Fortune's Lady (31 page)

“Quite right, John. I suppose I'll have to see them today; I'm sponsoring the bloody bill, after all. Anything else?”

“Mr. Quinn has come every day to inquire.”

Riordan's face was studiously impassive. “Has he?”

“He seems quite intent on seeing you.”

“Yes, I'm sure.”

“And there are several matters I'd like to discuss with you. At your leisure, of course, but one or two things really do need your attention.”

“Yes, yes—but first I want to take Cass upstairs. Come on, love, you've never seen the bedroom. I'll be down in a few minutes, John.”

Cass and Walker both colored and looked away from each other, smiling, and then Cass let Riordan pull her up the grand walnut staircase to the second floor. Now that it was to be hers, she took better notice of the house. “Are you very, very rich, Philip?” she inquired, eyeing the priceless-looking velvet and damask wall hangings, the gilded plasterwork of the twenty-foot ceilings, the rich Turkish carpets underfoot.

“I am, Cass. Isn't it wonderful? So much better than being poor, don't you think?” He felt supremely happy, holding his wife's hand and leading her down the hall to his bedroom.

“Your father must be incredibly wealthy; you're not even the oldest son.”

“I don't live on his money, I live on my own. Investments, mostly. I've been lucky. I'll explain it all to you soon, so you'll know. Well, this is it.” Suddenly he was nervous. “Do you like it? Is it too austere? You can change anything you want. We'll need another chest for your things, but there's plenty of room for it. This is the dressing room. My clothes don't half fill it, so—or you can have the whole dressing room and I'll take another; the little guest bedroom next door would do.”

“I'd like to share this one with you, if that's all right. Oh, Philip, everything is beautiful!”

“Do you think so, Cass? Really?”

She turned back to the bedroom. The huge four-poster mahogany bed was covered in lush forest-green velvet. Wide sash windows were hung with matching velvet draperies in front and delicate white lace curtains behind. The walls were pale green, with ornate white plasterwork moldings high above. The furniture—a writing desk, night stands, chest of drawers, a small table—were of rich, hand-carved satinwood, masculine but elegant. Brightening the wood floor was a thick, patterned carpet of dark-green and light-blue wool. The fireplace was enormous; a bowl of fresh Michaelmas daisies sat on its carved marble mantelpiece, as if to welcome them.

Riordan plucked one and brought it to her. “Did you see the washstand? Look, Cass, it's fitted.”

She buried her nose in the fresh-smelling flower, her brow puckered. “Fitted?”

“Water comes into the basin just by turning this knob. See?”

“Oh!” She clapped her hands. “I've heard of it but never seen one. Philip, how
grand.
”

“Isn't it?” He looked around. “You'll need a dressing table, too. We can go shopping next week. For clothes, as well—you don't have nearly enough clothes. And you'll need a maid. I'm not sure any of the girls here will do, they're mostly—”

“May I have Clara?”

“Of course, whomever you want.”

“She's a bit rough, I know, but I can't help liking her. She works hard.”

“I like her, too. Have her, by all means. As for a housekeeper, I've never had one, but we can hire one if you want. Or not, it's entirely up to you.” He turned to watch two footmen enter the room with their luggage. It reminded him of something else. “We'll go to Holborn to get the rest of your things this afternoon, if you like.”

“But John said your committee is coming.”

“Hang the committee, I can see them tomorrow.”

She waited until the footmen had bowed themselves out. “Actually, I think it might be better if I went alone. I think it's going to be unpleasant.”

“I know. That's why I want to be with you.”

She took his hand. “Thank you, but I think it's best if I do it myself.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. May I take the carriage?”

“Yes, of course. I'll tell Tripp.”

They were standing in front of the cheval glass. They put their arms around each other and stood close, admiring their reflection. Husband and wife, they were both thinking.

“God, what a handsome couple!” Riordan gloated. “I think we should have a special dinner tonight, don't you? To celebrate our homecoming. Just us, no one else.”

“It sounds perfect.” Her smile wavered a trifle. “But soon, you know, we're going to have to go out into it. The world.”

