“Yes, well…the staff puts out a full place setting, regardless. Sometimes, there’s an even littler fork, for hors d’oeuvres.”
“For or what??”
“Hors d’oeuvres,” he repeated with a chuckle. “It’s a French word, I believe, meaning little appetizers served before your meal. Shelled crustaceans in sauces…tasty little things, usually, served in a small dish. You’ll get it all down eventually. Watch other people; then follow their example.” He inclined his head at her napkin, which still lay in an undisturbed, decorative fold beside her plate. “You should also spread that over your lap.”
“My lap? Whatever for? I thought it was to wipe with.”
“It is. But it’s also to catch any drips from your eating utensils, and proper etiquette demands you unfold it and spread it over your knees before you start to eat.”
“My knees?” She rolled her eyes. “Rich people must be very sloppy eaters.”
Luke laughed again, realizing that he’d gotten completely sidetracked, which happened a lot when he was with her. He observed her as she dutifully placed her napkin over her lap, a movement that drew back her shoulders momentarily and thrust her breasts forward. The silk front of his shirt clung to the upper swells of bared flesh underneath, tying his gut into aching knots.
Luke cleared his throat. “As I was saying…about your duties?”
She lifted a hand. “Tonight, Luke, I promise not to disappoint you. I was thinking of starting on the lamps, if that will be all right.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t bring you here to clean for me or to play chess with me, Cassandra.”
Her eyes filled with bewilderment. “Then what am I supposed to do? So far, I’ve done nothing to earn my wages, save for stripping the wax, and correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think you wanted that done.”
“Do you remember my telling you last night that some people say I’m a very ruthless man?”
She nodded.
Luke hauled in a deep breath. “Well, in all honesty, I’m that and more. I brought you here for purely nefarious reasons, Cassandra. Do you understand what ‘nefarious’ means?”
Again, she nodded. “Wicked,” she said faintly.
“That’s right, wicked.” He stabbed his fork into his eggs, the tines clinking against the china. When he swung his gaze back up to hers, he looked deeply into her eyes, hardening himself to the vulnerability he saw there. “I want to be intimate with you—in every way. I’m not paying you this astronomical wage so we can have a casual friendship. I want an intimate relationship, the kind that will raise the eyebrows of decent folks. In the contract you signed, you agreed to be intimate with me in that way. Legally, you’re committed, and I intend to hold you to that. Do you understand?”
The color had washed from her face. “I believe so, yes.”
Luke could tell by the appalled look in her eyes that he had indeed finally gotten through to her. “Tonight I have a meeting, and I’ll miss supper. When I do get home, I expect you to be waiting for me in your bedchamber. You will be appropriately attired and prepared to be intimate with me. Is that absolutely clear? You will not wear my robe over your nightgown. I would like you to arrange for the maids to bring up wine and candlesticks, so we can create the right mood. No more chess. Any games we play will be of an extremely intimate nature. If the thought of that embarrasses you, I’m sorry. But that’s what I’m paying for, and that’s what I will have. Any questions?”
When she shook her head, Luke leaned back in his chair and tossed down his fork. He couldn’t quite bring himself to meet her gaze again, fearful of what he would surely see there. The girl who believed in magic and fairy tales had just had a headlong collision with reality.
“I can’t say I’m sorry for wanting you the way I do,” he finally managed to say in a voice that had gone oddly gravelly. “In many ways, you weren’t wrong in your assessment of me. I’m a very lonely man, and I need someone like you in my life. It’s as simple as that.”
Luke threw his napkin on his plate and abruptly shoved back his chair. “As I said, I have a busy day planned, so expect me to come in late tonight. Be waiting for me, as instructed.” At the door, he hesitated, still keeping his gaze averted from hers. “No nonsense, Cassandra. From this point on, consider yourself on the same plane as Pipps and Mrs. Whitmire, with specific duties to perform. I’ll be patient with you while you grow accustomed to your new role, but only to a point.”
With that, he exited the breakfast room, so anxious to escape her presence that he all but bolted.
