“Do you think he’s asking for more milk?” Luke asked Cassandra when she straightened.
“No, I think he wants you to pet him.”
“Why would he want that? He doesn’t even like me.”
She watched the dog nudge Luke’s hand. “Maybe he’s changed his mind. He’s a very good judge of character, my Lycodomes.”
A good judge of character? The words hung between them for a long moment. Then, with a hesitancy he didn’t bother trying to hide, Luke relented and moved his palm to the dog’s massive head. Lycodomes made a soft whining sound as Luke began to stroke his fur. Then the animal relaxed and rested his nose on his paws, closing his eyes.
In that moment, Luke felt something hard and cold inside him begin to thaw. He was very much afraid it might be the thick crust of ice he’d formed years ago around his heart.
FIFTEEN
By mid-morning, Lycodomes was showing marked signs of improvement. Not only did he consume another bowl of milk and some meat Luke gave him, but with Luke’s help, he even managed to walk outside.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Luke grumbled as he supported most of Lycodomes’s weight and helped him to hike his leg. “Helping a goddamned dog piss on my shrubs!” Lycodomes lifted a liquid brown gaze, his canine face looking concerned. “Why it surprises me, I don’t know,” Luke added. “I can’t believe a lot of the things I’ve been doing and saying the last few days.”
With a low whine, Lycodomes licked Luke’s face, a gesture that earned the dog little popularity with the recipient of his affections.
“Do you know how much just one of these shrubs cost me?” Luke asked as he dodged wet kisses. “A bloody fortune, you mangy mongrel. More than you’re worth, by far.”
By the time Luke got to his office shortly before noon, his mood had gone from sour to downright foul. After nearly snapping Donald Brummel’s head off for committing the unforgivable offense of bidding him good morning, Luke locked his office door and sat down at his desk, where he accomplished next to nothing. The long and short of it was, he couldn’t concentrate on any of the paperwork he tried to tackle.
Finally admitting defeat, he planted his elbows on his desk and rested his aching head in his hands. He felt like a sock Cassandra was wringing out, the emotions roiling within him as confusing as they were painful.
The bald truth was, he no longer liked himself very well. His life up to now had counted for absolutely nothing. Milo Zerek was a poor man who had raised his family in leaking hovels, but compared to Luke, he had the whole damn world in his pocket. No matter how much rain poured through the leaky roof over their heads, or how threadbare their clothes might become, Milo’s kids still felt safe and, damn it, loved.
Luke couldn’t think of a single person in his life who’d even been fond of him. Except, of course, for Cassandra and Khristos, who’d swallowed all his lies—hook, line, and sinker. Oh, yes, he was a real hero, all right. A goddamned public benefactor. Saint Luke, who had so magnanimously taken them into his home and so generously seen to it that their dear papa and brother served light sentences. Luke Taggart, who’d offered Cassandra more money for her friendship than most people saw in a lifetime. Luke Taggart, the liar, who had manipulated them from the first, using trickery to lure them into his clutches.
As he had done so often of late, Luke couldn’t help but remember the story Khristos had told him that first night about the frog who was actually a handsome prince.
Just the reverse was true of Luke, a man pretending to be a prince when he was actually a toad, enticing a gentle, innocent girl into his snare so he could possess her. Little had he known that his sweet little princess would become his captor instead. And like all captives, he now felt frantic. The feeling kept coming over him in waves, a suffocating, tight-chested sensation.
In desperation, Luke finally fled his office and went to the dressmaker’s to purchase Cassandra another ready-made wardrobe. If he saw her wearing one of his shirts over a beautiful new gown one more time, he was going to wring her pretty little neck.
After making arrangements for the wardrobe to be delivered to his home, Luke headed directly for the Golden Slipper, his former home-away-from-home. Taking a corner table situated in the shadows, he ordered a jug of Mon’gahela whiskey and one glass.
Halfway into the bottle, he joined a poker game, began placing crazy bets—which was totally uncharacteristic of him—and started losing money, hand over fist. He didn’t care. It felt good to be back in his own world, damned good. At least here everyone was exactly what they appeared to be—crass and shallow.