“Does that frighten you?”

She shook her head. “But I know what everyone will be saying and thinking. I should think it would frighten
you.
”

He turned her to face him. “I could never be anything but proud of you, Cass. And no one's ever going to hurt you, I promise.”

She wanted to tell him of her love so badly; the words were bubbling up like water from a spring. He traced her lips lightly with his finger, parting them, pushing in until he touched her teeth. He moved his finger in and out slowly, watching her eyes. She let her teeth glide gently over his nail and the fleshy part of his finger, then sucked it in with her lips. A servant came to the door, saw them, and retreated. They heard, but didn't move. He lowered his head to kiss her soft lips, still touching her mouth with his fingers. The kiss was excruciatingly erotic. He straightened slowly, almost undone when she passed her tongue over her lips in a quick circle. His stomach lurched; he saw knowledge darken her eyes. Her first blushing innocence was gone, but he felt no regret; she'd given it to him.

He stroked the long, sleek lock of hair that lay on her shoulder. “I have to go down now.”

“Yes.”

“Do you know how much I want to stay here with you?”

“Yes.”

“Tonight.”

She nodded.

They broke contact. In the doorway he turned, just to see her again. “I'm so glad you're here.”

She closed her eyes and spoke from her heart. “I'm so glad you want me.”

The leave-taking in Ely Place was as unpleasant as her worst imaginings had portended. Word of her marriage had preceded her here as well as in Mayfair, and Lady Sinclair wasn't taking the news well. She stood by while Cass packed her meager belongings, venomously eyeing each article as it went into the box.

“That scarf is mine.”

“No, Aunt, I bought it in the Rue—”

“I lent it to you to wear to Catherine de Bourg's
soirée
last February. I remember precisely.”

“Have it, then.” She was careful to keep her face a blank.

“Don't you
dare
patronize me, Cassandra. I will not tolerate it!”

“I wasn't—”

“You may be married now to that arrogant libertine, but that doesn't mean you can come here and treat your family like hired servants. Don't forget who raised you, young lady, and who paid for the finest schools in Paris and gave you a life of absolute luxury!”

Cass hated fighting, but her mild temper was provoked. “My father paid for every bit of my schooling, Aunt Beth, and you know it! He sent money for my clothes and food, too, and it's common knowledge you turned a tidy little profit from that arrangement.” She was throwing clothes into the box at random now, seething with pent-up resentment.

“Why, you ungrateful wretch!” cried her aunt, red-faced. “You've brought nothing but shame to my brother's name, and now you have the gall to speak to me this way.”

Cass's fingers curled around a handful of ribbons. She was blazingly angry. “If anyone besides my father has brought shame to the Merlin name, it's you!”

“Insolence! You're a viper in the bosom of this family.”

She remembered a saying of Riordan's when he was pretending to be drunk. “Oh, bugger off,” she said succinctly.

Aunt Beth went a deeper shade of purple. “Oh! The impudence! You vulgar little tramp! I hope that wastrel you've married passes on the disease of every whore he's been with! I should've thrown you out months ago, as soon as I learned you'd taken up with two lovers at once!”

Cass turned pale and drew in her breath. She wrenched the last drawer out of her bureau and emptied its contents into the box willy-nilly. “Two! Yes!” she shouted defiantly. “But at least I never slept with both of them at the same time!”

It was a wild shot, but it appeared to hit home. Lady Sinclair was so angry she danced in place and her teeth chattered. “Out! Get out! I want you out of this house this instant!”

“I'll leave when I've finished packing and not a minute sooner!” Cass shouted back, hands on her hips, all pretense of dignity gone. “You get out of my room!”

“I will not!”

Clara appeared in the door, her mouth a perfect O.

Cass pointed. “And I'm taking her with me!”

“Good! You deserve each other! The slattern and the slut!”

Cass slammed the lid down on the box and bunched her small fists. “You are a mean, spiteful old woman. I hope I never see you again for the rest of my life.” Her knees were shaking so badly, she wasn't sure she could walk. “Clara, will you help me with this box?”

