Fortune's Lady (32 page)

“And how would you like that engraved, sir?” Riordan held the solid gold poesy ring in his fingers, smiling a little. “ ‘
Tu et nul autre
,' ” he told the jeweler. “And on the inside, ‘P.R. & C.M., 28/8/92.' ”

“Very good, sir. It'll be ready in about a week, I should think.”

“A week! I need it sooner.”

“How soon?”

He smiled again, hopefully. “Tonight?”

The jeweler threw up his hands. “Impossible!” They began to haggle, and Riordan didn't hear the opening and closing of the shop door. He broke off and turned when he felt a feather-light touch on his shoulder.

“Hello, Philip. A gift for your wife? I imagine there wasn't much time for that sort of thing before the wedding.” Claudia held out her hands; he took them automatically. “When did you get back? Your letter came three days ago, but the news was old by then. Congratulations. I hope you'll be very happy.”

Recovering slowly, he took her arm and led her toward the window, away from the proprietor's interested ears. Then he wasn't sure what to say. “You look beautiful, Claudia.” It was true. “So the gossip reached you before my letter. I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you myself, but everything happened so quickly.”

“Yes, so I gather.”

He looked down. “You've every right to be angry.”

“I'm not, though. Disappointed, but not angry.”

“No? Your father and Lady Alice must be, though.”

“They're confused. I told them you and I were only friends. Which is the truth, after all, isn't it?” Her smile was archly friendly, and he began to relax. “Now, tell me about you. Are you happy? Can you make a good life with this Cassandra Merlin?”

“Frankly, Claudia, I have no idea. But I've married her, and I mean to try.”

“Dear Philip.” Impulsively she squeezed his hands and kissed him lightly on the lips. “I wish you luck.”

He smiled with relief. “That means a great deal to me. You'll always be—” The words froze on his tongue and he went white. His grip on Claudia's hands tightened hurtfully.

She tried to follow his horrified gaze. The afternoon sun sent a slanting glare through the window, making her squint. “Philip, what's wrong?”

He stepped away from her with unflattering haste. “Good God. I've just seen my wife.” Worse, she'd seen him. Mouthing a hasty excuse, he was through the door and out of sight before Claudia could say a word.

Claudia wasn't a malicious woman, but she was human; she couldn't resist a tiny, satisfied smile as she watched him go.

In vain Riordan searched the sidewalk in both directions for a yellow dress. There was one, up ahead, but the girl had brown hair. She must have gone into one of the shops to avoid him. The thought made him grind his teeth. Of all the foul, rotten luck—Cass had to catch him kissing Claudia in a shop window on the first day back from their honeymoon. She wasn't in the draper's, nor the milliner's,  nor the silversmith's. He walked around the block twice, peering into every store window he passed. The thought struck that she might have gone home. He turned around and headed toward Mayfair, arms swinging, long legs striding briskly. He knew he could make her understand when he spoke to her; what he couldn't bear was the delay!

But when he arrived home twenty minutes later, Cass wasn't there. Quinn was.

“Tell me it's not true.”

“I can't.”

Riordan had never seen his friend so upset. For once his steely control had deserted him; he clutched the top of his head as if to keep it on while he paced blindly between the desk and the library door. “You were drunk?”

“Yes.”

“God!” He clapped his hands to his ears and kept pacing. He was dressed all in black, as if for a wake. His face was pale, his receding hair not perfectly clean. He seemed to have aged five years since Riordan last saw him.

“Can't you try to understand, Oliver? I was—”

Quinn whirled on him. “Understand what? That you allowed yourself to lose control to the point that you've married a woman who's no better than a—”

“Don't say it!” Riordan thundered violently, coming out of his chair. “It isn't true!” He reined in his temper with difficulty. “You were wrong about Cass, Oliver, and I want to know how it happened.”

Quinn looked at him pityingly. “You're a fool.”

“No. You were wrong. My wife was innocent when I married her.”

“Innocent!” He threw back his head and feigned a hearty laugh. “Did you see the blood?”