After drinking and gambling his fill, Luke followed a redhead named Estelle upstairs. She’d entertained him in her private suite many times before, and he looked forward to having sex with her. Raw, lewd sex. No innocent blue eyes. No shy blushes. No feeling guilty every time he had a lustful thought. Just flesh, bought and paid for, from a woman who had no illusions about him.
Luke, the toad, frolicking in the slimy pond of vice.
In addition to her other talents, Estelle’s specialty was oral sex. When Luke kissed her, he smelled the fishy odor of man on her, and it instantly repulsed him. Shaken, he set her away from him and met her gaze. What he saw there made him feel as if the floor had suddenly vanished from under his feet. Behind the hard glitter of her eyes were myriad emotions, none of them pretty: boredom, distaste, desperation, all confusingly stirred together with an underlying hatred.
Maybe it was the liquor he’d drunk, but suddenly Luke didn’t see her as an object he could rent for a few hours. She was a young woman who had thoughts and feelings, just as he did. He had no idea what had led her to this pass; he only knew she wasn’t in this room servicing men because she wanted to be.
The revelation stunned Luke so badly that he couldn’t think his way past it. She leaned into him again, rubbing her bosom against his chest, an enticement he might have interpreted as desire months ago, but now recognized as a well-practiced and completely fake ploy. This was a job to her, nothing more—a way to feed herself and keep a roof over her head, two feats that weren’t easily accomplished by a young woman on her own. Luke, and dozens of other men just like him, took advantage of her circumstances, tossing coins to her as they might to a street organist’s monkey for a performance well rendered.
Shaken, he turned away from her to look out the window.
“What’s the matter, big boy?” She came up behind him, running her arms around his waist, her hands fumbling with his belt buckle. With a throaty laugh, she murmured, “I’ll bet I know what you want.”
Keeping his gaze fixed on the window, Luke felt the fly of his trousers fall open. Estelle ran groping fingers over his crotch, nuzzling his back as she tried to arouse him. In the darkness beyond the window glass, Luke imagined he could see Cassandra, her sweet face uplifted, her eyes filled with admiration and trust. He tried desperately to drive the image away, but he couldn’t.
What would she think of him now? he wondered. Luke, her prince in shining armor.
Estelle knelt beside him. Closing his eyes to block out Cassandra’s image, Luke willed himself to stand fast, to let himself respond. But he couldn’t. Everything about Estelle seemed suddenly pitiable to him.
Restraining himself so he wouldn’t roughly shove her, Luke set her away from him and hastily refastened his pants. “I think maybe I’ve had a little too much to drink,” he said with a weak laugh.
It sounded lame, even to him. Thrusting a hand into his pocket, Luke drew out a wad of money and tossed it on the bed as he went to collect his jacket. At the door, he paused. “I’ll come back some other night. All right, beautiful?”
“Sure, Luke.”
Estelle pushed to her feet. In the candlelight, she was indeed beautiful, every man’s dream come true, a tall, lushly curved redhead with rouged lips, impudent nipples displayed to best advantage, and legs created to ride a man’s hips. There was nothing wrong with her, not even in Luke’s critical e
stimation. He just didn’t want her. And, if the truth were to be known, she didn’t want him, either.
Luke’s hand slipped away from the brass knob, and he turned to press his back against a wood door gone slick with the oil from hundreds of men’s hands. He gazed across the room at the young woman he’d almost bought and used.
He felt ashamed. In all these years, he’d never looked deeper than the surface when he’d been with a woman, never cared enough to bother.
“What?” she asked with a faint smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
Luke resisted the urge to fish more money out of his pocket. No matter how low she’d sunk to stay alive, she still had some pride. He wouldn’t have liked it if someone had humiliated him by offering him charity, and he doubted she would, either.
“Have you ever considered another kind of work?” he asked.
She laughed softly. “Like what? Being a laundress and selling my favors to unwashed miners to help pay the rent? No, thanks.”
