Fortune's Lady

  But when he arrived home twenty minutes later, Cass wasn’t there. Quinn was.

  “Tell me it’s not true.”

  “I can’t.”

  Riordan had never seen his friend so upset. For once his steely control had deserted him; he clutched the top of his head as if to keep it on while he paced blindly between the desk and the library door. “You were drunk?”

  “Yes.”

  “God!” He clapped his hands to his ears and kept pacing. He was dressed all in black, as if for a wake. His face was pale, his receding hair not perfectly clean. He seemed to have aged five years since Riordan last saw him.

  “Can’t you try to understand, Oliver? I was—”

  Quinn whirled on him. “Understand what? That you allowed yourself to lose control to the point that you’ve married a woman who’s no better than a—”

  “Don’t say it!” Riordan thundered violently, coming out of his chair. “It isn’t true!” He reined in his temper with difficulty. “You were wrong about Cass, Oliver, and I want to know how it happened.”

  Quinn looked at him pityingly. “You’re a fool.”

  “No. You were wrong. My wife was innocent when I married her.”

  “Innocent!” He threw back his head and feigned a hearty laugh. “Did you see the blood?”

  Riordan took three steps toward him and stopped, clenching his fists. He seemed to see Quinn through a haze of black rage.

  “Are you going to hit me again, Philip?” he snarled. “I’ve still got the scar from the last time.” He pulled his shirt cuff back and held up his wrist.

  Sickened, Riordan turned away and went to his desk. His hands shook.

  A moment later, Quinn spoke more calmly. “It’s done. Somehow we have to go on. And I must set aside my personal disappointment and concentrate on the higher purpose, which is to foil an assassin.”

  Riordan felt the words like razor cuts. He sat down heavily. “Cass is a good woman, Oliver. Please give her a chance. She’s—”

  “Did you hear what I said? We have more important things to consider. Now that King Louis has been arrested, we’ve—”

  “What?”

  Quinn looked at him in surprise, then disgust. “Are you telling me you didn’t know?”

  “No, we’ve been—” He gestured helplessly. “Tell me.”

  “Louis sought safety from an insurgent mob in the Assembly. The Swiss Guard who were supposed to be defending him were ordered to withdraw; many of them were shot while they were retiring. The Jacobins in the Assembly decreed that Louis be ‘suspended’ from office, and he and his family have been imprisoned in the Temple. Pitt’s withdrawn our minister.”

  “My God. I didn’t think it would come to this.”

  “The arrest has galvanized the revolutionary factions in France, and more importantly, here. It’s a critical time, Philip. We urgently need new intelligence, and unfortunately Wade is still our best source.”

  “I have news of Wade. He admitted to Cass that he led the group who tried to murder King George.”

  “Is that all?”

  “No. He told her the King is still their target and that the next attempt will occur in November.”

  “November.” Quinn stared into space with narrowed eyes. “The new Parliament opens in November.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Two months. We’ve got to find out.”

  Riordan stood up; he knew what was coming. “I don’t want her to see him again, Oliver.” He flinched at the look on Quinn’s face.

  “Say that again. I must have misheard.”

  “Listen to me. He tried to hurt her. I asked you once if there was anything wrong with him where women are concerned and you said no. Your intelligence was wrong, Oliver, wrong again. I won’t have her seeing him anymore.”

  Quinn controlled himself with a visible effort. “You’re besotted, Philip. My intelligence was right on both scores. Someday you’re going to realize that, and I pray it comes soon. As for her not seeing Wade, I can only think you’ve taken leave of your senses. It’s crucial that we discover his plan, and you know it. Apparently he trusts her—we have no choice but to use her, however distasteful you may find it. But your feelings aren’t important anymore. Something much bigger is at stake. We’re talking about the monarch’s life, Philip.”

  He kept speaking, but Riordan stopped listening. He couldn’t argue with Quinn’s logic, but the idea of Cass’s seeing Wade again made him physically sick. With a flash of insight, he realized that she meant even more to him than Oliver’s approval did.

