When he drew back, she whispered, “I love you, Luke.”
He closed his eyes, wishing with all his heart he could tell her the same. Instead, all he could say was, “Tell me again. I want to hear you say it again.”
She caught his face between her hands, smiling radiantly as she kissed the tip of his nose, then his lips, then his chin. “I love you. Silly me, thinking I wanted to be a nun. Papa warned me, but I wouldn’t listen. I love you, Luke Taggart. I love you with all my heart.”
Luke drew her into the circle of his arms again. She was so precious, this girl. A stolen bit of sweetness. He had no right to her, yet he couldn’t hold himself away from her.
Luke drew the coverlet over them, a deep, abiding peace settling over him as lightly and warmly as the down. He gently settled Cassandra’s head against his shoulder, then smoothed her silken hair over his chest like a soft blanket. Sighing contentedly, she snuggled close, hooking one leg over his hips and clinging to him like a baby opossum. That suited him just fine.
Long after Cassandra’s breathing changed, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Moonlight filtered through the lace sheers between the drapes at the windows and cast designs across the plaster. He counted spots until his eyelids finally grew heavy.
His last thought as he slipped into slumber was: She loves me. She really does love me.
SEVENTEEN
It seemed to Luke he’d just closed his eyes when the mattress sagged at the other side of the bed. The ensuing jiggle brought him groggily awake.
“What the hell?” he whispered.
He blinked to clear his vision, sitting up and staring at the blurred outline of a child kneeling on his bed. The white nightshirt and tousled dark hair finally registered on his befuddled brain.
“Khristos?” he whispered, still keeping his voice down so as not to awaken Cassandra. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
“Don’t be mad, Luke. I had a bad dream, is all.”
“I’m not mad, kid. Just…surprised.”
Cringing because the boy had caught him in bed with his sister, Luke raked a hand through his hair. Christ. How was he going to explain this one?
“Did you have one, too?” Khristos asked.
“One what?” Luke asked stupidly.
“A bad dream.” The child glanced at his sister, who still slept peacefully, her dark hair a fan across Luke’s pillow, her hand curled loosely beside her head. “Did Cassie come in to tell you stories and chase the scaries away?”
“You might say that.” Relieved, Luke smiled in spite of himself. Reaching over to jerk the covers back on the other side of the mattress, he patted a spot for Khristos to lie down. “Now that you’re here,” he whispered, “you may as well stay.”
Khristos didn’t need a second invite. He dove for the pillow like a contestant in a greased pig contest, looping his thin arms around the silk-covered down and burying his face in it. “Thank you, Luke,” he said in a faint voice.
“You’re welcome,” Luke whispered back.
He was about to lie back down when he heard an odd thumping sound. Leaning sideways on an elbow, he searched the darkness beside the bed. Slowly, a very large dog began to take shape in the shadows.
“He wouldn’t stay downstairs,” Khristos explained, “so I kind of helped him get up here.”
“Kind of?”
Cassandra came awake, rubbing her eyes and yawning. “What’s going on?”
Luke couldn’t believe the poor, busted-up dog had come all the way up those stairs. Given the fact that he had, however, Luke didn’t have the heart to carry him back down them.
“We have some company,” he finally told Cassandra.
“Company?”
As Luke slipped from the bed, she pushed up on an elbow. “Lye-Lye? Khristos? What are you two doing up here?”
Khristos explained his and the dog’s intrusion a second time. “I only had to pull a little to help Lycodomes climb the stairs,” he elaborated. “He misses sleeping with you really bad, I guess.”
Luke had a hunch Lycodomes wasn’t the only one who missed sleeping with Cassandra. Taking care where he placed his arms, Luke lifted the dog and deposited him gently at the foot of the bed on Khristos’s side. The child was small. His lack of leg length would give the animal plenty of room to lie down. Like a wolf circling an area to check for snakes, Lycodomes turned around and around on the coverlet until he found a good spot.
When all four of them had finally gotten situated and reasonably comfortable in the bed together, Luke turned onto his back and drew Cassandra’s head to his shoulder again, one arm looped loosely around her. On her other side, Khristos snuggled as close as he could get.
