Fortunes Fool

by Gale, Eva; D'Arc, Bianca; Kent, Cassidy; March, Selah

  It seemed as if Fletch was tossing them back faster than usual tonight.

  "Better watch yourself, Cade," Michael said. "Women like that are good for one thing only, and that's not being a wife." Michael poked Charles, "Anyway, those gypsy tricks are supposed to make you shoot your load faster than a scared skunk."

  He could feel the sweat gathering and the anger running through his body just like when he was about to get in a scrap in the old days. Maybe he should have stopped them before, but he knew anything he said would be wasted on them, and he didn't want them knowing what he was up to anyway. Pearls before swine and all that.

  When he was young he had to prove himself with his fists. That was all he had. No longer, but even now he wanted to take Michael out back. But, he worked long and hard to groom himself to be better than that.

  Still and all, looking at it logically, he knew nothing about her life. Nothing other than she shook when she climaxed and that she tried to give him his money back. Which in itself was admirable, but she could have done that so she could see him again, sacrificing the five dollars in hopes for making more.

  He stood up and pushed the chair back. He didn't want to think that way about her, and he needed to clear his head. He planned on having her over to the house, and he still would, but maybe this time he wouldn't assume her honesty.

  But when had she proved herself to be anything but truthful, even in sex? He knew the first time they were together she was embarrassed to do the things he asked, but even still she met him fully in his passion, even overwhelming him with her response. Beatrice on the other hand, with her it was always an act to get him to give her more, to make sure he kept up the house arrangement.

  Caden regarded himself as a pretty good judge of character and although this time he allowed for being wrong on a few counts, he honestly didn't see that depth of guile in Abby.

  "Are you going to stand there all night, Caden, or are you in?" Fletch shuffled the cards. Michael sat forward, slipped out his cufflinks, and rolled up his

  sleeves. "No, not this time. I have an early morning." He turned and walked off with his cigar still between his teeth. He took a paper off the bar, scribbled a note, addressed it, and gave it to the waiter. * * * * Abby pulled her scarf up over her nose and walked down the stairs from the mercantile with one dollar in her pocket from selling the quilt she'd made. The store never took any on order, so this would be the only money she got for a few months. It was never enough, but it was more than she had before she walked in.

  Evening had arrived while inside she haggled for every nickel. It was the time of winter that lasted the longest. The sun went down around five in the evening and it seemed as if spring would never come. Everything seemed gray, even though she knew spring would eventually come. She yanked her hat down around her ears and when she looked back up Mr. Preston was approaching with a beautiful blonde woman. Whom, she knew was not Mrs. Preston. Mr. Preston leaned down and whispered something in her ear and the woman leaned into him with a seductive smile. Abby kept walking, trying to pass, pretending she had no idea who he was, or that she ate his food the other night at his daughter's birthday party. And it looked as if he hadn't noticed her at all, which was a small miracle, because Abby was not good at urbane banter.

  She snuggled into her coat and recoiled when the woman stopped right in front of her with a snide smile, Mr. Preston hanging back and going off to a storefront. "So, I hear you're Caden's new slut." "Excuse me?" Abby stepped back at the vicious tone, and her cheeks felt as if they'd both been slapped. She couldn't believe such nasty words were coming out a woman who looked as she did. Her hair was upswept in the latest style, her skin was perfect bisque and her eyes were riveting. She wore a dress Abby would have to save years to buy. Abby must have shown her thoughts on her face because the woman's smile became superior.

  "All this is what Caden bought me. He still loves me, and I know he'll come back. And you'd never fit in his circle anyway. So, why don't you scamper off like a good girl?"

  Her vision swam a moment as she understood what the woman said, but she also realized that Caden broke off whatever relationship they had so it didn't matter. At least not to her. But the woman was obviously hurt by his actions, and Abby felt bad for her. She was enthralled with him and she'd barely known him.

