Luke sighed and set down the brandy snifter. “Cassandra, I’m afraid I had your clothes burned.”
“Burned?”
“They were little better than rags.” He shrugged. “I had Martha dispose of the entire lot.”
“Not my shawl,” she whispered shakily. “You didn’t burn my shawl?”
Judging by her stricken expression, Luke was relieved he hadn’t. “No, I forgot about it. I think it’s probably still on the coat tree.”
She dashed out into the foyer. Stepping to the doorway, Luke watched her draw the shawl into her arms and hug it as if it were a long-lost friend. She glanced over her shoulder to smile at him. “It belonged to my mama,” she explained. “I know it’s old and ugly, but it’s one of the few things I have left of her.”
“You could wear it,” he said, barely able to believe he was making the suggestion. Now she’d have another layer of clothing to hide behind. “That way, maybe no one will notice the shirt.”
She did as he suggested, then graced him with a beatific smile. “You’re right. It nearly covers it.”
Leaning a shoulder against the door frame, Luke regarded her with an uplifted eyebrow. “I know it’s probably a dumb question, but why are you so worried that someone may see you in my shirt?”
She did indeed look at him as if he were incredibly dense. “Only think how it would look!” She lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “Living here in your house, I’m going to have to be very careful. Otherwise, people may think…well, you know, that we’re doing something indecent.”
EIGHT
Games…When Cassandra had made mention of such activities that afternoon, Luke had been hoping for games of a more seductive nature—when he finally joined her here in her bedchamber tonight. After devoting an entire evening to trying to seduce her, he was acutely conscious of the nearby bed, the flickering glow of the firelight, and the provocative decor that surrounded them. Cassandra seemed oblivious to all of it.
Crystal brandy snifter in hand, he leaned back against the chair cushions and regarded his brand-new paid companion across an ornate, custom-made chessboard. Seemingly unaware of his scrutiny, she sat in the gold-upholstered chair with her slender legs drawn up, one arm looped around her knees. Her glossy sable hair lay in a thick braid over one shoulder, the ends tied off with the same red ribbon he’d seen her wear twice before.
His gaze dropped to the thick velvet lapels of his black robe, which she had filched from his wardrobe to conceal the nightgown he’d bought her. Every once in a while, when she moved just right, the robe gapped open to reveal some of the scandalous lace she’d described earlier, but try as he might, he never got a glimpse of any holes.
More the pity…
Her brow furrowed in concentration, she studied the ebony and ivory chess pieces, contemplating her next move. A newcomer to the game, she was diligently following the rules he’d very patiently explained to her before they’d begun playing nearly two hours ago. All in all, he guessed she was doing well enough—for a rank beginner.
Even so, Luke had little hope she would ever truly challenge him, not even with years of practice. Chess was a complex game, one that required sophisticated tactics and a wealth of practical experience, not to mention a superior intellect. Which was why he wasn’t putting much stock in Cassandra’s skill as an opponent. Any girl who believed a man would pay her five hundred a month for the mere pleasure of her company wasn’t exactly a genius, now was she?
Not that Luke faulted her for that. Hell, no, just the opposite. In his experience, the more featherbrained a woman was, the more uninhibited she proved to be in bed. And, to him, that was the bottom line.
“Check.”
He abruptly stopped swirling his brandy. Some liquor slopped onto his lap. “Pardon?”
She beamed him a smile. “You heard me.” She leaned slightly forward, revealing just a smidgen of lace beneath the robe. “Your king is trapped.”
Tearing his gaze from the tantalizing display of creamy white skin, Luke focused on the chessboard.
She giggled. “Wiggle your way out of that one, Mr. Taggart!”
Luke studied his pieces. She had him cornered, nine ways to hell. “I’ll be damned.”
“Probably not. But you are soundly trounced!” she informed him cheerfully. “Unless, of course, you can think of some way out of it.”