“Isn’t this fun?” she asked. “We’re having a sleep party.”
Luke couldn’t help but chuckle. Only Cassandra could find a bright side to this. Personally, he felt like a sardine stuffed into a can.
Something thumped Luke sharply across the shin. Lycodomes’s splint, he realized. Cassandra and Khristos were both so short, the dog had evidently decided to claim the entire lower fourth of the bed as his area.
“Oh, look!” Cassandra said suddenly. “There’s George Washington.”
Luke wasn’t surprised. Everyone else had barged in on him; why not a dead president?
“Where?” Khristos asked.
She pointed at a shadow on the ceiling, cast there by moonlight coming through lace. In spite of himself, Luke studied the design. For the life of him, he couldn’t see how it resembled good old George.
“Oh, and look there! It’s a teapot!”
“I see it!” Khristos cried.
And so it went, for at least twenty minutes. Finally Cassandra yawned and drifted off to sleep, her withdrawal from the game forcing Khristos to grow quiet as well. Or so Luke thought. After a long while, the boy asked in a hoarse whisper, “Did it work, Luke?”
He glanced over Cassandra’s shoulder at the child’s shadowy face. “Did what work?”
“The story Cassandra told you. Did it chase your scaries away?”
When Luke finally answered, his voice was gruff. “Yeah, I guess it did.”
“Good. I’m glad. What story did she tell?”
Luke thought a moment. “The one about the ugly toad that got magically transformed into a prince by the love of a beautiful lady.”
“Good. I like that one.” Khristos snuffled and thrashed with his skinny legs to get comfortable. Luke gazed at the ceiling, searching for George.
The following day, a deep, bone-chilling fear settled over Luke and stayed with him even when he finally escaped the house and went to the office.
As a kid far younger than Khristos, he’d learned to lie with the best of ’em. No, I didn’t touch the bread on the tray. No, I never took your money, Ma. In the early years, lying had been his only means of getting what he needed. Only later did he learn to lie to get what he wanted. Necessary lies, glib lies, cruel lies, manipulative lies. He’d never felt a twinge of guilt. Now, however, the lies he’d told to possess Cassandra—the tricks he’d played to place her in an untenable position—had gotten him into a hell of a fix.
If she ever learned the truth, she would despise him. And she would discover it the instant she got an opportunity to speak with her father. Milo Zerek was poor, not stupid. Luke had seen the expression in the man’s eyes the night of his arrest. Milo knew exactly how Luke had engineered the trap to ensnare him. At the first opportunity, he would tell his daughter.
Scowling at his desk blotter, Luke considered confessing everything to Cassandra—and rejected the idea almost instantly. To do that, he would have to count on her to forgive him, and that was asking a hell of a lot. Yet, at the same time, he knew if he kept going as he was, he would only dig himself into a deeper mess.
One thing was for sure; keeping the Zerek men locked up in small jail cells for three months, as he’d originally planned, no longer seemed a good idea. Later, when Cassandra learned the truth, he did
n’t want her looking back and feeling bitter because her father and brother had been made to suffer unnecessarily.
Head cradled on his hands, Luke tried to think of some way he could keep the two men away from Cassandra, yet still see to their comfort and well-being.
Time…the word became a litany in Luke’s head as he sat there with the heels of his hands pressed against his aching eyes. He needed more time. He couldn’t let her learn the truth until he had an unbreakable hold on her heart.
Exhausted, Luke finally pushed up from his desk, hooked his jacket from the back of his chair, and grabbed his hat. A plan was taking shape in his mind—a very good plan, if he did say so himself. Now all he need do was visit his attorney and implement it.
Ten minutes later, Luke pounded his fist against Daniel Beauregard’s paneled front door with such urgency that the carved oak trembled. From inside the two-story brick house, he heard running footsteps as someone raced to answer his knock. An instant later, the door swung open.
In his rush to see his attorney, Luke shoved past the solemn-faced butler, nearly knocking the skinny old man off balance. Grabbing the servant’s arm to steady him, Luke said, “Hello, Stevens. Is Daniel home?”