  And then she wondered if this was the relationship that she saw in Caden's hand. His lines showed that it was a long one, but it was also a shallow line, meaning it didn't mean much to Caden. Apparently the woman saw things differently. Abby wasn't surprised. After all, she was having a hard time defending her feelings for Caden, and she'd only known him a few days. But she saw his character, and his heart that lay in the lines of his hands. Abby raised her eyebrow. "And you are?" "Beatrice. Caden will know." Even if the woman spent years with Caden, she obviously didn't know him. Once Caden made a decision it was final. And there would be no way that he would have the woman after she bedded his friend. Abby didn't know what to say to Caden about Michael, but she bet he already knew what kind of man Mr. Preston was.

  "Not if I don't tell him. And anyway, I don't think he'd like Mr. Preston's leftovers." Abby gave Beatrice the once over. "Excuse me."

  Abby heard Beatrice gasp and call her another name, but she kept on walking.

  Thankfully her coat was long because Abby was sure anyone on the street could see her legs shaking. Her stomach trembled as she made her way around Beatrice to continue on her way home.

  Would she tell Caden? Probably not. She didn't want to hear any explanations as to who Beatrice was, she already knew. And if she expected those answers from him, he might ask questions, too. Not that she was a light skirt, but he knew she was no virgin. Nothing good ever came of those conversations. Some things were better left unsaid.

  But Beatrice was beautiful. She could see why Caden was attracted, and why Michael Preston didn't care if she was Caden's cast off. And Beatrice was right; she did fit in with Caden's friends better. Beatrice probably knew which forks to eat from, too. And if Caden had left her, how long did Abby think he'd want to be with her, when she knew none of those things, and could never be that person?

  The inevitable would happen. Abby knew that, and she would be smart to not get anymore involved. But why was it that even to think of him made her anxious to see him again?

  Abby walked up the stairs into her house and was greeted by the smell of her mother's chicken soup cooking and the warmth of the kitchen. She hung her coat on the tree and spied a note on the side table addressed to her and ripped it open.

  Her mother poked her head into the foyer. "Oh good, you saw it. Dinner is in a few minutes. You have just enough time to wash up. Tell me what the note said over dinner?"

  Abby nodded and climbed the stairs to her room, her heart as loud in her ears as her footsteps on the stairs. Caden asked her to come by the bank.

  Chapter Seven

  Frist had a bit of the sniffles when he brought her to Caden's door three days after the Prestons' party. So far, as he escorted her down the office hallway he sneezed three times and never took his kerchief from under his red nose.

  Her mother thankfully hadn't insisted on seeing the note, Abby just told her, and Caden didn't incriminate. All it asked was that she meet him at the bank, Friday afternoon at five PM. It was a peculiar time to make an appointment, and it was all she could do to keep her anticipation from her mother and sister. She told them he might have a job for her.

  A fine sheen broke out of her face as Frist rapped on the door, and she wished for a fan to cool her even though it was winter. "Come in." Caden's baritone boomed through the door. Frist opened the door and there he sat, behind that massive block of oak with his feet crossed at its corner. He eased up, his movements lithe and slow, as if he knew who would be behind the door. She had the distinct feeling of being stalked by an animal much higher on the food chain.

  A soft click told her Frist had removed himself to sniffle and wheeze back to his front desk, and no
w Caden stood before her, taking up all of her air.

  A tiny gasp slipped from between her lips as he lowered his head to kiss her, the tension sizzling her skin like water on a hot pan.

  He pressed his lips to hers and broke off as quickly leaving her bereft. "Hello." "Hello?" His bemused smile teased a smile from her as well. "I missed you," he said as he cupped her chin and traced the corner of her mouth with his thumb. The familiarity of him touching her calmed her anxiety but heightened her ceaseless wanting of him.

  She leaned her head into his palm. "I missed you, too. I'm so glad you sent the note. If you had made me wait I would have been mad with despair wondering if I would ever see you again." She couldn't help the overdramatic teasing. He smiled. "You could have always come here." She shook her head. "No, if you sent no word, I would never have

  come." "Then let me assure you, you are always welcome. I would hate to have you think otherwise." He kissed her again, a slight peck. "Wait right here."

