by Laura Parker
“What?” both women voiced in unison, neither pleased by the idea.
Merlyn sent a hopeful glance at the table where places for two had been laid. “Dinner so late? You’re a treasure, Meg, a pure treasure. ‘Tis why I thought of you.”
Meg bristled under the velvet of his tone, but her milky white complexion pinked to strawberries in the cream just the same. “You’re a devil, Merlyn, and that’s a fact. Expecting a girl to house your new whore as well as your bastard.”
“Adam’s here?” Cassandra cried, and her tender breasts engorged with milk at the mention of his name. “You have my son?”
Meg’s considering gaze went once more over the tiny young girl. Then her eyes shot up to meet Merlyn’s wicked grin. “You’re a bloody fine one, stealing from the cradle.”
Merlyn’s smile deepened as he reached out and wrapped an arm about Meg’s neat waist. “Jealous, my love? I remember it was you who threw me over.”
“Aye, that’s a fact,” Meg said, snuggling suggestively in Merlyn’s embrace. “But there’s been none to equal you.” Her gaze went back to Cassandra. “But then, you know what it is for the likes of Merlyn to fill yer bed.”
Cassandra did not answer that. “I want my son, now.”
“It’s really hers?” Meg asked Merlyn.
“Aye, that’s a fact,” Merlyn returned in a perfect imitation of the woman’s accent.
“And yours, that a blind man could see. Them eyes. Cor! They give me a turn when he first popped them open. Them’s Merlyn’s eyes, I said to meself. Curly black lashes and all.”
“Some think he’s the exact replica of me,” Cassandra offered through stiff lips.
Neither of them answered her. Merlyn removed his arm from Meg’s waist and started toward the table. “Cassie stands in need of shelter. There’re bound to be inquiries about her, and I can’t house her in a likely place.” He added quickly when he saw the stubborn jut of Meg’s chin, “You know I’d never put you in danger, Meg.”
Meg gave him a glance that had enough heat in it to scorch a lesser being, but Merlyn stood it easily. “Aye. I give you your due. You’ve never hurt me, and few can claim that honor. But one pert word from her”—and she jerked her thumb at Cassandra—”and it’s the toe of me boot to the pair of you.”
“Now that that’s decided,” Merlyn said, rubbing his hands together and hoisting a leg over the back of a chair at the table, “I for one am in need of sustenance. Squab pie?” he inquired politely as he held out a platter of crisp pastries to Cassandra.
“I want my son.” Cassandra remained still, her gaze moving uneasily between the two.
“Come. He’s sleeping upstairs,” Meg answered and moved toward the back of the room, where there was a narrow stairway. Following quickly on the woman’s heels, Cassandra climbed the steep worn steps to find herself in an even narrower passageway.
“He’s in here,” Meg said as she lifted the latch on the first door on the hall.
The shutters had been left open and the moonlight, reflecting from low clouds, clearly lit the room. Cassandra saw him almost at once, the black curly head rested on a straw mattress under the window. As she raced to bend over him, to touch him and make certain that he was breathing, she murmured a silent prayer of thanksgiving.
“‘Tis a fine lad you’ve got. Him and me, we were friends right off. Merlyn said I was to care for the babe like me own.” Meg moved to the bed to watch curiously as the young mother lightly stroked her child’s silky curls. “A fine lad,” she repeated and, looking for something to say, added, “Had one meself, once.”
“You?” Looking up, Cassandra knew she’d said the wrong thing, for Meg’s expression was rigid, the soft blue eyes steely. “I only meant that—”
“I know what you meant, dear.” Meg shrugged, the stiffness easing from her, but her gaze was dangerously bright. “I’m not the motherly type. Still, I miss the little tyke. The consumption took him two winters past.” She leaned over Cassandra’s shoulder to the sleeping boy. “My John had the look of your son, same black tuft of hair and long frame.”
Cassandra met Meg’s eyes across the foot’s space, but she refrained from asking the question uppermost in her mind. “I’m sorry about your John,” she said quietly.
Surprise flared and then subsided in Meg’s gaze, as if she’d underestimated her prey. Chuckling under her breath, she walked back to the door. “I’ll leave you to see to the tyke while I see to his sire.”
