Patricia Rice (33 page)

Elizabeth patted her hand. “You have no blame for your
parentage, Cassandra. That is my shame and my happiness. I married the man my
family arranged for me to marry. We were not happy together. Neither of us
expected to be. I brought him money. He gave me prestige. After I gave him his
heir, I did not break his heart when I had an affair. Just one affair,
Cassandra, in all my life with him. Can you forgive me for that?”

Thinking of what she herself had done, Cassandra could only
marvel that her mother had the moral fortitude to surrender only once. Then,
trying to imagine an affair with anyone else but Wyatt, she understood.

“You loved him, didn’t you? And he left you. How could he?
How could any man leave you to a life like that? Did he not care at all?”

Sadness flickered across Elizabeth’s features, but then she
donned a mask of determination. “He cared enough to risk two families for me. I
was the one who was weak. You were not born yet. You cannot remember that time.
There were debts. There were drunken parties, the gambling all of society
indulges in, but not the financial disaster of now. I was a marchioness. I had
a young son, a place in society, respect. I was never very strong, but I had
admirers. It wasn’t an unpleasant life.”

Cassandra resisted the impulse to get up and walk away. She
didn’t want to hear that. She didn’t want to hear any of it. She had always
known her mother was weak, but she had thought it a physical weakness. She didn’t
want to know she had been condemned to a life of wretchedness because her
mother enjoyed her title too well.

Lady Eddings continued. “I met your father at one of the
parties the marquess liked to indulge in. Your father had just bought the last
of the Howard shipholdings, although I didn’t know that at the time. He was
here alone. His wife didn’t like to travel. He is an American, you see.”

Cassandra gulped and her stomach tightened into unreasoning
knots. An American! That was so far outside society as she knew it that she
couldn’t stretch her imagination to picture it.

“He stayed longer than he intended. We had one lovely summer
together. He wanted me to leave with him, but I could not. We would both have
to petition for divorces. We would have been banned from society forever. And
we would have lost our children. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t give it all up,
even for him. I didn’t know about you until after he left. He left me the name
of his London solicitors, but I never wrote to him. It was simply too late for
us.”

The sorrow in her mother’s voice brought tears to Cassandra’s
eyes. Somewhere across the sea she had a father and half-brothers and
half-sisters, a whole world of people she would never know.

“Why are you telling me this now, Mother?”

Lady Eddings nodded approvingly. “Because I wrote to your
father when Duncan threatened to marry you off to Rupert. And because he
replied.”

The breath rushed out of her lungs as Cassandra stared at
her mother. “He replied? How?”

Her mother shrugged. “Very curtly, actually. Just a note to
say he was making arrangements to be here. He cannot be very pleased with me to
discover after all these years that he has a child he knew nothing about. But
since I received the reply a few weeks ago, I should think he would be on his
way by now.”

Cassandra couldn’t remain seated any longer. Her mind boiled
with all the possibilities. She had a father. He could take her away from here.
He could hate her, disclaim her. He could settle a sum on her mother so she
needn’t worry about providing for her anymore. Anything was possible. But it
was all too late.

She faced her mother with tears in her eyes. “Thank you for
telling me, but I cannot wait for his rescue. Forgive me, Mother, but I must
follow Wyatt. Rupert will kill him. I cannot allow that to happen, don’t you
see? I must do whatever is necessary to put an end to this. I will not allow
the Howard taint to destroy his life as it destroyed yours.”

She rushed from the room before her mother could stop her.

~*~

“Where the hell is she, Eddings?” Rupert demanded, swinging
his ebony cane against the fireplace pokers. “And don’t give me that faradiddle
about not knowing! She’s your bloody sister; you know damned well where she is.”

Duncan rested his much larger frame against the desk and
crossed his arms over his chest. “I didn’t even know she’d gone to Paris to see
you. You don’t know Cass very well if you think I have a chance of keeping up
with her. Why did she go to see you?”

“To warn me about you.” A malicious gleam lit the baronet’s
eye. “It seems my generosity isn’t sufficient, you want my lifeless body as
well. Not very sporting, old friend.”