“Mr. Taggart!” the butler sputtered, his bald pate shining in the light from the chandelier. “Good day to you, sir.”
Luke swept his gaze over the entry hall. The seasoned oak doors, which contrasted starkly with the unadorned white walls, were all closed, giving no clue to where the master of the house might be. “Daniel is here, I hope? I’ve important business to discuss with him.”
Straightening his black frock coat, the servant said, “I do beg your pardon, Mr. Taggart, but Mr. Beauregard is presently indisposed.”
Luke drew his watch from his vest and flipped it open to check the time. “It’s well after noon. Would you please tell him I’m here?”
The butler looked flustered. “Actually, sir, he’s got a bit of a headache and gave me strict orders that he isn’t to be disturbed.”
A hangover, more than likely, Luke thought impatiently. Daniel made a habit of staying out late and tipping the bottle a bit too often. Nonetheless, he was a shrewd attorney, and Luke could always count on him. “I’m sure he’ll make an exception for me,” Luke told the butler firmly. “Where is he, Stevens? I’ll take responsibility for disturbing him.”
With a long-suffering sigh, Stevens finally gestured with a pale, blue-veined hand at the set of double doors at the far end of the entry hall. “In there, sir. He and a houseguest are at breakfast.”
Breakfast? Luke shook his head. One major difference between himself and his attorney was that Daniel often stayed abed late, then piddled away half the day once he arose. Luke had always been more regimented in his work habits.
His boots tapping a sharp tattoo on the gleaming hardwood floors, Luke traversed the long hallway. At the double doors, he twisted the ornate brass handle, pushing a shoulder against the panel. As he entered the room, he reeled to a stop. Daniel was at breakfast, all right, the main course a voluptuous brunette whose bodice gaped open, her pale, thrusting breasts smeared generously at the tips with strawberry jam. One hand braced on the table, her other on the back of Daniel’s chair, the woman was bent forward and moaning delightedly as Daniel loudly suckled the preserves from her distended nipples.
“Oh!” she cried when she spotted Luke.
“Goddammit!” Daniel said with a snarl. “Doors were made to knock on, Taggart! Where were you raised, in a barn?”
Luke softly closed the door behind him and crossed his arms. His attorney, who still grasped his ladylove by the waist, had a smear of jam on his chin. The brunette, eyes glazed with ebbing passion, was about to impale her lover’s ear with the tip of one strawberry-smeared breast.
“Actually, nothing so fine as a barn,” Luke said with a grin. “Good afternoon, Daniel.” He glanced at the woman, whom he recognized as the wife of an affluent city councilman. Under other circumstances, Luke might have beat a fast retreat. As it happened, he admired the councilman very much and couldn’t help but feel angry on the poor fellow’s behalf. “Hello, Mrs. Jackson. Good to”—he cast a pointed look at her exposed bosom—“see you.”
A flush that rivaled the red smears on her breasts shot to her cheeks. With a choked murmur, she straightened and began jerking at her bodice to cover herself, cringing when the fine lawn of her chemise connected with the preserves and stuck to her skin. The moment all the buttons were fastened, she dashed from the room, slamming the door so hard behind her that the sound echoed off the dining room walls.
Luke turned a chair and straddled it, folding his arms across its back as he sat down. “Really, Daniel. Is there anyplace you draw the line? Rutherford Jackson is a nice man. That woman’s got two little children and goes to church every Sunday.”
Daniel grabbed up a napkin from beside his plate and scrubbed angrily at his jaw. Gazing at him, Luke had to admit the attorney was handsome, with refined features, dancing blue eyes, and wavy dark hair. More dangerous than his good looks, though, was his silver-tongued charm, which served him well in both the courtroom and the boudoir. Perhaps a little too well, if Lindy Jackson’s behavior this morning was any indication.
“You’re lecturing me?” Daniel asked in amazement.
“I’m just pointing out that women like Lindy Jackson aren’t exactly fair game.”