Merlyn was licking his fingers free of a second pastry as Meg’s trim ankles appeared on the stairs. A grin wedged his face as he called cheerfully, “Did you tuck in both our guests?”
Meg impatiently tossed back an auburn curl from her shoulder. “You’re slipping, Merlyn, me dear. They’re a parcel of trouble you’ll not soon be rid of.”
Merlyn’s mouth hardened as his uncompromising stare met hers. “Adam’s my son. I’ve claimed him.”
“Touchy, ain’t we?” Meg exclaimed slyly. “You never were one to show your feelings before, Merlyn. Makes me wonder if you’ve fallen in love with that little baggage.”
Merlyn shrugged, a faint derisive look in his eye. “Don’t press me, Meg. I fancy the idea of a son of my own.”
“But if you don’t fancy the girl, why bear the burden of her troubles?” Meg asked in a matter-of-fact tone.
Merlyn replied to this by taking a long pull on his pint of ale. He had just asked himself that question. When he’d left Cassie in Hanover Square he’d told himself he was well rid of her. Yet he’d traveled no more than two blocks when he’d decided to send that message to Briarcliffe. He’d suspected she’d soon need his help, and he’d been right.
When he set his mug aside he said, “Though it’s no business of yours, I’ll tell you why I’m protecting them. Nearly a year ago I paid a Newgate gaoler for an evening with the girl.” He raised his single blue eye to Meg’s smirking face. “I see you begin to understand too much. The girl’s no tart, and I should know. I found her pleasant company and wanted to set her up as my mistress, but she was to marry. God knows how the man managed to keep his hands off her, but he had, so he knew the boy was not his. Tonight I removed them from his home.”
It was not quite the truth, but Merlyn suspected the melodramatic aspects of the story would so engage Meg that she would not think to look for loopholes in his tale.
“Ooh, the poor thing,” Meg cooed, all soft sympathy. Then quickly her expression altered, becoming as stern as her open wantonness would allow. “If she’d wanted to come with you, you’d not have had to strike her. I saw that bruise on her cheek. It’s not above a few hours old.”
Exasperation colored Merlyn’s voice. “I didn’t touch her. That’s her husband’s work.” He rose slowly to his feet, bracing himself with his hands on the table, a grim expression on his face. “I’ve brought her here for her protection and my amusement. When the amusement dims she’ll be left to look to her own.”
Meg gave him stare for stare. “Cruel, that’s what you are! Looking no farther than to scratch your itch. Poor wee thing. Just a child herself, suckling a babe, and you’d have her on her back half the night, besides. If that’s not cold-blooded, I’d like to know!”
“Hush! Both of you!” Cassandra admonished from the head of the stairs. “It’s little enough to ask that you allow Adam his sleep.”
“Come down here,” Merlyn demanded in a low but carrying voice. “What nonsense have you been spreading? Meg, here, thinks I’ve done nothing but beat you.”
At Cassandra’s startled glance, Meg blushed nearly as dark as her fiery hair. “Meg must know something of the hardship of dealing with a man of your ilk. Is that ale? I should like a glass,” Cassandra said coolly and descended the stairs.
Cassandra could have said nothing better to set Meg more firmly in her camp. “Like ale, do you, deary? You’re quality. ‘Is that ale? I should like a glass,’ ” Meg parroted perfectly. “You’ve a lovely v
oice, Cassie. You’ll not mind if I practice?”
“Certainly not,” Cassandra replied, carefully avoiding Merlyn’s gaze. She did not feel comfortable in the company of either of them, but, clearly, Meg was the better ally. Merlyn had yet to make it plain what he expected of her in return for his protection. She would do what she must, but she would not go meekly or humiliate herself with tearful pleadings. She knew the worst he was capable of, and, contrary to her peace of mind, the knowledge was not wholly unpleasant.
Merlyn watched Cassie daintily sip the mug of ale Meg set before her. He said nothing as her sharp white teeth sank into the tender crisp crust of a squab pie, but he gave in to an impatient yawn when she reached for a second piece. She was stalling, and she knew he knew it. If she ate till her belly ached it would make no difference. He was ready to claim his first payment.