“I have some connections,” Luke told her, his mind working in fast circles. “In Denver and San Francisco and Sacramento. You’re too intelligent a woman to waste your life in a place like this.” He drew one of his calling cards from his breast pocket and tossed it onto the bed near the money. “If you’re interested, go see my man of affairs at my offices.”
A gleam of interest had slipped into her eyes, but there was wariness there as well. “What kind of work? I don’t know how to do anything else. And I don’t have enough money to reach Denver, let alone Frisco.”
Luke smiled. “You can get training, Estelle. Nowadays, women even go to college back east.”
“Sure. And pigs can fly, too.”
“Do you think you’re too stupid?” he asked, with just a hint of challenge.
“I think I’m too poor,” she shot back.
“I’ll give you a loan. Fair interest, low payments, which you can start making after you get another kind of job.” He trailed his gaze over her, bringing it to rest on her slender, long-fingered hands. “There are all kinds of things you could do, Estelle. Typesetting, secretarial, or clerical. You don’t have to stay here.” He turned back to open the door. Stepping out into the hall, he said, “Take your time and think it over. If you want to get out of here, I’ll help you go.”
As he descended the stairs and exited the saloon, Luke nearly convinced himself he had had too much to drink. That had to be what was wrong with him. He’d not only just passed up an opportunity to bed a beautiful woman, but he’d offered her a way out of her chosen profession, which meant he might never get another crack at her. If that wasn’t crazy, he didn’t know what was.
Striking off toward home, he hauled in several bracing breaths of the crisp night air, trying not to remember all the times he’d consumed far more whiskey and still managed to perform quite adequately in bed. To analyze his behavior and his failure to perform, he would have to ask himself questions he was neither ready nor sober enough to answer.
The house was dark when Luke let himself in. He crept quietly up the stairs, relieved to find his bed empty when he entered his suite. Khristos was evidently growing accustomed to all the strange noises the house made as it settled at night.
Stepping into his bathing chamber, Luke ran water into the sink and scrubbed his face, brushed his teeth, and gargled with one of Cook’s homemade mouth rinses, a concoction of rose extract and tincture of myrrh. When all trace of Estelle’s kisses were washed away, he pressed a towel to his face, breathing deeply of its clean smell.
Christ. Luke couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so drained. Loosening his tie, he returned to the bedchamber. As he came to a stop beside his bed, he noticed a thin crack of light coming from under the door between his bedchamber and Cassandra’s. Surprised, he couldn’t resist opening the door to see if she were still awake.
The sight that greeted him made him freeze. Candlelight. Everywhere Luke looked, a candle flickered, the overall effect one of liquid amber dancing over the room. Atop the bureau sat a silver tray bearing a wine jug, with two goblets beside it.
Leaning a shoulder against the door frame, Luke settled his gaze on Cassandra. She sat in one of the armchairs by the small table where they’d played chess that first night, her knees drawn to her chest, one arm dangling over the armrest, head bent, dark hair cascading in tousled waves over her flannel-covered breasts. She’d obviously sat up waiting for him and fallen asleep.
Seconds before, Luke hadn’t believed anything could make him smile. He should have known better. What a little corker she was. Until now, he’d completely forgotten the talk he’d had with her two mornings previously. Glancing once more around the room before swinging his gaze back to her, he realized she had followed his orders to the letter, right down to the flannel nightgown she wore, a god-awful rag she must have borrowed from one of the maids. He shook his head and grinned. The damned thing covered her from chin to toe.
Drawn to her like a moth to a flame, Luke tried to tiptoe across the room, tried being the operative word. With three-quarters of a jug of whiskey sloshing in his gut, “Grace” wasn’t exactly his middle name.
Cassandra blinked awake, then stifled a yawn with dainty little fingers. When she spied Luke, her bleary blue eyes widened and a glowing smile curved her sweet mouth. “Luke,” she said sleepily. “You finally came home. I’ve been waiting forever.”