  He also knew Cass wouldn’t see Wade if he didn’t want her to. He cut Quinn off in the middle of a sentence. “Very well, I won’t forbid her to see him. But it will be her decision. We’ll ask her and she’ll answer. Whatever she decides, Oliver, is how it will be.”

  Quinn sent him a twisted smile. Riordan was surprised when he merely said, “Agreed.”

  Tripp helped Cass down from the carriage at the same moment that another coach arrived in front of the house. From this one five men disembarked, and she correctly deduced they were Riordan’s fellow committeemen come to discuss the reform bill. It made her feel proud that, although they were all older than her husband, he was their leader. She greeted them cordially on the front steps and led them inside, aware of their interested inspection.

  Angry voices were immediately audible from the library. She was grateful when Walker appeared in the hall and took charge, shepherding the gentlemen out of earshot into the drawing room. She made her way toward the library, still holding the rolled sheet music she’d bought for Riordan from a ballad-seller in the street. The voices rose higher as she neared the door. With her hand on the knob, she heard Quinn shout, “Well, think about it, man! For God’s sake! If you get her pregnant, the whole plan falls apart!”

  White-faced, she opened the door, staring from one to the other. For a moment they both looked guilty, and she had a memory of Riordan’s face an hour ago when she’d seen him in the shop with Claudia.

  “Cass!” He came to her and took her hand.

  “You have visitors, Philip,” she said unsteadily. “In the drawing room. It’s the men from your committee.”

  He swore, then put his arm around her. “Oliver, I’m sure you’ll want to tell Cass how glad you are about our marriage.”

  The silence was palpable. Cass swallowed, waiting. She could sense a contest going on between the two men. At last Quinn made her a shallow bow and drew back his lips in a semblance of a smile. “I wish you…luck.”

  Riordan stiffened. “Is that all?”

  Before Quinn could answer there was a knock at the door and Walker put his head in. “Sir, the men from the—”

  “I’m coming!” Riordan looked down at Cass; he seemed to be trying to communicate something to her, but she wasn’t able to read the expression in his eyes. She was startled when he kissed her on the mouth, hard, with Quinn watching. Then he let her go and walked out.

  There was a minute of silence while she imagined what Quinn must be thinking. She remembered the words she’d overheard. Did it mean he didn’t want them to—she blushed at the thought. She could think of nothing to say; small talk about her wedding trip scarcely seemed appropriate. Realizing that she still held Riordan’s gift, she went to the windowseat and put it down beside his viola.

  “Summer’s over,” she said finally, watching leaves zigzag down from the locust tree in the slight breeze.

  “France’s king and his family are in prison.”

  She turned with a sharp gasp.

  “He’s been suspended by the Assembly and locked in the Temple. He’ll probably be tried for treason and executed.”

  “I can’t believe it! The king! Marie Antoinette, too?” Quinn nodded. She shook her head, trying to absorb the news. “How will it affect events here?” she asked hesitantly, leaning against the wall with her hands behind her back.

  “Englishmen don’t like to see kings imprisoned. It’ll stifle pop
ular sentiment for a revolution here, which will make the radicals more desperate.”

  “Philip told you what Colin said?”

  He nodded. “November. It’s more important now than ever that you maintain contact with Wade, Miss Merlin.”

  “I understand. And—I agree with you. But Philip doesn’t want me to see him again.”

  “And so?”

  “And so—I’m afraid I’ll have to abide by his wishes.” She gazed at him steadily. “He’s my husband, Mr. Quinn.”

  A look passed over his face so swiftly she couldn’t identify it, though she was left with the odd impression that it was pity. He came toward her and stretched out his hand. “May we sit down?” Surprised, she let him lead her to one of the velvet-upholstered chairs facing Riordan’s desk; he seated himself in the other beside her. For the first time since she’d known him, he looked uncomfortable. He spoke kindly. “I’ve known Philip for a very long time, Miss Merlin—”

  “I know it’s difficult for you to call me Mrs. Riordan. Why don’t you call me Cass?”

  A slow smile spread across his stern visage. “I thank you for that. I’ll try to.” He looked down at his hands. “Philip is a good man at heart,” he-began again, “as I’m sure I have no need to tell you. His childhood was miserable, though, and the influences of a despicable family aren’t always so easy to shake off. Some men have to struggle against them all their lives.”