  He crossed the room, took his jacket off the back of his chair, and put it on, giving the short lapels a snap. Then he turned the knob on the paraffin lamp. The soft glow that was in the room faded leaving the lights from the town square as illuminations, casting long shadows across the floor.

  "I thought you wanted us to…to…meet in your office again." Her cheeks burned as played with the buttons on the wrist of her gloves, thankful he couldn't see her clearly. "Oh, no. Not that again." She craned her neck to look at him as he offered her his elbow. He caught her glance. "Not that it wasn't pleasant, but I've other

  things in mind for tonight." "Other things?" "Yes, like food, and conversation. And then I'd like to see you, completely unclothed, a feast of skin on my bed. I hope you made excuses for the next five hours."

  "The next five hours?" Her voice wavered, her thoughts flipping like thrown cards trying to think up something to tell her mother. "At least." She had thought maybe two hours at the most. Her panic was followed by recriminations of getting involved and with the knowledge that her ilk had nothing in common with men like him. Nothing would come of this but a broken heart, but when she looked at him and her whole chest squeezed, how could he not be worth it? "Oh."

  He opened the door, closing it behind him as he guided her out. "Did you?" "Did I?" He chuckled. "Make adequate excuses?" "Oh, yes. I told my mother I was meeting you here first and that you would be interviewing me for a secretary position you had available, and then visiting a friend." She just didn't mention that it was what she would be telling her mother, not had told her mother. She didn't dwell on it. Frustration at her even having to make her whereabouts known only angered her. She was an adult, and still answering to others. His laugh echoed through the vacant hallway. "Something like that." Instead of taking her out the front doors he brought her the opposite way down the marble hall and after a few turns was a door which opened to the alley behind the bank.

  She questioned their exit for a moment, wondering why the front entrance was insufficient, but left it, deciding that he knew where they were going and therefore the best way to get there.

  The night was dark and crisp with the promise of snow in the air. She hoped it didn't come tonight because it would make getting home atrocious and she hadn't thought to wear sturdy boots.

  He hailed a hansom cab which thrilled her. She would have walked with him, but the less time they wasted on getting wherever they were going, the more time she had to spend with him. Alone together. Finally.

  * * * * After all this time he would bringing her to Knob Hill, his home, not the brownstone. He didn't realize when he started thinking on a more permanent basis, but he did. And he refused to analyze it. All he wanted to think about was the pleasure that lay ahead of them.

  They would, for the very first time since they had been rendezvousing, be naked. That was an image that brought him to attention. He planned on having her sprawled across the bed for the most part of the night.

  Because he sent the servants home early he would have to help dress her back in all those damnable layers of corset and bustle, but playing the ladies' maid didn't bother him in the least. He was proud of his accomplishments in that particular area. He always thought that if purchased, he should know how to put it on a woman.

  He opened the door of the hansom and took her hand as she stepped out, then led her up the stairs into the house.

  She unbuttoned her coat without a word, and he hung it for her. He stopped a minute to let her take it all in, hoping that when he offered it all to her she would be unable to resist. The carpenters just finished, and he still was admiring it himself. He had taken some ideas from the Prestons', but made specifications all his own. She peered out from under her hat while she removed her pin. "It's

  quite lovely." "Thank you, I've had it remodeled in the last few weeks. I'd hoped

  you would like it." "You've succeeded, I do." She placed her hat on the bench and stood

  with her hands clasped in front of her. He could see she was nervous, and more than anything he wanted her to be at ease. He could only think of one thing. What made him most comfortable.