Luke knew his way around a board too well to believe there was any hope of that. He lifted his gaze to hers and looked deeply into those deceptively guileless eyes. Behind that veil of innocence, there was evidently a frighteningly sharp brain clicking away like a skillfully operated abacus. Either that, or he’d been so distracted by the occasional glimpse of lace, he’d opened himself up for attack.
“You’re right,” he said as he managed a smile. “I admit defeat. You win.”
Her eyes sparkled like happy stars, and something moved inside him. Something dangerous and, therefore, best ignored. “Best out of three?” she challenged, her face alight.
He swallowed, his heart speeding. Perhaps she was more skilled at playing the part of a flirt than he’d first thought. “What are you willing to wager?”
She pursed her lips. “I could iron your shirts.”
“I pay maids to do that.”
“Bake bread?”
“Cook’s job.”
She took a deep breath and furrowed her brow. “I haven’t any money.”
Luke had plenty of money. What he sorely lacked was the warmth of her sweet body in his arms. He smiled slightly. “How about this? The loser has to be the winner’s slave for a day, granting his every wish and desire, no limits.”
“His every wish and desire?” Her eyes twinkled with laughter. “I don’t think so.”
“You’re on,” he said huskily.
Sitting rigidly erect, Luke concentrated his full attention on the second game, not allowing himself to so much as glance at the gaping lapels of his robe. His years of experience at chess stood him in good stead. Though she gave him a run for his money, he had her in checkmate by game’s end. The fact that it had taken him another two hours hardly seemed important, considering the reward that awaited him if he could manage to win two games out of three.
Manage? As she set up the pieces for a third game, Luke sat back to study her. No featherbrain, this, but a very intelligent young woman. He’d made the mistake of underestimating her once; he wouldn’t again. He had played chess against some of the best, yet this girl, who’d never clapped eyes on a chess piece before, had pushed him to the limit of his ability.
“Where did you attend school, Cassandra?”
“Here and there,” she said distractedly, frowning as she tried to recall where the chess pieces went. “Papa always insisted that I be educated only by the nuns, so I never actually attended school like my brothers and other kids.”
“How could he afford to give you a private education like that?”
“Oh, it didn’t cost anything. I just went to the convent, and the sisters in the towns where we lived tutored me in their spare time. When they were too busy, I studied or read or helped out with chores to repay them for their kindness.”
“And when you lived in towns where there were no nuns?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t get any instruction then. I just tended to Khristos and read all that I could. Mostly from the Bible. Papa felt that was safe enough.”
“Safe?”
She flashed him a grin. “He’s always been very particular about what I am exposed to. He promised Mama he’d raise me to be a lady, and that isn’t easy to do in mining towns.”
Luke agreed. In fact, sitting across from him was the first genuine lady he’d ever spent time with. “And socially? Did you mingle only with—” He broke off, reluctant to credit the wealthier females in mining towns with being ladies. Most of them weren’t. “How did a poor miner’s daughter manage to mingle only with the upper class?”
She giggled. “I didn’t. Mingle, I me
an. Unless I’m over at the church or the convent, mostly I just stay home.”
“So you have no friends your own age?”
“Not really.”
“Don’t you miss that and resent your father for depriving you of it?”
She looked at him as if the thought had never occurred to her. “You think I’m strange, don’t you.”
“Not strange. Remarkable, perhaps. Don’t you want to have friends? And read books that don’t have a religious theme? Poetry, maybe, or dime novels?”
Her eyes widened. “Papa says dime novels are scandalous tripe and would fill my head with foolish notions. Poetry is all right, but he likes to read it himself first to make sure it’s suitable, and he doesn’t have very much spare time for that.” She hesitated, then leaned slightly forward. “I sneaked and read Hamlet once. I loved it.”
“So, you like Shakespeare, do you?” Luke studied her over the rim of his glass. “But you feel guilty for having sneaked behind your papa’s back to read some of Shakespeare’s work?”