  “Philip is nothing like his family,” she said defensively.

  He smiled a sad smile. “I wish that were true, Cassandra. I wish it were true. I’m so sorry, my dear. I have something extremely unpleasant to tell you.”

  “I know about the man he’s supposed to have tried to kill, Mr. Quinn. I must tell you I find that almost impossible to believe.”

  He nodded. “I know. It was so brutal, so—” He stopped, pained. “I often have to remind myself that it really happened.”

  He held out his arm and she gasped at the sight of the thick white scar extending from his wrist to the base of his thumb. “Oh, no. Oh my God.” So it was true. She sat back in her chair, numb.

  “But that isn’t what I was going to tell you,” he went on, speaking quietly. “In a way this is even worse.” He looked away in apparent distress. “I don’t know any words to use that won’t hurt you.”

  “I’m sure it can’t be that bad,” she said, attempting a smile. But she felt a coldness seeping into her chest. She sat perfectly still, waiting. Outside, a cart passing in the street sounded shockingly loud.

  Quinn looked at her, then away again. “Forgive me. I’ll simply say it. The truth is, you and Philip aren’t married. And he knows it.”

  Cass lost all color. She didn’t know she’d stood up until she found herself on the other side of the room. “That’s ridiculous,” she got out, trying to laugh. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I’m so sorry. But it’s true, I swear it.”

  She pressed her hands to her midriff against rising nausea. “It isn’t true. It’s a lie.”

  Quinn was beside her, leaning toward her solicitously, seeming afraid to touch her. “I’m so terribly sorry.”

  “It’s a lie!” She couldn’t get past that, couldn’t make her lips form any other words.

  “The man who married you wasn’t the tollkeeper, you see—wasn’t a resident of the village. Philip’s friend Wallace found him and paid him to do it. He was a peddler, passing through on his way to Carlisle. The marriage wasn’t legal. My dear—!” He caught her before she slid to the floor and supported her in his arms, depositing her gently in the windowseat.

  “I’m all right.” She strained to sit up straight but kept slumping over against the wall. He held her ice-cold hands and chafed them. “It can’t be true,” she said weakly, “it mustn’t be.”

  But even as she spoke there was a small, insistent voice inside that said it was. And she had always known it. Philip wouldn’t have married her. The reason it had seemed like such a miracle was because it wasn’t real. She remembered him shaking Wally’s hand beside the bridge over the pond. He’d looked grateful, she recalled. Of course he hadn’t married her. Of course.

  “But we signed a paper!” she remembered suddenly. She wanted to throw off the heavy, dangerous fatalism that was engulfing her. “It would be proof.”

  Quinn shook his head in sympathy. “It won’t mean anything. If it still exists.”

  Cass pulled her hands away and rose, refusing his help. She made her way to the garden door and leaned against it heavily. She was in too much pain to cry. She watched two squirrels in the locust tree chasing each other in circles. The late afternoon sun sent lovely angling shadows across the ivy on the high stone wall. She felt as if she were a prisoner who had been having a beautiful dream; Quinn had awakened her and her eyes were wide open now on the four walls of her cell.

  Suddenly she whirled around and faced him. “It can’t be true. I will not believe it. What could he imagine he would tell people afterward? That it was all a joke? It’s despicable—he wouldn’t do it!”

  Quinn brought his folded hands to his chin and stared at her somberly. “I doubt he thought it through very carefully. Philip is a strongly sensual man. I’ve known him to go to great lengths to gratify his desires. But you’re right, this passes all bounds. I imagine he thought you’d accept money and go away when it was over. I’m deeply ashamed of him, my dear. Deeply ashamed.”

  “You’re saying he pretended to marry me so he could sleep with me?”

  “I’m sure he has some true feelings for you—”

  “And he expects to give me money! So that I’ll go—” At last she choked on the words and couldn’t speak again. Her emotions were in turmoil, veering back and forth between outrage and disbelief. “But I have nowhere to go,” she whispered to herself.

