Fortune's Lady (10 page)

“Did you hear me, Philip?”

“Every word, Oliver,” Riordan answered, less than truthfully. In the light of day, Cass Merlin was as beautiful as he'd remembered, perhaps more so. His actions last night began to seem much less irrational. In fact, he began to feel considerably better about everything. “And I agree with you completely—I do owe Miss Merlin an apology.” He stood up and made a small bow. “My conduct last night was inexcusable. I beg your forgiveness. Regrettably, it will never happen again.”

“Philip,” said Quinn in a warning tone.

“I meant, of course, such a regrettable thing will never happen again,” he amended, straight-faced.

Cass was speechless. An apology was the very last thing she'd expected. She struggled for a response. She didn't believe he was particularly sincere, but she was as eager to put the embarrassing incident behind them as Quinn was. One way to accomplish that was to appear to accept his contrition at face value. But there was a mischievous blue glint in his eye that held her back.

“Well?” urged Quinn impatiently.

She looked between the two men. She wondered fleetingly what Mr. Walker, sitting quietly in the corner, was making of all this. “It seems to me it doesn't matter whether I accept your apology or not. I've been threatened with imprisonment as well as the murder of my cousin unless I continue to cooperate with you.” She looked down, missing the surprised, half-angry glance Riordan threw Quinn. “About one thing I do wholeheartedly agree—it certainly will never happen again.” She looked up sharply. “I've said I will help you in your scheme against Mr. Wade, but now I attach a condition: that the subject of what happened last night will never, ever be mentioned again by any of us.”

“Agreed,” said Quinn swiftly.

“Agreed,” Riordan replied more slowly. “As long as you place no condition on remembering it.” He wondered why he persisted in teasing her. It wasn't really like him. But she turned such a lovely shade of pink when she blushed, he couldn't help himself.

“Enough, Philip,” Quinn chided, standing up. “We have much to discuss.”

“Have we?” he asked, puzzled. “I thought we'd all but decided Miss Merlin's usefulness was at an end.”

“Did you?” Quinn sent him a measuring look. “I don't recall deciding that. It's true, her usefulness in the original role may be over, but that only means we'll have to be more resourceful. Flexibility, that's the key. A shift of focus. The goal isn't to establish a relationship between Wade and Miss Merlin anymore, at least not immediately. It's to establish one between
you
and Miss Merlin, one which Wade will believe he can infiltrate and compromise.”

There was a silence. Cass's wits were slow today; she couldn't immediately comprehend what Quinn was saying.

Riordan's were quicker. Almost before Quinn had finished speaking, he was grinning and slapping the top of the desk with his palm. “Of course! Oliver, you're a genius. This is even better than the original plan. This way we not only learn things about Wade from Cass, we can pass selected information to him through her. It's perfect!”

“Yes, I thought you'd like it,” Quinn smiled thinly.

Besides feeling a mounting sense of alarm, Cass was growing tired of being spoken of as if she weren't in the room. “I'm afraid I don't understand,” she interjected sharply. “Why would Mr. Wade want to infiltrate a relationship between Mr. Riordan and me?”

Riordan glanced at Quinn. “You didn't tell her?”

“No, there wasn't time.”

“Tell me what?” She looked back and forth between them.

“Mr. Riordan is a Member of the House of Commons,” the older man explained.

Cass looked at Riordan for half a second before bursting out with a spontaneous laugh. An answering chortle sounded from the direction of Mr. Walker, although at a hard look from Quinn, it turned into a choking cough. “You're joking, of course,” Cass stated with certainty, still smiling.

“Odd, a lot of my new constituents had the same reaction,” Riordan smiled back amiably. “But I'm afraid it's true. You see before you the distinguished junior Member for St. Chawes.”

“St. Chawes?” It had to be a joke.

“In Cornwall. A small borough, it's true—only twelve voting burgesses. It helped at election time that my father's wool business employed all twelve of them. My father is the Earl of Raine, by the way. He was a Member of the House of Lords until a few years ago, when drink and syphilis finally incapacitated him. Now he stays at home, peacefully counting my mother's lovers. No easy feat even for a man in good health.”

Cass could only stare. His tone was jocular, but there was a tightness around his mouth that made his smile seem forced.