“Papa would be disappointed in me if he knew.” She smiled slightly. “He only makes me abide by his rules to protect me. He loves me a lot. How can I resent that?”
“So you choose to remain ignorant to please him?”
Flags of pink dotted her cheeks as she returned her attention to the game board. “‘Ignorant’ isn’t a very nice way to put it. I prefer to think of my choices as being selective. And, yes, I’ve chosen that. If we don’t endeavor to please the people we love, then what is life all about?”
Luke had no idea. To him, life had become a boring chain of endless days, strung together by lonely, meaningless nights.
“It isn’t as if Papa has neglected my education. I have a fair command of the English language, and he’s taught me some Greek. I’m also very good with numbers, and I’ve gotten to study geography and a little bit of history. In my world, what more do I really need to know?”
Luke swirled his brandy. “There are other worlds, Cassandra. Even right here, in Black Jack.”
“And this is one of them,” she replied, dimpling a cheek. “Here I am, learning chess. Until tonight, I didn’t even know such a game existed.” Her eyes darkened as if a thought had just occurred to her. “I suppose I seem very dull to you, don’t I? If that’s the case, I’ll understand if you want to get someone else to be your companion.”
“And if I did, what would you and Khristos do?”
She gnawed her lower lip, her worried expression belying her bravely spoken. “We’ll manage somehow. We Zereks always do.”
Luke searched her gaze, the realization driven home to him once again that she was a rare gem in a town filled with unpolished pebbles. He finally allowed himself to smile. “As it happens, I’ve read all of Shakespeare’s work and I’ve skimmed through enough dime novels to be in complete accord with your papa that they’re tripe. In short, I don’t find you at all ‘dull,’ Cassandra. ‘Refreshing’ is a better word.”
“You needn’t be kind to spare my feelings. I know I’m ignorant about a lot of things.” She tipped her head and wrinkled her nose. “I guess the world is full of unopened doors, isn’t it? And if we open them, we may find Pandora’s box. Maybe I’m a bit of a coward, but when Papa tells me there are bad things behind a door, I steer clear of it. He’s much wiser than me when it comes to things like that, and I trust his judgment.”
Luke wished he hadn’t chosen to use the word ‘ignorant’ to describe her. He’d hurt her feelings, and he really hadn’t meant to. “How do you know the story of Pandora’s box?”
“Papa told it to me. I assumed it was a Greek fable.”
“The important thing is that the message in the story is true,” he said softly. “You’ve been right to listen to your papa. There are a lot of evils in the world, and if you can avoid them, more power to you.”
Only she hadn’t, Luke thought, with an inexplicable regret. She’d walked right into the devil’s den. Determined to shove that thought aside, he turned his gaze to the table. “Luckily, chess isn’t one of those evils, and you seem to have a talent for it.”
“I do, don’t I?”
As the third game commenced, she began to banter with him. Tilting her head coquettishly, she said brightly, “I have this funny little tickle in my throat. When I win this round, I think the first thing I’ll demand of my slave is a nice hot cup of tea.”
Luke smiled as he made his move, then leaned back in his chair to rest a polished black boot on his knee. “The first thing I’m going to demand of my slave is that she remove that damned robe,” he said softly. “I’m dying to see what’s wrong with that nightgown you’re wearing.”
Her eyes widened. “Holes, I told you. And in very inconvenient places.”
Luke knew that the bodice of the nightgown had been designed expressly for male pleasure, and if the holes were positioned where he thought they were, he’d happily show her their usefulness. “We’ll see.”
Clearly flustered by the prospect, she cast a vague glance at the board, then made her move. Luke’s smile deepened. Not exactly a fatal mistake, he mused, but if she continued in this vein, he’d have her trounced in another thirty minutes, possibly less.