Riordan took three steps toward him and stopped, clenching his fists. He seemed to see Quinn through a haze of black rage.

“Are you going to hit me again, Philip?” he snarled. “I've still got the scar from the last time.” He pulled his shirt cuff back and held up his wrist.

Sickened, Riordan turned away and went to his desk. His hands shook.

A moment later, Quinn spoke more calmly. “It's done. Somehow we have to go on. And I must set aside my personal disappointment and concentrate on the higher purpose, which is to foil an assassin.”

Riordan felt the words like razor cuts. He sat down heavily. “Cass is a good woman, Oliver. Please give her a chance. She's—”

“Did you hear what I said? We have more important things to consider. Now that King Louis has been arrested, we've—”

“
What?
”

Quinn looked at him in surprise, then disgust. “Are you telling me you didn't know?”

“No, we've been—” He gestured helplessly. “Tell me.”

“Louis sought safety from an insurgent mob in the Assembly. The Swiss Guard who were supposed to be defending him were ordered to withdraw; many of them were shot while they were retiring. The Jacobins in the Assembly decreed that Louis be ‘suspended' from office, and he and his family have been imprisoned in the Temple. Pitt's withdrawn our minister.”

“My God. I didn't think it would come to this.”

“The arrest has galvanized the revolutionary factions in France, and more importantly, here. It's a critical time, Philip. We urgently need new intelligence, and unfortunately Wade is still our best source.”

“I have news of Wade. He admitted to Cass that he led the group who tried to murder King George.”

“Is that all?”

“No. He told her the King is still their target and that the next attempt will occur in November.”

“November.” Quinn stared into space with narrowed eyes. “The new Parliament opens in November.”

“Exactly.”

“Two months. We've got to find out.”

Riordan stood up; he knew what was coming. “I don't want her to see him again, Oliver.” He flinched at the look on Quinn's face.

“Say that again. I must have misheard.”

“Listen to me. He tried to hurt her. I asked you once if there was anything wrong with him where women are concerned and you said no. Your intelligence was wrong, Oliver, wrong
again.
I won't have her seeing him anymore.”

Quinn controlled himself with a visible effort. “You're besotted, Philip. My intelligence was right on both scores. Someday you're going to realize that, and I pray it comes soon. As for her not seeing Wade, I can only think you've taken leave of your senses. It's crucial that we discover his plan, and you know it. Apparently he trusts her—we have no choice but to use her, however distasteful you may find it. But your feelings aren't important anymore. Something much bigger is at stake. We're talking about the monarch's life, Philip.”

He kept speaking, but Riordan stopped listening. He couldn't argue with Quinn's logic, but the idea of Cass's seeing Wade again made him physically sick. With a flash of insight, he realized that she meant even more to him than Oliver's approval did.

He also knew Cass wouldn't see Wade if he didn't want her to. He cut Quinn off in the middle of a sentence. “Very well, I won't forbid her to see him. But it will be her decision. We'll ask her and she'll answer. Whatever she decides, Oliver, is how it will be.”

Quinn sent him a twisted smile. Riordan was surprised when he merely said, “Agreed.”

Tripp helped Cass down from the carriage at the same moment that another coach arrived in front of the house. From this one five men disembarked, and she correctly deduced they were Riordan's fellow committeemen come to discuss the reform bill. It made her feel proud that, although they were all older than her husband, he was their leader. She greeted them cordially on the front steps and led them inside, aware of their interested inspection.

Angry voices were immediately audible from the library. She was grateful when Walker appeared in the hall and took charge, shepherding the gentlemen out of earshot into the drawing room. She made her way toward the library, still holding the rolled sheet music she'd bought for Riordan from a ballad-seller in the street. The voices rose higher as she neared the door. With her hand on the knob, she heard Quinn shout, “Well,
think
about it, man! For God's sake! If you get her pregnant, the whole plan falls apart!”

White-faced, she opened the door, staring from one to the other. For a moment they both looked guilty, and she had a memory of Riordan's face an hour ago when she'd seen him in the shop with Claudia.

