Settling his gaze on Cassandra, who still stood by the fire, he couldn’t help but notice how incredibly virginal and out of place she looked. This bedchamber was more suited to a prostitute with its bold red accents, gold bed-hangings, and gaudy Parisian furniture. A girl like her should be surrounded by soft pastels.
Luke made a mental note to have the room redone immediately. Tomorrow, in fact. What had seemed perfectly acceptable and even mood-enhancing to him yesterday now struck him as cheap and tawdry.
This girl was a precious find; she needed the proper setting. If he meant to keep her here for the next year as his live-in companion, which he most certainly did, then he had to make a few changes. After all, the entire appeal of hiring her had been to afford himself a sense of normality, to have a lady in his bed instead of a well-practiced whore. She wouldn’t retain that innocent air for long if he bombarded her on all sides with the evidence of his own debauchery.
She suddenly clamped a hand over her mouth and stifled a huge yawn. Looking more closely, Luke saw that her long, lush eyelashes were beginning to droop. He stifled a groan, all hope of ending this evening by taking her to bed turning to dust. Hell, at this point, he wasn’t even sure he had the necessary energy to accomplish the deed.
A snuffling sound drifted to him. Luke cast an incredulous glance at the door. Not the dog again. Biting back a curse, he strode angrily across the room and jerked the door open. Sure enough, there stood Lycodomes in all his muddy glory. The lower panels of the door, Luke noticed, were smeared with brown from the animal’s filthy fur.
Great! Just bloody great!
NINE
As weary as Cassandra was, she couldn’t sleep. The bed was too soft and the room was too quiet. So quiet she could hear the breath going in and out of her lungs. She missed the sound of Khristos’s even breathing, Papa’s rumbling snore, and the way Ambrose smacked his lips after he rolled over. She also missed Lycodomes, who always either slept with her on the cot or curled up nearby on the floor.
Across the room, the clock on the wall ticked off each slow, relentless second. Shifting light from the dying fire played over the walls, turning the mirrors above her to molten silver and making shadows that danced and swayed. She stared up at her reflection which, in the dimness, seemed blurred and indistinct. As blurred as the future that stretched in front of her.
Tucking her lower lip between her teeth, she tried to make sense of the jumble of thoughts and feelings that had been plaguing her since she’d bidden Luke good night. But the harder she tried to line things up in her mind, the more confused she became. After spending an evening in Luke Taggart’s company, there was only one thing about herself that she knew with absolute certainty—her name.
For as long as she could remember, she’d yearned to be a nun. Now the yearning lay around her like shattered glass. She squeezed her eyes closed, so confused and filled with guilt she could barely stand it. But even so, she couldn’t run from the truth. She was attracted to Luke Taggart. His smile, the lonely ache in his eyes, even the way he rubbed his nose when he was thinking gave her goose bumps. For the first time in her life, she’d begun to wonder if she had a true calling to the sisterhood.
But if she didn’t take vows, what then was she to do? Even if Luke wasn’t as strongly attracted to her as she was to him—even if nothing came of her feelings and they went away as suddenly as they’d come—she couldn’t ignore the changes he’d provoked in her mind and body. Tonight had been a danger sign, a portent of doom for all her dreams. Nuns didn’t feel shivery all over when they were near a man. A nun wouldn’t have yearned to melt against Luke when his breath stirred her hair.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, her voice breaking. She closed her eyes against a rush of tears. Even now, she felt all achy inside and tingly in places that had never tingled before. Ever since she’d told her papa of her intention to become a nun, he’d been warning her that this would happen, that someday she’d meet a man who’d make her heart go pitter-pat and her knees feel watery. She’d always laughed and said, “Not me, Papa. I’m not like other girls, getting all silly over boys.”
And she never had. But then, Luke Taggart was far from being a boy.
Rolling onto her stomach, she angrily jerked the silk pillowcase off the pillow so she could wad up the down-filled ticking and hook her chin over the lump. Tears trailed in ticklish ribbons over her cheeks, and she prayed with an unprecedented fervency for God to take these feelings away.