“Since when? What did you do, get religion since I saw you last?” After straightening his amber silk robe and tightening the sash, Daniel reached for the china coffeepot at the center of the table. “Care for some? I can ring for another cup.”
“No, thanks.” Luke helped himself to a slice of toast, took a bite, then tossed the uneaten remains back onto the plate. “And, no, I haven’t gotten religion. I just hate to see a perfectly good marriage ruined because you couldn’t resist preying on a bored young wife. There are plenty of unattached females in town.”
“You should know, Taggart.” Daniel took a sip of coffee, eyeing Luke over the rim of his cup. “What brings you here this morning?”
“It’s afternoon, and I came on business. I do have you on retainer, if you’ll recall.”
“Prior notification that you’d like to see me would be nice.”
Luke chuckled and shook his head. “You have jam on the end of your nose.”
Daniel swiped with the napkin again, a flush spreading across his high cheekbones. “Please, don’t hesitate to enjoy yourself at my expense.”
“I won’t,” Luke assured him. “Now that I’m thinking about becoming a married man myself, I find adulterous liaisons rather distasteful.”
Daniel, in the middle of taking another sip of coffee, strangled on the liquid. He grabbed wildly for the napkin again. When the choking spasm finally passed, he fixed watery blue eyes on his employer. “What did you say?” he croaked.
“I said I’m thinking about becoming a married man.”
“The Zerek twit?”
Luke narrowed an eye. “Cassandra is not a twit.” He raked a hand through his hair and glanced around the room. “What are the legal ramifications?”
“Of what?”
“Marriage,” Luke said impatiently. “If I marry her, will it weaken my hold on her? Nullify the contract we drew up?”
Daniel cleared his throat and dabbed at his eyes. “Well, it would certainly make the contract unnecessary. Your main goal was to bind her to you legally for a year. Marriage will accomplish the same thing, except for a lifetime.”
Luke smiled at the note of warning in his attorney’s voice. “I’m well aware of the usual duration of marriage, Daniel.” He paused a moment. “What about any issue that should arise from our relationship? If we have a child, I have legal claim as things stand. If I marry her and we have a child, can she leave me and take it with her?”
Daniel sat back in his chair, his initial surprise ebbing, his gaze growing thoughtful. “In the event of a divorce, which is rather rare, the courts usually g
rant the father custodial rights to the children.” He shrugged. “Occasionally, a man will specifically request otherwise, for whatever reason, but normally he gets custody and most of the assets as well. For one, the man is usually better able to support the children, and for another, a woman seeking divorce is generally looked upon with disfavor by a judge. Not a fair situation, to be sure, but that’s the way it stands presently. Why?”
Luke sighed. “Before I do anything, I just want to be sure of my position. In essence, then, what you’re saying is that a wife has very few rights in the event of a divorce.”
A frown pleated Daniel’s forehead. “Practically none.”
“So, if I marry Cassandra, my legal hold on her will be as strong as it is now?”
“Stronger.”
“Great!” Luke flashed his attorney a grin. “Just what I was hoping to hear.”
“No, it’s not great,” Daniel came back. “It’s an injustice, is what it is. No matter how miserable a situation may be for a woman, it’s damned hard on her if she decides to sever the matrimonial tie. Someday, I hope to see that change.”
Luke spared him another brief grin. “Don’t get on your high horse. I didn’t mean it’s good that women have few rights in a court of law. I simply meant it makes it possible for me to marry Cassandra.”
“Why marry her? By contract, you already have all the rights of a husband for the next twelve months. I saw to that in the wording.”
“But at the end of the twelve months?” Luke shook his head. “I’ve decided I want to keep her with me longer than that. Marriage, as you pointed out, will bind her to me for a lifetime.”
“Unless she divorces you,” Daniel reminded him, “which she’ll very probably do the minute she talks to her father. You can’t keep the man in jail forever, Luke. She’s bound to find out what you’ve done, sooner or later.”
Luke saluted the man’s savvy with a curt nod. “That’s exactly why I’ve been concocting another plan, which I want you to handle.”