“Yes, miss.” There was a bright, excited gleam in the maid's eyes. She scurried in, easily lifted the heavy box, and went out.

“If I've forgotten anything, you can—”

“I'll throw it in the street!”

Cass bit back a truly vile epithet—another one of Riordan's. “Good-bye, Aunt Beth.” She went past the older woman without looking at her and started down the stairs.

“It won't last,” Lady Sinclair hurled after her, following. “You'll never keep him, he'll divorce you. It'll be easy, too—he's a Member of Parliament. That's who
grants
divorces, you know—Parliament! All his friends and cronies!” She stood in the front door while Tripp took the box from Clara and Cass watched, clenching her hands together. “But don't come here when he's through with you, Mrs. High-and-Mighty Philip Riordan. This house is closed to you!”

The door slammed and Cass jumped. The carefully impassive coachman helped her into the carriage. She sat, staring down at Clara, both of them wide-eyed and speechless. Cass had an urge to burst into tears, and another to laugh out loud for joy.

The maid found her voice first. “Was you serious, miss, about me comin' ter work fer you?”

“Oh, Clara, I'm sorry—I didn't even ask you first. Would you like to?”

“Ooh, yes, miss, would I ever!”

“Then come as soon as you can.” She told her the address. “I can't say for sure, but I expect the wages will be better.”

“I'd take
less
wages, miss, ter be shut of that one.” She jerked her chin toward the house. “Would tomorrow be too soon?”

“Tomorrow would be perfect. Good-bye, Clara.”

“G'bye, miss. Thanks ever so much! An' give my regards ter yer new husband!”

Cass sat back in the coach and took deep, steadying breaths. In an amazingly short time, she felt better. The ugly, enraged sound of her aunt's voice faded a little with every passing mile. Even the air smelled sweeter the farther west she rode. A new chapter in her life was opening, and she had no inclination to mourn the closing of the old. She was on her way home to her husband, and she loved him.

She might even tell him, she thought with a sharp tingle of anticipation. She no longer felt guilty when she thought of the card game. It was
fate
that had brought them together, not alcohol or accident or manipulation. And he liked her, she knew he did. Not just physically, either, although he certainly liked her quite a good deal in that way. She hugged herself, shivering, thinking about tonight.

Besides loving him, she was terribly proud of him. He was ambitious, but not as much for himself as for others. She knew how he chafed at being forced to play the role of a self-involved sensualist. By rights he shouldn't be sponsoring this new bill to reform the penalties for capital crimes, but Mr. Quinn hadn't been able to hold him back. When he'd explained to her once that the law made no distinction between theft and murder and called for the hanging of a person convicted of any of a hundred and fifty-six crimes, his voice had rung with passion; she'd easily imagined him standing up in the Commons and urging his peers to take steps to correct a grievous wrong. “Nine out of ten criminals hanged in London are under twenty-one, Cass, and children are given the same penalty as adults! We don't need a campaign against crime, we need one against ignorance and smugness and apathy!” It gave her a deep thrill of satisfaction to know Philip had the will and the power to make changes in the world, and she vowed she would help him in any way she could. Together, their lives were going to make a difference.

The carriage was moving slowly through the Strand. She opened her purse and counted out three pounds, ten pence. What could she buy him? The shop window she was passing displayed a frock coat of white drab with plate buttons. Much too dear, of course; besides, his taste was more conservative. Now the coach was stopped in front of a jewelry store. In the window she saw a gold watch with a chased case, diamond rings and stock buckles, a tortoise-shell snuff box mounted with silver. She sighed. Nothing there for three and a half pounds.

There was a bell hanging from a hook in the side wall of the coach. She took it down and rang it, holding it out the window. Tripp drove the horses to the curb, stopped, and jumped down.

“I'd like to get out and walk for a little,” Cass told him.

“Very good, mum.” He helped her to the sidewalk and tipped his hat.

“Will you wait for me here?”

“Yes, mum, as long as you like.”

She sent him a grateful smile and plunged into the busy pedestrian traffic, intent on finding the perfect gift for her husband.