“Cass is a damned fool,” Duncan muttered. He watched his
unwanted visitor warily.

“My wife is a very resourceful lady. She has kept me in
France by keeping the news of her lover’s recovery quiet. She has demanded an
annulment by assuring me that to do otherwise would mean my certain death. And
she brought her latest lover with her to emphasize the point physically. Most
resourceful, I must admit. But I don’t intend to let her go just yet. And I
certainly don’t mean to otherwise enhance your coffers, old friend.”

“Latest lover?” Duncan sought some benefit for himself in
these discoveries. “Cass is quite likely to lie about anything that aids her
cause. I should like to hear a fuller version of this tale. Of just what do I
stand accused?”

Rupert laughed, a sound that held little merriment but much cynicism.
“I’m certain you would like to hear more, but I did not come to entertain you,
only warn you. You will gain nothing by my death. Only by my continued
existence will you and your heathen sister benefit. Now, I suggest it is in
your best interest to remember where you misplaced her. I will be at my club
when you come looking for me.”

As he stalked out, Duncan resisted the urge to spit on his
shadow. Cass had a lot to answer for, but he’d be damned if he let that rutting
scoundrel have the best of him.

Merrick arrived at the Howard townhouse at the same time as
a stranger garbed almost entirely in gray and wearing a diamond in the folds of
his immaculate linen neckcloth. Merrick bowed and allowed the older man to
enter first. Both men presented cards to be carried away by a servant who
appeared to have spent the better part of the day in the wine cellar.

Restless, Merrick was disinclined to converse, but the older
gentleman had a commanding presence. As he stood perfectly still, concentrating
on the stairway, Merrick sent him a surreptitious glance. He was frighteningly
familiar, but Wyatt was certain he had never met him before.

When the servant returned to inform the stranger that the
marchioness was not at home and that the marquess was not available, the
stranger merely bowed and strode out.

Merrick stared after him, then asked of the footman, “What
name did he give?”

“‘Is lordship said Wyandott, milord. Can’t rightly read, so
don’t know what was on the card. The marquess said as how he’s too busy to see
you.”

Wyatt uttered a curse and brushed past the bewildered
footman. He didn’t know any Wyandott, but he knew a lying marquess when he
heard one. And this particular species of mendacious nobleman was about to be
brought to heel.

After a bitter argument with Cassandra’s recalcitrant
brother, Wyatt ordered his curricle toward the business district. He preferred
handling the ribbons himself, but he needed someone to mind the horse while he
carried out his errands, and his driver aped grave insult when not allowed to
flaunt his expertise.

After dealing with Jacob and Lotta these last days, he was
in no humor for arguing with servants. He was in no humor for arguing with
anyone. He had argued more in these last days than he had in a lifetime, but
the results were about to pay off.

Merrick strode into his solicitor’s office with the air of a
man about to demand satisfaction. “Well, what have you found?”

The nervous lawyer behind the desk hastily wiped his
spectacles. “We have found out much, milord,” the solicitor murmured. “But
there has been so little time... He is an unsavory character. His reputation is
of the lowest in every endeavor, but he is immensely wealthy, milord. He has
covered his trail well. All of your leads have been good ones. Your manservant
has been extremely helpful. We are on a trail of something of great importance
if I can only find the proof...”

Wyatt paced. “I need truths, not promises, and I need them
now. Immediately. What have you got that I can use without being labeled
slanderous?”

The solicitor sucked in his breath and consulted his file.
The most promising issue would not only be slanderous if it couldn’t be proved,
but also cataclysmic if it were. Flipping over that page, he began with the
better documented details.

Completely cloaked in a black domino, Wyatt commanded his
troops. The Marquess of Eddings’ town house—Cassandra’s old home—had already
been stripped and cleaned by an army of servants and refurbished by what could
only have been a tribe of imps from hell, commanded by Jacob.