  Quinn heard. “Your aunt—?”

  “No, that’s not possible now.” Then she was defiant again. “I don’t believe you! Mr. Quinn, you’re only telling me this so I’ll go to Wade!”

  He looked away as if embarrassed. “In a way you’re right. If I didn’t need you so desperately, I would never have intruded into Philip’s private business. But I do. You’re the only one who can help now, Cassandra. Wade is dedicated to overthrowing this monarchy. If your word were all we needed, we could stop now, but it isn’t. He’s very wealthy and he’s the son of an earl. We must catch him all but in the act. And we can’t do it without you.” He went to her and took her hands again in what seemed a kindly grasp. “I know what a blow this is to you. If I’d known what would happen I’d never have introduced you to Philip in the beginning. You probably don’t believe that, but it’s true. But now it’s too late, and I have no choice but to ask you to continue. For the king. For your country. To help put right the wrong your father tried to do.”

  “Wasn’t his death enough?” Her heart was breaking; she could barely speak.

  “I’m afraid not. I’m asking you to give more.”

  “And if I won’t?”

  He squeezed her icy fingers. “Then I lose. But so do you, I think. Cassandra, my poor child, he’s not your husband.”

  She extricated her hands and stepped away from him. “I must speak to him.”

  “Yes, of course. But may I ask one favor?”

  She shook her head unconsciously, but said, “What is it?”

  “Don’t tell him it was I who told you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it would put an end to our friendship. Philip means the world to me, Cassandra—I love him as though he were my own son. I believe he feels the same about me. We’re so different, he and I, and yet we love each other. And we need each other.”

  Tears began to drift down her cheeks in helpless waves. “Why did you leave him, then?” she demanded thickly. “Why did you go away and leave him to his family?”

  “I was summoned by the king, I had no choice! Do you think it didn’t hurt me to leave him? I—” He turned away. “No, of course not. I??
?m the cold, impersonal spy, aren’t I? I have no feelings, the sight of a sobbing, heartbroken boy means nothing to me—” He stopped again.

  “I’m sorry,” she ventured, holding her hot cheeks and dashing the tears away. “Forgive me, I don’t know what to think, what to believe. I can’t talk anymore.”

  “Wait! Please. Speak to Philip, do what you have to do. But know that Colin Wade’s threat to the sovereign is very real. It’s our responsibility now to set aside personal feelings if we can, no matter how strong or painful they are, and try to act in the best interests of our country. That’s all I’m asking. Will you help?”

  Standing in the doorway, pale and distraught, she answered, “I don’t know.”

  On her way upstairs, she heard men’s voices coming from the drawing room. Philip’s was strong and sure and persuasive, and the sound of it sent a dart of agony through her. She reached his room— their room—and went to his case, still unpacked, on the bed. Where was the paper they’d signed, their marriage certificate? She’d seen him pack it the morning they’d left Gretna Green. It must be here. “It won’t mean anything, if it still exists,” Quinn had said.

  It wasn’t there. That fact fell into her head like a stone dropping down a bottomless cavern, sailing soundlessly through darkness. The marriage certificate wasn’t there.

  She sat down in a chair next to the bureau and clasped her hands on her knees. A maid entered presently. “Shall I unpack for you, ma’am?”

  Cass stared at her a full ten seconds before her words sank in. She shook her head, staring intently. The girl went away, bewildered.

  There was no marriage certificate. Riordan had shaken hands with Wally gratefully. And then she remembered the letter. He’d called their marriage a “stunt,” and thanked Wally for “pulling it off.” But the tollkeeper, Mr. Bean, had seemed so experienced, so knowing. “Whichever’s whitest is the ones gettin’ spliced, nine times outa ten.” A peddler, Quinn said. Wally had paid him.

  She thought of the way Riordan had laughed at her the night she told him he’d have to marry her if he wanted her. Then he’d gone to Claudia. She hunched her shoulders in despair, seeing them the way they’d looked this afternoon in the jewelry shop. So handsome. So devoted. And she’d thought they’d only kissed in friendship; after a little while she hadn’t even been upset.