“It's really true?” she asked after a full minute. “You are truly a member of the Parliament?”

“My dear, this continued skepticism is beginning to hurt my feelings. Believe it. It's true.”

“Then…” She put a hand to her forehead; this was getting too complicated. “How do you expect to make people believe we're involved?” She directed the question to Quinn. “I mean, why would we be? Mr. Riordan is the son of an earl, he holds a high position in the government, he's obviously wealthy.” Unconsciously her chin rose a fraction. “On the other hand, you've had the goodness to point out a number of times that any hopes I might have had for a respectable position in society are unrealistic.” She held out her hands in honest perplexity. “Why do you expect Wade or anyone else to believe he would want me?” she asked baldly. She threw a glance at Riordan, who was looking at her with an expression she'd never seen before and couldn't name. She turned back to Quinn, who was standing behind his chair, his thin arms folded across the back.

“Because you won't be the only one playing a role,” he told her matter-of-factly. “Philip has been playing one for months. For reasons that don't immediately concern you, we've gone to a great deal of trouble to establish a reputation for him in fashionable society as a drunkard, a gambler, and an indiscriminate womanizer.”

“Oh, I see,” she said softly, sitting back. “No wonder, then.”

“Oliver, for God's sake,” Riordan muttered.

Now she understood the look in his eyes. Pity. “The profligate peer and the gay grisette,” she mused with a tight smile. “Very clever. And very believable.”

“Yes, I think so,” Quinn nodded seriously. “I agree with you, Philip—in some ways this will be more to our advantage than the first scheme. Wade won't have any trouble believing Miss Merlin would enjoy the attentions of two men at once.” He began to pace back and forth across the Turkish carpet, oblivious to the taut quality of the silence in the wake of his words. “And when she confides to him that she misses France and feels bitterness toward England because of her father's execution, with any luck the idea of using you will come from him first. But if not, we'll pass some innocuous bit of intelligence to him through Miss Merlin in an offhand way, and that will give him the idea.”

Cass thought she'd insulated herself against Quinn's insults; it must be because she wasn't alone this time, that other people were hearing them too, that made the barbs seem so piercing. She carefully unclenched her hands. “One thing puzzles me,” she said when she could speak in a normal tone. “If I'm such an enemy of the English, why would I associate with a man who represents the very government I profess to despise?”

“Because he's rich,” Quinn answered promptly. “You'll have to make Wade believe your desire for a wealthy protector is even stronger than your hatred of England.”

“Ah, of course. Greed over patriotism.”

“Precisely. Greed and revenge, Miss Merlin, those are your two motivations. In that order.”

“Yes, I think I've got it. It should be easy, shouldn't it, Mr. Quinn? In the theatre I believe it's called type-casting.” She stood up. “If you don't mind, I'd like to leave now.” Riordan stood too, but she didn't look at him. “I expect I'll be hearing from you quite soon.”

“Not from me anymore,” said Quinn, “at least not publicly. Philip is your contact from now on. He'll contrive your first meeting with Wade. I'll go back to my role as merely an old friend of Philip's, a drab government drone with some vague, unimportant job in the ministry.”

Cass took his outstretched hand stiffly, absorbing this news with mixed feelings. She turned away, anxious to be gone.

Riordan's voice stopped her. “Wait, Cass. Before you go.” He crossed the room to a wide shelf of books on the far wall and ran his hand slowly along the top row. He halted at a thin volume and extracted it. “Here,” he said, coming back and handing it to her. “Read it.”

She looked down at the title and felt her face grow warm.
Contrat Social
, by Jean-Jacques Rousseau.

“I've lent my English copy to a friend. Can you read it in French?”

“Of course,” she muttered, embarrassed and angry at the same time.

“Good. I'll just see Miss Merlin to the carriage,” he said over his shoulder, taking her elbow. Walker hastened to open the library door and bowed politely as they went through; Cass nodded to him, wondering again what he must be thinking.

Riordan walked slowly but didn't speak as they crossed the wide, elegant foyer to the front door. The carriage was still by the curb, the coachman engaged in grooming one of the matching gray geldings while he waited. They stood on the shallow flagstone stoop, two steps up from the sidewalk; after a moment Riordan dropped her arm, as if just realizing he still held it.