For a long while, Cassandra simply sat there, staring at her untouched breakfast, Luke’s words circling endlessly in her mind. When she could bear the sordid implications no longer, she closed her eyes, but even that didn’t shut out the whispers. Intimate with me. She knew what that meant—vaguely, anyway. Her papa being the sort of parent he was, she’d not been directly exposed to what he called the “seedy aspects of life,” but neither was she completely ignorant. She knew that married couples shared a special kind of love that produced babies, and that that special kind of love was frequently referred to as “marital intimacy.”
Only she and Luke weren’t married. They weren’t even engaged! And he’d understood from the first that she hoped to one day become a nun. That being the case, how could he possibly expect her to be that kind of “intimate” with him? Did he plan to marry her? Was that it? Or did he want to exercise those sorts of privileges without marrying her?
The very idea appalled her. She was a good Catholic girl, and once every two weeks, she went to confession. How would she explain such behavior to Father Tully? Even worse, how would she ever get into a convent if she engaged in such activities? Not that she was entirely sure that becoming a nun was even what she wanted anymore. Since meeting Luke, she wasn’t sure about much of anything.
Just as Luke had done earlier, Cassandra left her meal untouched and fled upstairs to her rooms. Once inside, she leaned against the door with her eyes closed, trying desperately to sort out all that he had said. The Luke Taggart she knew and the one she’d just seen downstairs were entirely different men, one kind and gentle, the other relentless and…and frightening.
Panic was beginning to well in Cassandra’s chest when she took a firm grip on her thoughts and began to scoff at herself for even entertaining the notion that Luke would demand such things from her. He’d been kindness itself ever since she’d come here. She was doing him an injustice and a great disservice by even thinking this way.
She had misunderstood him, that was all. The word “intimate” had several different meanings. She would think the best and not let this shake her faith in him until he proved her wrong. That was how her papa had raised her—to believe in people and always give them the benefit of the doubt.
Yes, that’s exactly what she would do, she told herself, squaring her shoulders. After all, Luke was her protector. And Khristos’s too. He had to be. Until her papa and Ambrose got out of jail, there was no one else.
“I want that damned dog out of my house,” Luke said succinctly. “Take him a goodly distance away—preferably to another town—and find a good home for him.”
Donald Brummel, who’d been taking notes on Luke’s instructions for the day, laid down his pen and sat back in his chair. “Luke, have you considered just disposing of the beast? Finding a home for a child is one thing, but for that dog? I can’t work miracles, you know.”
Distracted, his thoughts darting back and forth, then doing circles, Luke shoved a hand through his hair. “I take it you found a place for Tigger?”
“Don’t I always?” Donald sighed. “I contacted Father Tully and, through him, located a childless couple who live at the edge of town, have a little farm. As I understand it, they’re interested in adopting Tigger’s little brother and sister as well.”
“That’s great,” Luke said, but without much enthusiasm, although he truly was glad. “I can always count on you.” He leveled a meaningful look
at his man of affairs. “I’m sure, if you work at it, you can find a solution to my dog dilemma as well.”
“Yes, well, as I was saying, the animal’s not exactly a prime specimen with all that hair missing on one side. And that’s not to mention the rest of him is shaggy, dirty, and beyond ugly. How in the world can you expect me to find a decent home for him, Luke? Who in his right mind will want him?”
Luke kicked back in his leather office chair and planted his crossed feet on the polished surface of his mahogany desk. He settled his gaze on Brummel. “Use your imagination. Pay someone handsomely to take him in, if you must. All I care about is getting rid of the damned mongrel. He’s a nuisance.” Eyeing a mark on the side of his boot left by one of Lycodomes’s teeth the previous night, Luke scratched behind his ear, then began to wonder if he had fleas crawling on him. The thought made him shudder. “He’s single-handedly destroying my house. Mud everywhere, not to mention the stink. Damn animal’s as big as a horse.”