She’d finished one prayer and started on another directed at the Holy Mother when a sudden thought brought her to a dead stop. What if Luke had somehow sensed her unusual…reaction to him?
The thought filled her with mortification. He needed a friend, not a twit who got all moon-eyed every time he entered the room. He was paying her a fortune to provide him with companionship, and it was her job to provide it. What would Luke think if he found out his nearness made her heart skitter? Her getting a silly fixation about him wasn’t part of the bargain they’d struck.
In his mind, theirs was a business arrangement, from which he had clearly defined expectations that she was obligated to fulfill. Why, there’d even been one line in the contract to protect him in case they had an argument. She couldn’t remember exactly how it was worded; something about any issue that might arise from their relationship, and her relinquishing all rights in that event. The poor man. What kind of life had he led that he trusted so little? If they had a quarrel and this arrangement failed to work, she’d never dream of holding him to their agreement and making him pay her a wage she wasn’t earning.
They could have just shaken hands. According to her papa, shaking hands was as binding as any lawyer-written words. Yet Luke had felt it necessary to have every little thing spelled out, insisting she agree to it in writing.
A slight smile touched her mouth, and she nuzzled her face against the ticking to dry her tears. Little wonder he made her feel all funny inside. He was so tall and muscled all over, yet in many ways, he seemed vulnerable and uncertain. Sometimes, when she looked deeply into his eyes, the expressions she saw there made her ache, and she found herself having to resist the urge to give him a hug and try to reassure him. It broke her heart that he was so lost and lonely, and she could only guess how many times he must have been hurt. Otherwise, why would he be so hesitant to trust people?
In other ways, though, he reminded her a lot of her papa, always touching and patting, his gaze warm with affection. He was funny, too, especially when he tried to be stern and bossy. She could see right through those fierce scowls. Underneath it all, he was a big old softie. Even when Lycodomes had shaken mud all over the room, he’d dragged the dog from the chamber with an underlying gentleness. Cassandra had seen angry men grab dogs by their collars and jerk the poor animals clear off their feet. As furious as Luke had been, he’d been firm with Lycodomes, but not in any way abusive.
Maybe the way she felt about Luke was natural, a one in a million reaction to a man who was equally as rare. Maybe the funny feeling in her heart wasn’t the pitter-pat Papa had warned her about, but a completely understandable response to the goodness she saw inside Luke. It wasn’t often such a kind and benevolent person came along, after all.
She could like a man and still become a nun, she assured herself. She could like him a lot; there was no sin in that. And Luke Taggart was definitely a very likable sort. He also needed a friend, someone who’d be loyal to him no matter what.
A feeling of peace settled over Cassandra. Instead of getting all upset about the funny feelings she got when she was around Luke, maybe she should just wait and see what happened. Her papa was fond of saying that God could work in mighty strange ways, and he was right. Cassandra truly believed that God sometimes guided people in directions they never intended to go because that was where they were needed most. Maybe God felt it was more important that she be Luke Taggart’s friend than that she become a nun. As a sister, she would have an opportunity to ch
ange a lot of people’s lives, but maybe not to the same degree that she might be able to change Luke’s.
She had to be open to God’s will, she realized. In all things, He had a plan, and even when that plan wasn’t clear, a person needed to be flexible. God called people to all kinds of vocations, sometimes to religious orders, sometimes not. It wasn’t up to her to decide. If she kept her heart open by praying often, she’d know the right thing to do. She just had to be patient until the answer came to her.
Cassandra relaxed as the warmth of the down comforter seeped through her flesh and into her bones. Drowsiness settled over her like a heavy blanket, making her limbs feel languorous and her closed eyelids weighted. She stifled a yawn against the ticking, smiled sleepily, and let herself drift into the blackness.