Walls and windows of the downstairs rooms were draped in
black, pitching the rooms into complete darkness even before the sun set.
Lanterns covered with thin red shades cast eerie glows in obscure corners. The
tables scattered throughout the rooms held only one candle.

Merrick pointed at a masked devil. “Bertie, you take this
room. You have your story straight?”

The devil nodded. “Deuce take it, Merrick, I ain’t no green
schoolboy. I can remember lessons, not that I see where it will do any good.”

“You’ve got a point there, Albert.” A starkly garbed
gentleman in flowing black cape, top hat, white gloves, and half-mask leaned
arrogantly against a mantel festooned in henbane. “As a gambling hell, this is
all very clever. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself. But you can be
certain this is no more than an imaginative party to our prey. I see nothing in
it for me.”

“Your soul, Eddings. You’ll have your soul. At the worst,
you’ll save your life. If you fail me in this, I’ll skewer you to the wall.”
Wyatt made a gesture of irritation as he paced the room, waiting for the rest
of his troops to appear.

The marquess laughed. “You and who else, Merrick? My lovely
sister? Hitting me over the head with a poker is more Cassandra’s style. I’ll
believe it of her faster than of you, St. Wyatt.”

Merrick swung around, his growing tension escalating into
flaring anger. “We have an agreement, Eddings. It’s too late to back out of it
now. For once in your damned life, think of someone besides yourself.”

Eddings shrugged and shut up as a tall Roman soldier
entered, his visor concealing his face and the wide breastplate disguising his
gaunt frame.

“Damn, it’s about time.” Merrick spun around to confront his
valet. “Where’s Lotta? The women are already gathering in the back room.”

“She’s with them now, milord,” Jacob intoned formally.

“Good, then take your position.” Merrick turned to a
shadowed figure resting in a chair in a far corner. “Thomas, you are to take
your place and not move. I need you for the final act, and I’ll not have you
giving out before then. Is that understood?”

An amused young voice responded, “Aye, aye, Captain.”
Rising, Thomas strode out of the larger room to his appointed station.

As the door knocker sounded, Wyatt took a deep breath and
sent a prayer winging to the heavens. He would feel more confident of the
outcome of this charade were Cassandra at his side to help direct it, but he
could not risk her in the same company with Rupert. The evening he had planned
was fraught with peril.

Checking his pocket for the papers crackling there, he
blended into the darkness to take his own position.

Rupert arrived in the company of the tall distinguished man
Merrick had met on the Eddings’ doorstep. Neither man had wasted much time in
costume, although the invitation had specified this was a masquerade. Each wore
a half-mask as a concession to the occasion.

A plump Cleopatra immediately brought drinks and led them to
the first salon, where a crowd had already gathered around several faro tables.
Rupert joined in, while his companion idled in the background, watching his
surroundings with hooded interest.

Under the servants’ careful observation, Rupert’s glass was
never left empty. A heavily veiled Salome sidled up to him, snaking her hand
about his waist as he raked in his winnings. Rupert pinched his consort’s ripe
bottom and eased from the table.

“Let me show you some of the other rooms,” Salome whispered,
clinging to his arm.

Rupert followed, abandoning the friend with whom he had
arrived. He smiled when they entered a secluded alcove off the main rooms. A
candle burned in the sconce over an inviting velvet settee, and Rupert turned
to the lady attending him.

She came willingly into his arms, pressing heated kisses to
his mouth through the layer of veils. He pushed her backward toward the settee.

“Ahh, my little man was always a hasty lover,” Salome
murmured mockingly as she sprawled back across the cushions and brought him
down with her.

Intent on removing the voluminous cloth hindering his access
to the flesh beneath, Rupert halted with his hand halfway up her skirts. Lying
half across her, he stared suspiciously into her covered face. “You know me?”

The laugh following this question was hollow. “I know you,
my noble baronet. You were my first. With luck, you will be my last. Do you not
remember me, Rupert? I have cause to remember you for the rest of my life.”

She moved seductively beneath him, her hands disarranging
his clothes with practiced gestures as her hips ground against him. Rupert
jerked at her veils, swearing when one came loose to reveal another.