Brummel picked up his pen. “Have I carte blanche? I don’t want you blistering my ears for paying too much to get the animal settled somewhere.”
Luke raised an eyebrow. “I don’t care what it costs; just get him out of town. And, for God’s sake, whatever you do, don’t let Cassandra or her little brother see you taking him.”
“It would be far simpler just to shoot him.”
Luke had considered that, and the embarrassing truth was, he couldn’t bring himself to issue the order. Though he detested the flea-bitten mongrel, he knew Cassandra and Khristos loved him. For that reason, and that reason alone, Luke knew he wouldn’t be able to look himself in his shaving mirror every morning if he did the animal any harm. Just removing the dog from the area was going to plague his conscience badly enough.
Conscience…Luke fixed his gaze on the white plaster wall opposite him. Lately, that word had begun to slip into his thoughts with alarming frequency. He shifted his gaze to an oil painting at the center of the wall, which happened to be one of his favorites, a restful depiction of a wildflower-strewn field with an aspen-lined brook meandering through the grass. Sometimes, when the tension of cutthroat business negotiations got to him, he could gaze at that painting and separate himself from reality for a moment, which was usually enough to calm him. This morning it didn’t work.
Suddenly the door to his office crashed open. Reflexes sharpened by years on the streets brought Luke shooting to his feet, fists knotted, body braced to spring. He felt a little silly when he saw that the intruder was Cassandra, whose height barely cleared the strike plate of the door lock by two feet.
Before he could gather his composure, she gave a shrill cry and came flying across the room. Luke spread his arms in the nick of time, catching her against his chest as she launched herself at him. He fell back a step under the impact of her slight weight, then tightened his arms around her, vaguely aware that she’d traded his shirt for a waist-length burgundy cloak he’d bought for her.
“Luke! Oh, Luke!” She let loose with a string of sobs that nearly broke his heart. “Th-they sent me a-a-way! Th-they said I’m n-not fit c-company f-for the ch-children!”
Surprise mushroomed to full-blown rage within Luke so suddenly that it took him off guard. “Who said that to you?” He tightened his embrace, wanting to throttle the sons of bitches. “Who, sweetheart?”
“The s-sister-rrs! They don’t w-want me th-there anymore!”
The nuns…Luke closed his eyes as understanding dawned. He’d known the rumors would come home to roost eventually, of course, and that the self-righteous citizens of Black Jack would begin to snub her. But he’d never expected the nuns to turn on her. What about Christian forgiveness and all that other bullshit they were constantly preaching?
Cassandra leaned against him, her sobs so deep and tearing, he was afraid she might hurt herself. Christ. He’d never dreamed she would get this upset. The women he’d kept company with in the past had taken the low opinion of others in stride.
“Oh, sweetheart…”
“They say it’s be-because I’m y-your paid com-companion. Even th-though they love me and und-understand I h-had no choice but to take c-care of myself and Khristos in any w-way I could, they c-can’t allow me to be around the innocent ch-children anymore. Wh-why, Luke? Why would they say that? I’m no dif-different now than I w-was. Just living in a dif-different h-house.”
“No,” he agreed softly, beginning to sway with her in a rocking motion. “Of course, you’re no different, honey. Not a bit. It’s all right, sweet. Shhh…it’s all right. I’m here.”
Going up on her tiptoes, she wrapped both arms around his neck and clung to him as though he were the only solid fixture in her world. Luke shifted his arms to lift her against him, trying to absorb the body-shaking force of her sobs.
As he rocked her, he noticed Brummel studying her backside with a lustful gleam in his eye. Even with the waist-length cloak to conceal its suggestive lines, the gown she wore was revealing from there down, the clingy material lacking the usual flounces and layers of petticoats to camouflage her shape. Luke shot a glare at his employee. The man leaped up from his chair and made a hasty retreat, mumbling something about paperwork.
Watching the door close behind him, Luke decided that Cassandra had been right; he had to get her another wardrobe, and quickly. He didn’t want other men ogling her.