  "Take off your shoes," he said, as he sat on the edge of the bench and unlaced his boots. She stood and stared at him, dumbfounded. "Pardon?" "Take your shoes off. I hate wearing shoes while I'm at home. Unless I'm entertaining, I never wear shoes at home." He smiled. "Even when I play poker. I tell them it's my good luck charm." He settled his boots against the wall trim and wiggled his toes. "Come on," he patted the bench, "off they go." She balked. "Fine then, I insist. I just had my floors refinished and the water

  from your boots will ruin them. Off. Now." She snickered. "Really?" "I insist. Don't insult your host." "I wouldn't think to insult my host." She perched on the corner and held out her foot to him. He laughed as he plopped her booted foot onto his lap and threw up her skirt. She gasped, then burst out laughing. Her smile lit up her face as he slipped the boot off, letting it clunk on the floor, moments later tossing its mate next to it.

  He stood and kissed her then, taking her elbow, showed her into the dining room where he had asked for a buffet to be set up. She walked next to him, her shoulder touching his, a grin on her face.

  There were plates stacked on the sidebar and he took one and gave it to her, then took one himself. He'd asked for some easy foods that they could eat all night, especially if they came back down for snacks.

  He made sure she had at least a bit of food on her plate and he brought glasses and wine to the table, uncorking it and filling them with a cabernet he liked.

  It was strange sitting next to her at a table like this, informal and intimate. By far it was the nicest dinner in a long time, and the most anticipated. Not for the fucking afterwards either, but the whole of spending the evening with her. The only thing that he didn't like was that at some point it would have to end. He would prefer if he could go to bed, and wake up with her. To not have to pull out of her when he climaxed. Somehow before he never felt the loss of that. Even more strange was not realizing his feelings about it had changed. All he knew was that he didn't want to start his day without seeing her over the breakfast table, and end it by holding her naked body to his.

  "Would dinner qualify as payment for another palm reading?" He placed his fork and knife down onto the plate.

  She pointed her fork at him and grinned. "It is delicious. I suppose I could tell your fortune for you."

  She winked and he started to laugh. Her personality was so faceted, he could never tell which side she would show next, and they all entranced him. She put her utensils down and held out her hand, beckoning him to give her his.

  He slipped out his cufflinks and rolled up his shirtsleeve, offering her his palm. "Last time though, alright?" "Why?" "Because I can't give you an accurate reading now, we've become

  too intimate and I can't be objective." "That's a reason I can live with, and I'll be perpetuating." She arched her brow, "Really?" "Absolutely." "I'll have to see how true that statement is.
" She scooted forward and leaned in over his hand, spreading his fingers with hers, just like she had done every other time. And like every other time, the nerves in his hands acted as if there were an invisible string attached to his cock. At this rate he'd never be able to hold her hand without getting hard. He took a deep breath and concentrated on pacing himself. "I want you to tell me about my love life." She looked up at him, a shadow of concern crossing her face. "What do you see?" She blinked and looked back down, furrows creasing her brow. He would have to admit, it wasn't the smartest thing he'd ever said to her. He'd soothe her fears soon enough.

  Once he made the decision he went and bought an emerald cut sapphire set in a circle of diamonds, and it sat upstairs, in the bottom of a champagne glass. Now all he had to do was get her up there.

  Chapter Eight

  Before when Caden asked her to read his palm it was a playful thing where he would seduce her. Never before had he asked like this. She knew she was setting her heart out to be trampled on, and apparently her time had come.

  He needed to marry. She just never thought it in him to be so indelicate with it. She knew he didn't love her, but she thought at least he cared enough to not do this. Or maybe this is what people of his station did? Maybe she should know her position and expect to be asked such things? "Come on, what do you see?" She pulled her hand away, "I'm sorry, I can't. Not tonight." "Why?" His genuine puzzlement confused her and her heart squeezed. "I'm

  not objective, I said." He looked down at her hand and brought it to his lips and gave it a feather light kiss. His sweetness made her throat knot, as if she was trying to swallow stale bread. "I messed it up, didn't I?" He kissed her hand again. "Messed what up?" "I was hoping you would see us in my hand, but somehow I have