“Goodbye,” said Cass. He was frowning; she had the impression he wanted to say something.

“Cass, you mustn't mind Oliver. Tact isn't his strong suit.”

“I had noticed that,” she said coolly. “It doesn't matter in the least.” She turned away; for some reason his attempt at an apology on Quinn's behalf deeply embarrassed her. She went down the steps, then stopped, remembering. “Would you do me the favor of reminding Mr. Quinn that I've not yet received any of the payment he and I agreed on?”

At her words, his eyes narrowed and his lips twisted in a cynical smile. “Of course,” he said, bowing.

She stiffened. “Surely you can appreciate that my new role necessitates certain expenses. Clothes, for one thing. And my aunt—” She broke off in anger, watching his eyes take on a sardonic gleam.

“I'm sure it does,” he agreed smoothly. “A girl has to look out for herself, after all. Strike while the iron is hot, eh? And I expect you'll want to set something by for a rainy day.”

She spoke through clenched teeth. “I declare, Mr. Riordan, you're more edifying than a wallful of samplers. But now if you have no more clichéd advice, I'll bid you good day.”

To her dismay, he descended the two steps in one stride and took hold of her arm again. Surely there was no need for him to clasp her waist so tightly as he helped her into the carriage, nor settle her skirts around her with such lingering solicitousness that it was all she could do not to slap his hands away.

“I'll come to see you tomorrow, Cass,” he said with one hand on the door, leaning in toward her. “Around four again, I should think. Have the book read by then so we can discuss it.” He smiled at her expression. “But you'll be
rereading
it, won't you? I'd forgotten that you admire Rousseau ‘above all men.'”

She felt like sticking her tongue out at him.

“And Cass, do something about your attitude, will you? You're soon going to have to convince people we're having a liaison, you know. You might start by calling me by my first name.”

She glared down at him with all the haughtiness she could summon. “I'm a very good actress; I think I proved that last night rather spectacularly. Although it's the hardest role I'll ever have to play, when the time comes I'm sure I'll be able to convince people I can bear to be in the same room with you. But in the meantime, I see no reason to hide my dislike. In fact, I feel quite incapable of it. Good day,
Mister
Riordan.”

So quickly she had no time to react, he swung up into the carriage and sat down, facing her, on the little bit of seat left between her and the door. Her skirt was pinned under his thigh, making it impossible to move over. She had no desire to enter into a physical struggle with him. For one thing, it would be vulgar; for another, he would win. She could scream, but on the whole it didn't seem worth it. She tried to freeze him with an icy-cold look of disdain, but its only effect was to make his smug smile widen.

“Acting, Cass?” he asked softly. He was watching her mouth again. “Are you sure that's all it was?”

She felt a treacherous tremor in the pit of her stomach. “Acting,” she insisted. “That's all it was for
both
of us. Please get out of the carriage now and let me—”

“Would you like to make a small, private wager? Because if it was only acting, I could touch you now, like this, and you would feel nothing. Absolutely nothing. How does this make you feel, Cass?”

“Stop it. Take your hands off me.”

“I only have one hand on you,” he corrected, a little hoarsely. He moved his fingers from the side of her jaw to her throat, confirming what he'd hoped—her pulse was racing. “
Now
I have both hands on you.” And he put his other hand on her stomach.

Her lips parted in shock, but she didn't move. “I'm not afraid of you, Philip Riordan.” She didn't even try to steady her voice.

“I'm glad, Cass,” he whispered. “I never want you to be afraid of me. Now let me see how well you
act
while I'm kissing you.”

“Don't! Don't—”

“It's for the wager. Show me how you don't feel anything. Open your mouth, love. Yes.” His palm was pressed against her heart. He caught the back of her head in his other hand and held her like a fragile treasure while his mouth made love to her. Hazily, Cass decided her most dignified defense was to be still and let him kiss her until her unresponsiveness chilled him. By the time the defects in this plan were clear to her, it was too late to institute another. She made a faint-hearted attempt to push him away, but the touch of her small hand on his chest made her think of rolling a boulder uphill. Her name on his lips was the most seductive sound she'd ever heard. She had enough presence of mind left not to moan out loud, but not enough to keep herself from giving him her tongue when he demanded it, nor from quivering with pleasure when he sucked it between his lips and gently bit it.