Meg stood between the pair, her eyes on first one and then the other. The high color of defiance rode the girl’s cheeks, while Merlyn’s easy manner meant that he was in a most unpredictable mood. That was the puzzle, Meg decided. She couldn’t determine what the girl’s feelings were for Merlyn nor his for her. She’d borne the man a son, yet Cassie seemed curiously virginal, reluctant, and deplorably ignorant of the art of flirtation.
Meg’s avid gaze swung back to Merlyn and she could hardly suppress a sigh at the sight of him. A year or better, that’s what it was since she’d last seen him. And bedded him? Meg ticked off the time with growing restlessness. Three, maybe four years. Acutely aware of him as a disturbingly virile male, she nearly bent to taste the warm spicy skin of his neck exposed by his open collar. Meg smirked as her eyes cut to the younger woman. That would make her take notice.
The workings of her mind led her far into speculation of another kind. The broad shoulders, the easy smile on lips with the brand of passion in them when he chose, these were enticements she remembered well. His raven-black hair, loosely queued, revealed his strong gypsy-dark profile which her fingers itched to trace.
Again Meg’s blue gaze turned speculatively to Cassie. She was small and neat, like fine china, but her narrow waist and generous bosom were assets a man would find appealing. What would it take to win Merlyn away from her?
Meg began to clear the table, saying solicitously, “Any soul can see you’re fair worn through, Cassie. You go on up and see to your babe. Merlyn and I can finish up.”
Cassandra glanced at Merlyn, who had not even looked up. For reasons she did not probe, a sinking feeling of disappointment settled in her. She had been girding her emotions for a battle that would not now occur. “Yes, of course.” She rose quickly to her feet, too quickly, she realized when the taunting sound of Merlyn’s laughter rolled through the room.
“Don’t flee, little dove. I don’t as a rule polish off a fine meal by eating little birds like you.” Meg’s throaty chuckle drew a muttered profanity from Merlyn which Cassandra did not quite catch. He stood and reached out and his long lean fingers encircled her wrist. “Come, Cassie. I seem to remember a certain pledge, a bargain of price was to be struck between us.”
His fingers tightened and Cassandra wondered why she did not twist away. Instead, she allowed herself to be drawn along the table until nothing stood between them. His sapphire eye, wiped free of its gooey make-up, was holding her still, confining her against her will, and she could not resist. Then, suddenly, he was standing so near she could see nothing but the pulse beating at the open throat of his rough shirt. The feeling of stifling heat rose through her, blocking her breath and finally moving her to turn away.
“Don’t.” He said it softly, but the sound reverberated through Cassandra’s body, setting every nerve to stinging awareness of his nearness. When the fingers of his other hand settled on her neck the tingling increased. They slid up to cup her chin and then slid down, pushing aside the heavy silk curtain of her hair. “Don’t turn away, Cassie. You know what I want. I’ll have my payment for this night’s work.”
Cassandra jerked her arm free as she took a step back. “To protect Adam I’d bed a dozen men, if necessary,” she flung at him. “But you’ll get no more than you take. If you’ve forgotten, I’m a married woman!”
Merlyn stared at her, a dangerous glitter brightening his eye. “You’re no more married to any man than you are to me!” He took a quick step forward and, grabbing her by the waist, pulled her hard against his long length. His face was only inches from hers as he said. “I could, so easily, make you forget your husband was ever born.”
Cassandra shuddered, the intolerable feel of his strong warmth nearly suffocating her. She was hot, yet she shivered as if from the cold. “Were you capable of making me forget a single thing, I would beg you give me repose from any knowledge of you!”
For the space of a dozen heartbeats they faced one another, and Cassandra counted the moments. The coiled violence that seemed so intimate a part of him was writhing just beneath the surface. She felt it in the convulsive hold of the hands on her waist and neck and in the unblinking gaze fixed on her.
“Well, now,” Merlyn said softly, as if to shout would bring the roof down upon them. “I’d thought to tenderly bed the mother of my son. But you, it seems, prefer the role of whore. Fair enough, my little Cassie. Fair enough.”