As for Cassandra’s not being able to work at the orphanage, Luke had very little to say. “Honey, sometimes people say hurtful things they don’t mean. They’re just narrow-minded, that’s all, and cruel. Anyone who says you’re not the same sweet girl you always were is misinformed. We’ll get this straightened out, I promise you. The sisters will let you work at the orphanage.”
They would allow it, Luke vowed, because even nuns could be bought if the offer was right. If he laid enough money on the table, they’d let every whore at the Golden Slipper visit the orphans, and smile while they were at it. The hypocritical bitches.
Luke pressed his cheek to her hair and breathed in the heady scent of lavender, which called to mind visions of Gloria in a black pinafore. He made up his mind to get Cassandra her own bath salts and perfume, something with a light rose scent to better suit her innocence. When he held her close like this, he wanted no memories of his sordid past intruding.
A wave of regret such as he’d never experienced washed over him. God help him, he’d never meant for her to be hurt like this, never dreamed the pain would cut her this deep. He was so accustomed to people looking down their noses at him, even while showing him obsequious respect, that he scarcely noticed anymore. At some point in his life, he had cared, and cared deeply, but somewhere along the line, he’d developed a skin so thick it no longer hurt.
A sudden memory slammed into him. At about seven years of age, he’d decided one Sunday morning that he wanted to attend Sunday school like the other children did. Shortly after his arrival at the church, he’d been tossed out on his ear by an irate minister who’d called him “the spawn of Satan.” Luke could still remember the hurt and shame of that, which had quickly turned to scorn for Christianity. It was a scorn he harbored to this day.
Oh, yes…he understood the pain Cassandra was feeling, and he was as outraged in her defense as he’d once been for himself. Heads were going to roll, wimples or no.
Even as the thought ricocheted through his head, Luke knew he wasn’t being entirely fair. The nuns had a reputation to uphold, and fallen women frequenting the orphanage threatened that. Ultimately, the head that should roll was his own, for he’d caused this. In his single-minded lust for this girl, he’d destroyed her good name.
What was done was done. Luke knew there was very little he could do now to fix things. Her reputation was in tatters, and it would remain in tatters. His only option was to take her mind off what the nuns had said to her.
For several minutes he simply stood there, holding her until her weeping had turned to occasional sniffles. Then he said, “You know what I th
ink we ought to do?”
“No, what?” she asked thinly.
“I think we should go shopping and buy you some new dresses. Would you like that?”
In a muffled voice totally lacking enthusiasm, she said, “I guess.”
Luke worked a hand between their bodies to grasp her chin. When he turned her face up, her large blue eyes reminded him of drenched velvet. “Sweetheart, please, don’t let those silly old women make you sad.”
The corners of her mouth turned down and her chin quivered. “It’s just—” She hauled in a shaky breath and gulped. “They used to be my friends. And now they’re not. All because I’m living at your house. They think I’m wicked now, don’t they?”
Luke couldn’t bring himself to answer that. “You don’t have a wicked bone in your entire body.”
“Then why did they send me away?”
Luke wanted to say he had no idea, but since meeting this girl, lies didn’t spring to his tongue quite as easily as they once had. He fell back on evasion. “I really think we should go shopping and forget what they said. Things always look better once you’ve stepped back from them a bit and given yourself time to calm down. I understand from Khristos that you’ve had your eye on those patent leather slippers in Miss Dryden’s dress shop window. What say we go buy them?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I guess.”
Luke felt out of his depth. He’d never met a woman yet who didn’t brighten at the thought of going shopping. “Just think, sweet. Anything you want. The sky’s the limit. I’ll buy you a dozen of the prettiest, most costly dresses in town.” Her glum expression didn’t change. “And all the accessories. Shoes, hats.” She still looked sad. “And how about some jewelry? Every lovely woman should have diamonds. Have you ever owned a real diamond?”
“No.”
“Then let’s go shopping!”
“Oh, but Luke, you’ve already spent a small fortune on me, and you never returned any of those things. I can’t let you buy more.”