Luke hunkered beside her chair, leaning a little heavily on the arm for balance. Reaching up to smooth her hair back from her face, he couldn’t resist trailing a fingertip along her sculpted cheek. “How’s Lycodomes?”
If possible, her smile grew even more illuminating. “Oh, Luke, he’s wonderful! He ate a huge dinner.”
“He did?”
“Yes! And Pipps helped me take him outside several times today—although, I have to say, I’m not sure Lycodomes needed the help. He’s swinging that splint out from his body and hobbling around as if he’s worn it forever.”
Luke forced himself to draw his hand away from her silken cheek. “I’m glad, sweetheart. I guess all your prayers worked.”
Her eyes warmed with that worshipful look Luke had come to crave. “I think you’re the one who has answered all my prayers. No offense to God or anything, for I’m sure He’s been up there orchestrating things and that if it weren’t for Him, I never would have met you.”
“You think so?” Luke rocked back on his heels, nearly toppling over in the process. He grabbed for the chair to catch himself. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
If God did exist, Luke doubted He was in the habit of leading virginal young girls into the arms of lascivious males.
“Well, I don’t doubt it. Not for a second,” she said decisively. “You truly are a godsend, not just to me, but to my whole family. Do you know what Cook did today? She fixed enough extra supper for Papa and Ambrose, then sent the gardener over to the jail with it posthaste so they could eat it hot. Pie and fresh bread. And little chunks of beef simmered in gravy. They haven’t eaten so well in a long time.”
“You didn’t go to the jail, did you?”
Her face fell. “No. I promised you I wouldn’t unless you went with me. But I sorely wanted to.”
Luke relaxed slightly. “It was thoughtful of Cook to send them supper. I’ll have to thank her.”
“I only wish I could think of some way I might thank you.”
Cassandra, draped head to toe in a dingy flannel gown, was the most tempting creature he had ever clapped eyes on. He smiled when he noticed that she was also wearing someone’s oversized gray wool socks on her small feet, which made them appear disproportionately large. Sexy? Yes. Desirable? Absolutely.
“I, um…” He coughed and glanced around the room. “It looks as if you had plans for us tonight. I hope my being late didn’t ruin them.”
She rubbed under one eye. “I’m starting to wake up now, but you look dead on your feet.”
Drunk, more like it, Luke thought with a wry smile. “I’m no
t that tired.” He looked around at all the candles again. The scene had been set for seduction, but he knew better than to get his hopes up. “What did you have in mind?”
“You said you wanted to be intimate.”
His heart lurched. “Yes, I did say that.”
Her dimple flashed in an impish grin. “Well, I got everything prepared, just like you wanted. Are you ready to start?”
Luke locked gazes with her. “With what?” he asked cautiously.
“With getting intimate.” She lowered her feet to the floor, the overly long toes of the gray socks flopping. Wrinkling her nose, she said, “I thought we might play a game.” Apparently Luke’s disappointment registered on his face, for she rushed to add, “An intimate game, of course.”
Somehow he doubted her idea of intimate bore any similarity to his.
Well aware that he was drunk, Luke knew he should probably go straight back to his own bedchamber. With Estelle still so fresh on his mind, though, Cassandra seemed so innocent and refreshingly sweet that he didn’t want to leave her. She was everything Luke had never had, everything he had ever wanted without realizing he wanted it. And she was there, as tempting as a gaily wrapped box of chocolates.
An intoxicated man falls prey to temptation so easily.
Swaying to his feet, Luke stepped to the bureau. “It would be a shame to let the wine go to waste. Will you join me?”
Her light laugh reminded him of a crystal bell tinkling. “I’ve never had wine before.”
“Never?”
“Well…only a smidgen at Holy Communion or when my papa poured me a tiny bit to celebrate a special occasion. Papa says a lady should never touch spirits unless she is in the company of a male relative, for doing so may get her into a pickle.”
Luke smiled to himself. “Your papa is a very smart man.”
“I suppose it’s all right tonight, though,” she added, “because I’m with you.”