to the door. The hall was empty. On tiptoe, she scurried across it to the room directly opposite, opened the door, slipped through, and closed it silently behind her—then chided herself for not knocking first. What if Wade had been there, sitting at his desk? But he wasn't, thank God, and she leaned against the door, waiting for her heartbeat to return to normal.

The study was small; there would be little to search except the desk and an unlocked cabinet under the window. She set to work briskly, ignoring the dampness of her palms and the tight, airless feeling in her chest. She was taking an awful risk, but the opportunity was too good to miss. Last night Wade had admitted everything, but that was worthless as far as Mr. Quinn was concerned. He would want evidence, material evidence, and this was the first chance she'd had to look for it. She searched neatly and diligently, pausing every few minutes to listen for sounds outside. What she needed was a letter, a paper, even a cryptic note with an incriminating name on it.

But there was nothing. Nothing but bills, accounts, ledgers, and receipts, all related to the running of Ladymere. She found a bill for the services of a nurse-companion for Mrs. Wade in Bath. Mary, was her name. She felt a moment of compassion for the unknown Mary Wade. But there was nothing else.

She gazed around the room. There were no family portraits, no personal items that might have revealed something about the man who owned this house and occasionally lived here. A stag's head over the mantel told her he liked to shoot animals, and that was all.

She froze. Someone was coming. A man, from the sound of the footsteps. There was nowhere to hide, the room was too small! She went to the tiny space of wall behind the door and flattened her back against it. Her breath came shallowly while her heart hammered in her chest.

“Cassandra?”

It was Wade! He was in the library, looking for her! She heard a sound outside the door and stopped breathing altogether. She watched the knob turn before she shut her eyes in blank terror. She stood as still and silent as an upright corpse while the door opened. Seconds passed. The door closed. Not until she heard steps in the hall again did she open her eyes and discover the room was empty. Her knees started to knock against each other and she had to sit down.

Minutes later, she slipped unnoticed from the study and returned to the library. It occurred to her that she ought to have drunk some of the tea. When Wade found her a little later she was walking in the garden, pressing a camellia to her nose and reading
The Pilgrim's Progress.

At noon the men played cricket and drank beer while the ladies watched, sipping lemonade. Then it was time for dinner. They were dining early today because their host had devised a special entertainment for the afternoon: a cockfight. One of the more loathsome of English pastimes, Cass had always thought, and made up her mind to contract a headache just before it started. She was seated between Wade and the indomitable Teddy again, and the meal was as heavy and interminable as yesterday's. Midway through there was a commotion outside. Laughter and raucous shouts sounded from the hall.

“It's Vaughn and MacLeaf, finally out of the mud at Stoke!” guessed Teddy. “Let's give 'em a real hazing.”

All heads turned toward the door. Two grinning men appeared in it, stumbling, their arms around each other for support. No one greeted them, so Cass deduced it wasn't Vaughn and MacLeaf. She recognized them, though; she'd met them somewhere. Two disheveled ladies came up behind them, giggling and simpering, and all at once she knew who they were. Wally and Tom, Lord Digby-Holmes and Lord Seymour, and their two lights-o'-love. She wasn't sure these were the same two lights-o'-love she had met before, but the distinction hardly seemed important—certainly not to Wally and Tom. She was inexplicably glad to see them all, and was about to call out a greeting when the fifth member of their party staggered up, jostling the little knot in the doorway.

Riordan.

Cass's heart literally stopped. When it started again, it had to pump especially hard to compensate for the temporary standstill, and for a moment she was quite sure she was going to faint. She gazed at him across the silent room as every other person in it faded into invisibility and she was conscious of nothing but his well-loved face. He had a two-day beard and his black-and-silver hair was wild. He looked dirty and exhausted, but a private, fleeting light in his eyes warmed her to her bones. She'd never in her life seen anyone so beautiful.

Riordan put his arms around Wally and Tom and leaned against them, his head between theirs. “Good afternoon,” he enunciated with a drunk's carefulness. Wally and Tom echoed the greeting, after which the whole trio lurched suddenly to the left. They regained their balance with difficulty while the two ladies behind them snickered and peered around their shoulders. “We happened to be in the neighborhood,” Riordan went on, unperturbed, “and decided to pay our respects.” He sent an exaggerated leer at Cass, then caught himself against the doorpost as one knee appeared to give way on him.

Wade stood up slowly. He wore a faint, philosophical smile. “Riordan,” he said smoothly. “I don't believe I know your friends.”

He introduced them with a flourish, only stumbling over the ladies' names—Cora and Tess, it turned out—and then wondered if there might be a morsel of bread and a drop of water for his crew of weary travelers. With a resigned shrug, Wade signaled for more food and more chairs. He went through the formality of naming all the other guests for the newcomers' benefit, and Riordan made a fatuous bow to each of them in turn. When the chairs arrived, he seized one from a startled waiter and plunked it down between Cass and Teddy Everton. He settled himself in it with a vulgar groan of satisfaction and put his arm around Cass's shoulders. She smelled like a garden and looked good enough to eat. He was angry with her for many reasons, but at the moment he couldn't recall what any of them were. He saw that she was pressing her lips together to keep from smiling. Before he could give it another second's thought, he kissed her.

This time Wade reacted. He stood up and leaned forward, pressing his hands against the edge of the table. “Listen here, Riordan,” he said with more determination than anger. “You're in my home, and Miss Merlin is my guest. I'll thank you to keep your hands off her while you're here.”