In the adjoining room, Luke lay awake, staring at the ceiling. A dozen questions plagued him as he went over the evening he’d spent with Cassandra. How could she make him laugh with such complete abandon? Why had he felt so good in her company when she’d failed so completely to satisfy his expectations? And how, in God’s name, had she wrangled him into playing chess their first night together, when he’d wanted to play lascivious games instead? Even more disturbing, why had he felt so disgusted and upset with himself when he’d found her examining the scanty lace pinafore? Or so ashamed and appalled when she’d opened that bureau drawer?
Finally the questions drove him from the bed. After throwing on his clothes, he went out into the hall and began to pace outside her bedchamber, tormented by images of her alone in that huge bed. By all rights, he should be beside her. Better yet, inside her. So what was he doing wearing a trail in the carpet runner? Why didn’t he march right in there, lay down the law, and enjoy what he was paying for?
At the end of a year, he would have lightened his pockets to the tune of twenty-six thousand dollars, for Christ’s sake. If he went dipping for honey a half dozen times a day, every day, for the entire year, he’d never get his money’s worth. Quite simply, there wasn’t a piece of ass on God’s green earth that was worth twenty-six thousand dollars.
He was out of his mind, plain and simple. And going crazier by the goddamned minute.
An odd sound from downstairs brought Luke reeling to a halt. He stepped to the banister and looked down into the foyer. Bluish moonlight coming through the half-moon of glass over the entry door cast deep shadows that hindered his vision. He cocked his head to listen. After a moment, he heard the sound again—a muffled, eerie cry, sort of like a ghost wailing. Had some lunatic broken into the house?
Well, hell! What else was going to go wrong on this accursed night?
With a resigned sigh, he decided he’d better go downstairs to investigate. Except for Mrs. Whitmire and Pipps, who seldom stirred during the middle of the night, all the live-in servants slept in separate quarters above the carriage house out back. As a rule, none of them ventured into the house after once retiring to their beds.
Nothing seemed amiss as Luke moved silently from room to room on the first floor, and he heard no more unusual sounds. After touring the kitchen at the very rear of the house, he shrugged and nearly convinced himself his ears had been playing tricks on him.
As he was about to leave the kitchen, however, a low wailing drifted through the shadows again. It seemed to be coming from the storage room just off the kitchen. Luke stepped to the closed door, hesitated a moment to listen, then quickly shoved the portal open.
“What’s going on in here?” he boomed.
The wailing ceased abruptly, a low growl taking up where the wailing left off. Luke peered through the gloom. Khristos, Cassandra’s little brother, sat huddled on a cot along one wall, Lycodomes curled on the floor beside him.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” Luke asked sharply.
“It’s wh-where I’m s’posed to sleep,” the child replied in a miserable little voice.
Luke swallowed the obscenity on the tip of his tongue. He’d told Mrs. Whitmire to get the boy settled in someplace, leaving the details up to her. He had assumed—wrongly, it seemed—that she would assign the child a downstairs bedroom and see to it that he was reasonably comfortable. Instead, she’d stuck him in a storage area. The enclosure was not only cramped; it was colder than a broom-riding witch’s tit.
“Are you chilly?” Luke asked.
“N-No, sir.” Piteously, the boy tugged the sleeves of his nightshirt down over his hands. “The lady gave me lots of quilts.”
Luke sighed, making a mental note to speak with Mrs. Whitmire first thing in the morning. He knew she’d been shorthanded lately, but it was inexcusable to stick a child in here with the stores of food, as though he were no more important than a slab of meat. “Well…what’s the problem, then?”
“Nothing, sir.”
Something had to be wrong. The kid had been wailing. Luke cast a jaundiced glance at the dog. Now he knew how the mutt kept getting back inside. “Are you going to be all right in here, then?”
“Yessir.”
Luke stood there for a moment, not liking the idea of Khristos remaining in the storage room until morning. But…if he was warm, it probably wouldn’t do him any actual harm, and it seemed silly to wake Mrs. Whitmire in the middle of the night without good reason. “Well, I’ll be saying good night, then. If you need anything, Mrs. Whitmire is—”
“She done told me where she was,” Khristos interrupted. “Her and the man with the tails—they sleep in them rooms off the kitchen, she said.”