The first rending of her gown came as so much of a surprise that Cassandra did not immediately react. It was the second rip, the shredding of the only garment she owned, that loosened the numbing dread that held her still. She swung her palm full and flat across his cheek, but he did not cease tearing the bodice from her. Frantic, she reached out and grabbed blindly, catching the ribbon of the patch that slashed his brow. It came away in her fingers. With a roar of surprise from him, she was suddenly released.
“You ignorant, reckless chit!” Merlyn cried, one hand racing up to shield the eye that had been covered.
Horrified by her action, Cassandra pressed the patch into his other hand, choking out, “Oh! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—”
Meg, who had been watching them with all the eagerness of a spectator at a Covent Garden theater, now stepped between them. “The pair of you are a sight.” Her gaze took in Cassandra, then Merlyn, who had deftly replaced his patch. “She fears the touch of your hand, Merlyn. Ask her if it’s because of the memory of the pain she suffered in birthing your babe.”
Merlyn’s head jerked up, the thought a new one for him. He’d never considered what Cassie had endured in giving life to Adam. “Is it true?” he asked in almost foolish surprise.
Cassandra stopped the impulse to allay his doubts. It was a small straw to clutch at, but it was all she had. “It’s true. The doctor said … he said …” She lowered her eyes in seeming modesty but actually because she was afraid he would read liar in her gaze. “He said I should advise my—my husband to curtail his conjugal rights for at least six months.”
Merlyn’s jaw fell slack, but almost at once his features hardened in suspicion. “Why did you not say so before?”
Cassandra took a deep breath. He was not an easy man to fool. She raised her head and looked him straight in the eye. “I had forgotten. The caution did not seem necessary at the time. Most husbands allow several months of peace to the matter of the marriage bed after a birth.”
“Aye. ‘Tis so,” Meg added quickly, seeing at last a chance to entice Merlyn to her bed. If Cassie didn’t want his embrace, he’d soon turn elsewhere. “I’ve been a mother, I know. What do I have to gain by lying for the girl?”
“I don’t know,” Merlyn said evenly, but his eyes never left Cassandra’s face. He was in over his head in matters of which he knew little, and it cut his pride to the quick to admit it. “If I leave now I may never return.”
Cassandra said nothing, but the thick slow beating of her heart painfully skipped a pace. As she stared at him, he made a sudden impatient move as if to sweep a thought aside and turned on his heel and walked out into the night.
Cassandra looked about her, almost in surp
rise, to find Meg’s bright blue gaze on her. “Do you think he’ll come back?” she asked.
“Does it matter, deary?” Meg returned.
Chapter Nine
“Fie on all the demons that be!” Meg called dramatically as she swept into the tiny parlor of her home in the alley off Lewknor Lane. Still in her powder and paint after an evening’s performance at the theater where she had landed a bit part, she looked quite the elegant lady as Cassandra’s genteel tones tripped lightly from her lips. With a second dramatic gesture, she swirled one edge of the cape she wore up over a shoulder. It was a borrowed stage prop of royal-blue velvet, rubbed shiny in places after years of quick changes, but that did not affect the flattering picture Meg presented to her audience of one.
“You look lovely, Meg,” Cassandra said as she laid aside the knife with which she was peeling potatoes.
Meg arched a brow. “Come, Cassie, you must have had a handsome wardrobe, being gentry and all.”
After two weeks in Meg’s company Cassandra knew well that the woman’s curiosity would not be satisfied until some tidbit had been extracted. “No. My family had little besides a few dusty portraits and a bit of rocky ground.”
“Still, you had enough to be dowered,” Meg suggested helpfully, but Cassandra shook her head. “Nothing went with me into my marriage.”
“A love match!” Meg cried delightedly, her eyes rolling back in her head in a manner that regularly earned her a scolding from the theater director. “Was your husband tall and handsome as anything?”
The remark caught Cassandra off guard and she replied without thinking. “I thought him the kindest, most beautiful man on earth.” The description hardly applied to the rage-distorted face of her husband that rose quickly to mind. That image drew a trace of a shiver across her sensitive skin and gooseflesh sprang up. “I was wrong,” she finished quietly.