It wasn't the most gallant defense of her honor Cass had ever heard, but it seemed to cool Riordan off for the time being. He grinned sheepishly and muttered a sort of apology, something to do with not being able to help himself. It didn't cool Cass off, though; she still wanted to wrap her arms around him and never let go. She watched him reach for the glass of wine at his elbow and knock it over, staining the cloth a bright purple. She stole a quick glance at Wade. His eyes narrowed at her in return, as if to say, “Let's see how much of that he really drinks!” She felt a thrill of alarm. She had to speak to Riordan privately, warn him that Wade was suspicious, and that their glass-switching ploy wouldn't work here; but she couldn't see how to do it without Wade's noticing.

More food came, providing a momentary distraction. But Riordan was genuinely intent on satisfying his appetite now, and it would have taken more than a whispered word in his ear to get his attention. Cass watched him bite lustily into a leg of roasted turkey, his strong white teeth tearing the meat off in chunks, and she felt a lightness in her chest. At the opposite end of the table, Wally, Tom, and their lady friends were devouring their food with the same gusto, causing her to wonder when they'd last stopped for a meal.

Conversation gradually resumed as the high-spirited intruders began to be absorbed into the original company like old friends. After the meal, the drinking continued unabated and the noise level in the dining room grew deafening. Cass waited until Wade turned to speak to the viscount's companion, a lady named Miss Cluny, and then managed her first private word with Riordan.

“Wade is watching you,” she told him, speaking just above a whisper. “He doesn't believe you're really drunk.” She smiled politely, as if she'd just complimented him on his cravat, and turned away.

Afterward, she wondered if Wade could have heard. Almost before she'd finished speaking he stood up, glass in hand, and proposed a toast to the king.

Riordan looked at Wade; their eyes locked in silent challenge. “To the king!” the others responded, quaffing their drinks in cheerful obedience. Wade swallowed the contents of his glass deliberately, his eyes never leaving Riordan's. Cass gripped the edge of the tablecloth with nervous fingers and stared straight ahead.

“To the king.” Riordan closed his eyes and downed the wine in four swallows, intent on not choking. It was his first drink in eleven months.

After that the toasts came rapidly—to the king, the queen, the Prince of Wales; to union with Ireland, the Catholic emancipation; to Cora and Tess. At each one Wade would fix Riordan with a cold, mocking eye and not take his gaze away until every drop in his glass was drained. Cass was transfixed with anxiety, but could think of nothing to do to stop it. When she reminded Wade of the promised cockfight, he waved his hand dismissively and said they would have it tomorrow; he didn't want to break up such a pleasant party.

Riordan knew he was getting drunk. The nice thing about it was that the drunker he got, the less he minded. What wonderful, friendly people they all were, and what amusing stories they told. He told some amusing stories himself, and they all laughed uproariously and slapped him on the back. This Everton fellow was an awfully good sort, too; he could do a first-rate impersonation of the prime minister. There were three sisters across the table —Lord or Lloyd, he thought their name was—singing a madrigal in three parts. The wonderful thing was that none of them could sing worth spit, and that made him laugh. He slid down on his backbone almost to the floor in hilarity, holding his sides. When he finally recovered, he decided to propose a toast himself.

“To the most beautiful woman in the world!” he called out. “Cass Merlin.” There were good-natured “hear, hear's” and everybody drank. He sat down and grinned at Cass. He could see she wasn't having a good time.

She needed to relax. He told her so, with a heavy arm draped across her shoulders and his nose within inches of hers. She looked as if she was going to cry. He was filled with a deep, uncomplicated love that made him want to comfort her. He touched her face with his fingers, not caring in the least who saw, and then he kissed her. Oh, it was good. No one tasted like Cass. Wade was blithering about something, but he paid no heed. He pulled her closer with one hand and put the other on her thigh. God, he loved the feel of her. What were they doing here with all these people, anyway? They ought to be upstairs in one of Wade's fancy guest rooms, rolling around in one of his big beds.

He felt a tightening hand on his shoulder and looked up.

“I told you, Riordan, to keep away from C'sandra, dammit,” Wade was saying. He seemed to be swaying on his feet, but Riordan thought it could just as easily be his own vision. Cass groaned something inaudible as he got up unsteadily from his chair.

“Oh, yeah?” he asked eloquently. “What makes you think you've got anymore right to 'er than I have?”

“As I said before, this's my house and she's my guest. That means hands off.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Cass rested her forehead in one hand as the witless battle went on above her. A duel with pistols was proposed, then swords, then fists. Tom and Wally offered to be seconds. She might have been alarmed, but somehow she wasn't able to take any of it seriously; she could see the combatants and their seconds passing out before they got to the dueling ground.

“I've got an idea,” piped up Teddy Everton. “Why don't you play cards for her? A nice civilized game of piquet. Then we can stop all the bickering and get back to business.” He waved at the table, indicating that business meant drinking and eating.

Everyone thought this was a capital idea. Wade sent a servant for two packs of cards. “All right with you, Cass?” asked Riordan solicitously. She kept her head in her hand and didn't look at him. She felt stunned with embarrassment and disbelief and helpless amusement.

“But not to a hundred,” Teddy complained. “That takes too long.”

“One hand,” suggested Wally. “Winner take all.”

“All right with you, Cass?” No response. “I guess it's all right with her. Draw for deal.”

Listlessly, Cass watched the cards fly past on the table in front of her as Wade dealt twelve each, two at a time. Everyone gathered around to watch. After drawing from the stock, Riordan scored for point and sequence, but Wade scored for triplets. Play began, with each man counting his score out loud after every trick. In minutes, the game was over.

Riordan won, twenty-eight to nineteen.

Grinning like a hyena, he accepted the gleeful congratulations of his friends. Wade folded his arms across his chest and grimaced manfully. Riordan toasted him, quite liking him at that moment. “To you, Colin, for taking it like a soldier!” Everybody drank.