“Cass!” He came to her and took her hand.

“You have visitors, Philip,” she said unsteadily. “In the drawing room. It's the men from your committee.”

He swore, then put his arm around her. “Oliver, I'm sure you'll want to tell Cass how glad you are about our marriage.”

The silence was palpable. Cass swallowed, waiting. She could sense a contest going on between the two men. At last Quinn made her a shallow bow and drew back his lips in a semblance of a smile. “I wish you…luck.”

Riordan stiffened. “Is that all?”

Before Quinn could answer there was a knock at the door and Walker put his head in. “Sir, the men from the—”

“I'm coming!” Riordan looked down at Cass; he seemed to be trying to communicate something to her, but she wasn't able to read the expression in his eyes. She was startled when he kissed her on the mouth, hard, with Quinn watching. Then he let her go and walked out.

There was a minute of silence while she imagined what Quinn must be thinking. She remembered the words she'd overheard. Did it mean he didn't want them to—she blushed at the thought. She could think of nothing to say; small talk about her wedding trip scarcely seemed appropriate. Realizing that she still held Riordan's gift, she went to the windowseat and put it down beside his viola.

“Summer's over,” she said finally, watching leaves zigzag down from the locust tree in the slight breeze.

“France's king and his family are in prison.”

She turned with a sharp gasp.

“He's been suspended by the Assembly and locked in the Temple. He'll probably be tried for treason and executed.”

“I can't believe it! The king! Marie Antoinette, too?” Quinn nodded. She shook her head, trying to absorb the news. “How will it affect events here?” she asked hesitantly, leaning against the wall with her hands behind her back.

“Englishmen don't like to see kings imprisoned. It'll stifle popular sentiment for a revolution here, which will make the radicals more desperate.”

“Philip told you what Colin said?”

He nodded. “November. It's more important now than ever that you maintain contact with Wade, Miss Merlin.”

“I understand. And—I agree with you. But Philip doesn't want me to see him again.”

“And so?”

“And so—I'm afraid I'll have to abide by his wishes.” She gazed at him steadily. “He's my husband, Mr. Quinn.”

A look passed over his face so swiftly she couldn't identify it, though she was left with the odd impression that it was pity. He came toward her and stretched out his hand. “May we sit down?” Surprised, she let him lead her to one of the velvet-upholstered chairs facing Riordan's desk; he seated himself in the other beside her. For the first time since she'd known him, he looked uncomfortable. He spoke kindly. “I've known Philip for a very long time, Miss Merlin—”

“I know it's difficult for you to call me Mrs. Riordan. Why don't you call me Cass?”

A slow smile spread across his stern visage. “I thank you for that. I'll try to.” He looked down at his hands. “Philip is a good man at heart,” he-began again, “as I'm sure I have no need to tell you. His childhood was miserable, though, and the influences of a despicable family aren't always so easy to shake off. Some men have to struggle against them all their lives.”

“Philip is nothing like his family,” she said defensively.

He smiled a sad smile. “I wish that were true, Cassandra. I wish it were true. I'm so sorry, my dear. I have something extremely unpleasant to tell you.”

“I know about the man he's supposed to have tried to kill, Mr. Quinn. I must tell you I find that almost impossible to believe.”

He nodded. “I know. It was so brutal, so—” He stopped, pained. “I often have to remind myself that it really happened.”

He held out his arm and she gasped at the sight of the thick white scar extending from his wrist to the base of his thumb. “Oh, no. Oh my God.” So it was true. She sat back in her chair, numb.

“But that isn't what I was going to tell you,” he went on, speaking quietly. “In a way this is even worse.” He looked away in apparent distress. “I don't know any words to use that won't hurt you.”

“I'm sure it can't be that bad,” she said, attempting a smile. But she felt a coldness seeping into her chest. She sat perfectly still, waiting. Outside, a cart passing in the street sounded shockingly loud.

Quinn looked at her, then away again. “Forgive me. I'll simply say it. The truth is, you and Philip aren't married. And he knows it.”