His body stirred at the thought of all he intended to require of his lovely slave. It was wicked of him, he knew, and not fair play, but he couldn’t resist rattling her concentration with yet another verbal thrust. Glancing toward the hearth, he said, “Holes or no, at least you won’t get cold. That fire has the room nice and toasty.” Leaning forward to make his play, he advanced with his rook, thus removing one of hers from the board. “Uh-oh. One of your best soldiers, dead on the field. Careful, Cassandra, or you may be parting company with that robe quicker than you think.”
Startled, decidedly worried-looking blue eyes became fixed on his. “You wouldn’t really make such a request. The bet is all in fun, right?”
“Absolutely. No limits, remember? What could be more fun than that?”
Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. Returning her attention to the board, she said, “You are a caution. Judging by the way you go on, a body’d think you were a scoundrel of the worst sort. If I didn’t know better, I’d be worried.”
A few minutes later, when Luke once again had her in checkmate, he relaxed back in his chair, folded his hands behind his head, and flashed her a slow grin. “Well, well…it would appear our games for the evening are just beginning. Now we can play master and slave.”
Fully expecting her to try and weasel her way out, Luke was more than a little surprised when she vacated the chair and dipped before him in a graceful curtsy, the neckline of the robe parting with the motion to reveal a tantalizing display of seductively exposed breast. “I am at your service, Your Royal Highness,” she said, lifting the folds of the robe as though it were a skirt. “How may I please you?”
Enjoying the game, Luke cleared his throat, arranged his face into a stern mask and intoned solemnly, “I don’t allow robes in my kingdom, my lady Cassandra. Please, take it off and remove it from my sight. I find it offensive in the extreme.”
She dimpled a cheek at him as she straightened. “Seriously, what would you like? More brandy? A foot rub? Your wish is my command.”
Unbidden, his gaze drifted upward. Directly behind her, the spacious, silk-draped bed awaited. And he was certainly ready. More than ready. But was she? Instincts he’d been honing since the age of twelve in the arms of countless prostitutes told him no. And taking a woman was always immensely more satisfying if she’d been properly aroused first.
Impatience roiled within him, but he relentlessly tamped it down, determined to do this right. He’d made numerous mistakes in his checkered past, but one thing he’d never done was go against his instincts. Especially not where it pertained to seduction. To Luke, sex was an art, and he prided himself on being a master.
Even so, he was sorely tempted to insist that she remove the damnable robe. Once it was off and the luscious holes in that
lace were performing their purpose, she would no longer be able to pretend there was nothing going on between them. His body sprang taut as he envisioned her exposed nipples getting hard as cool air touched them. Then, of course, he would visually caress them until she was half mad with yearning.
Shifting his gaze to her blue eyes, he imagined the shattered trust he would see in them if he pressed the issue and forced her to expose herself. True, she’d made a wager with him, and she’d lost. According to the rules he lived by, winners took all, and losers wept. Their bet aside, to all intents and purposes, she actually was his slave, ensconced in this room expressly to please him. He was paying dearly for the right to enjoy her body in any fashion he chose, and if he did, she would have no legal recourse, for she’d contractually waived all her rights.
Only…the word hung in his mind, like the opening to a bottomless pit. He had an unbalanced feeling, as if he were teetering on a dangerous edge, and no matter which way he fell, he’d be lost. Cassandra. She stood before him, still grasping his robe in a half-curtsey, a ragtag princess with a bedraggled red ribbon in place of a tiara.
“Come here, honey,” he heard himself tell her in an oddly husky voice.
Luke almost wished she’d hesitate, that he might see wariness in her eyes. Then, maybe, he wouldn’t feel this unwarranted and totally absurd reluctance to betray her trust. But, of course, she didn’t hesitate, and in her eyes he saw only openness and sweet honesty as she moved toward him.
“On your knees,” he said in that same thick voice.
She bent her legs and knelt before him. Luke grasped her shoulders and turned her to sit on her heels between his spread thighs. The fact that she allowed him to move her about, exhibiting no trace of uneasiness, humbled him in a way he couldn’t explain and had no wish to analyze. At the back of his mind, a niggling little question kept repeating itself. Who was in danger here, her or him?