Luke smiled slightly at the boy’s description of Pipps. “That’s right. She’s not far, if you should need her.” He cast another glance at Lycodomes. “Don’t be letting that dog wander through the house. I’ll turn a blind eye to your bringing him in here tonight, but after this, he isn’t allowed inside. Understood?”
“Yessir.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
Luke stepped out and drew the door firmly closed. He was about halfway across the kitchen when a muffled sob jerked him up short. He glanced back over his shoulder. The kid was crying again, dammit. If nothing was wrong, what the hell was he blubbering about?
Luke nearly kept walking. It was late. His patience was frayed. He was also exhausted. The last thing he wanted or needed was a bawling kid to deal with.
Cursing under his breath, he returned to the storage room and threw the door open again. “Khristos, what seems to be the problem? Out with it, now. It’s late, and I want to go back to bed.”
“I’m scared,” the boy replied in a muffled voice. “I ain’t never slept all alone afore, and I keep hearin’ noises, I do. I think you got haunts.”
First leprechauns, now haunts. Luke hauled in a deep breath and let it out slowly between clenched teeth. “That’s absurd. There’s no such thing as ghosts, and you’re far too old to be sleeping with someone. You have Lycodomes in here with you. Now I want you to be quiet. Do you understand? Pull the quilts over your head so you can’t hear the house settling. But go to sleep.”
Once again, Luke closed the door. This time he made it halfway through the dining room before Khristos’s sobs jerked him to a halt. Dammit! Balling his hands into fists, Luke told himself he wasn’t going in there a third time. But despite his avowals, he couldn’t bring himself to keep walking.
Memories…unbidden, they flooded into his mind, hazy at first, but taking on clearer definition with each of Khristos’s muffled cries. Luke saw himself at about Khristos’s age, huddled in the dark hall outside his mother’s bedchamber, trying to stifle his sobs so no one would hear and beat him for disturbing the customers. Hungry, cold, scared…and alone. In a house filled with people, there had been no one to comfort Luke.
“Son of a bitch.”
Before he realized what he was about, Luke was retracing his steps to the storage room. The boy’s crying ceased the instant the door opened. Luke suspected Khristos was afraid of being punished and was holding his breath.
Ignoring Lycodomes’s low growls, Luke
stepped over to the cot, not entirely sure what he meant to do. It was with no small surprise, therefore, that he found himself scooping the boy into his arms. Luke had never been around children much since he’d been a child himself, and after his encounter with Khristos the night before, he wasn’t sure he even liked the little buggers. Sticky, dirty hands and snotty noses weren’t high on his list of favorite things.
Luke’s first thought as he clasped Khristos to his chest was that the lad was far too thin. Bony arms and legs clamped around Luke’s neck and waist. The child’s ribs poked against him. Thinking of Tigger, the child he’d rescued a few days back, Luke realized it wasn’t only homeless little guttersnipes who could be malnourished.
“You want some milk, kid?” he asked gruffly, amazed he was making the offer. “I can scrounge up some cheese and, um…do you like fried chicken? We had it for lunch yesterday, and there’s probably some left in the icebox.”
Khristos pressed his small face against the hollow of Luke’s shoulder, nuzzling his shirt. Luke had a bad feeling the little rascal might be wiping his nose. “If you don’t like chicken and cheese,” he quickly amended, “I’ll wager there are cookies in the cupboard.”
“I like chicken and cheese,” Khristos replied in a shaky voice.
Luke ran his fingertips up the little boy’s spine. The vertebrae felt like small marbles, with scarcely any flesh as padding. “Well, then, we’ll have all three.”
Luke carried the boy to the kitchen where he placed him on a three-legged oak stool. “Sit still while I get a lamp going. I don’t want you falling off in the dark and busting your ass, or Cassandra will have mine.”
After rummaging in several drawers, Luke finally located the box of lucifers. He struck a match head on glasspaper and ignited a gas jet. With a sputter, the swing-bracket lamp flared to life, casting a golden glow over the room. “There we go,” he said, rubbing his hands together as he stepped over to the icebox.