Dash of Enchantment

by Patricia Rice

  Remembering the first time his treacherous wife had cheated him out of his purse, Rupert smirked. He knew where she was now. It would just be a matter of days before she graced his bed. He might have to kidnap her and tie her down until she became used to the idea, but she would break soon enough.

  He could almost vow that St. Wyatt didn’t know any of the tricks Rupert had learned to keep a wanton woman in line. The thought of what he could do to that haughty wife of his once she was strapped to the bed made his loins ache.

  ~*~

  Cassandra beat furiously at Wyatt’s door knocker. There was only one lamp burning in the townhouse window, but she knew he had to be there.

  She would not give in to the fear that he had called out Rupert.

  Cassandra lifted the knocker to slam it again. The door swung open, nearly pulling her inside, so fierce was her grip.

  The elderly butler looked at her with condescending inquiry. The London staff didn’t know her. She daren’t proclaim herself Wyatt’s wife unless he were here to confirm it. She drew herself up haughtily and refused to give any name at all. “I must see Lord Merrick. Let me in.”

  The butler’s unblinking expression did not change. “His lordship has gone out for the evening.”

  Cassandra’s hopes plunged into the blackest hole. He couldn’t already be meeting Rupert. It had taken her days to slip away from Wyatt’s watchful servants. It had taken her even longer to manage the chain of coaches and chaises necessary to reach London. She was exhausted, wet, and nearly ill from worry. Her efforts could not be for naught!

  “It is a matter of life and death,” she said. “I am the Lady Cassandra Howard. You must tell me where I can find him.”

  This time the butler blinked and offered her entrance. “There was to be a masquerade this evening, my lady. His lordship did not know when he would return. He dismissed most of the staff for the evening.”

  A masquerade! She was worrying herself into a state of paralysis and he was out playing child’s games! She knew about masquerades. Duncan had told her about them. Costumes gave shameless people the license to behave shamelessly in public. She would have his head on a platter for this.

  “I must find him,” she asserted. “Have you any idea where the masquerade is to be held?”

  Helping her off with the dripping cloak, the butler stiffened. “At Lord Eddings, I believe.”

  Cassandra issued a curse that sent the servant’s eyebrows into his hairline. Sweeping off her wet garment, she started for the stairs. “You must have some old costumes in this place. Where are the attics? Are Lotta and Jacob here? Send them to me.”

  With a sigh of resignation the butler followed in her path. “Lotta and Jacob have gone out for the evening, my lady. I will send a maid to you. If you will wait, I’ll have the housekeeper prepare a room.”

  It was two hours later before the attics were successfully rummaged for a costume, and it could be adapted for Cassandra’s use. Some young Merrick must once have disguised himself as Robin Hood. The surtout was not meant for female wear, but it was loose enough on her to almost disguise her breasts.

  Unfortunately, it was short, and if any tunic had been worn beneath it, no evidence could be found of its remains. The close-fitting tights that went under the costume convinced Cassandra the costume was meant to be worn without tunic, but on her the result was as shameless. She gazed at her long forest-green-clad legs beneath the dark surtout and blanched. Wyatt would kill her.

  Or Rupert would kill Wyatt. With that thought in mind, Cassandra grasped the brown homespun cloak the servant provided. If she kept it pulled about her, she would pass. A hood effectively disguised her countenance, hiding her hair as well as her features.

  Merrick had left the landau in Sussex, but the curricle was available. It was uncomfortable in the rain, but the distance to St. James wasn’t great. Cassandra suffered it in silent terror.

  Duncan and Rupert must have set some trap, but she could not fathom Wyatt walking into it. So why would he attend what he had to know would be one of Duncan’s drunken orgies?

  When the driver let her out at her former home, Cassandra gazed up at the heavily draped dark windows in puzzlement, but without a qualm, she let herself in.

  No one came to take her cloak, but that was scarcely unusual. What was unusual was the hellish decor and the crowd of people crushing the normally unused front rooms. Cassandra gaped at the black-draped walls and flickering lanterns and shivered. This was worse than some of the worst gambling hells she had seen.

  It was damned difficult to make out her hand before her face, but she knew Merrick would be here somewhere. And Duncan. And Rupert. That name made her cringe, but Cassandra kept up her steady search. There would be an end to this, and soon.

  She spotted a towering Roman soldier she would swear was Jacob, but he disappeared down a hallway to the private salon. That seemed a better place to start than this mass confusion of the public rooms. Working her way around drunken monks and amorous Sir Walter Raleighs, Cassandra sought the quieter hall she had seen the Roman soldier enter.

  In minutes she was in the shadows outside the candlelight of a table of card players. Several others leaned against the walls to watch the play, but her gaze focused on the players. She recognized Duncan and Rupert, since they made no attempt to disguise themselves.

  Despite his domino, Merrick was easily recognized by his height, at least to her eyes. From the talk or lack of it around the table, she wasn’t certain that everyone knew him. The light was dim, after all, and Merrick sat far back in the shadows. The single candle made it difficult to see.

  Rupert was across the table from Merrick.

  That didn’t make sense. If Duncan and Rupert were creating some kind of trap, they should be the ones in disguise. Her gaze drifted to a fourth player. He seemed vaguely familiar, but his mask hid his features. She would have suspected Bertie, but he seemed younger, perhaps a little taller. It was difficult to tell, but he didn’t sit like Bertie.

  How could she get Wyatt out of here without a commotion? None of the men had paid any attention to her entrance. There had to be some way of removing Wyatt before the trap was sprung. What devious plan could Duncan have devised now?

  She counted the winnings before each player, but did not feel relief even when she saw Wyatt’s coins were as high as Duncan’s. Duncan could be leading him on to bigger stakes. It was an old trick, but not one she had taught Wyatt. He could start gambling recklessly on the basis of this lucky streak, only to find it all lost on the turn of a well-placed card.

  Rupert was the only one doing badly, but he did not seem to mind. A number of empty glasses littered the table before him, and she knew he was drunk. He was dangerous when he had had too much.

  As Cassandra watched the cards go around, she realized they were wagering for incredibly high stakes. Duncan didn’t have that kind of money to lose, although the sum in front of him might cover a round or two.

  Cassandra glanced uneasily at Merrick. She knew he was wealthy, but she suspected much of his wealth lay in his lands. Should he lose at these rates, he would have to put up some of his estate for collateral. Why in the devil was he doing this?

  The next round brought her answer. Cassandra blanched as Rupert laid his scribbled marker on the table and Merrick leaned over to shove it back. Rejecting a gentleman’s marker just wasn’t done.

  From behind his domino, Merrick spoke without inflection, breaking the eerie silence. “There is only one piece of paper with your signature on it that we’ll accept from you.”

  As a sheaf of papers appeared on the table before him, Rupert stared at them in drunken shock.

  Not so backward, Cassandra leaned forward to read the large print at the top of the legal documents. She had to strain to pick out the letters in the candlelight, but she finally made them out: Petition for Annulment.

  She fought an urge to scream and overturn the table. She wanted to berate them all, to tell them just exactly what
she thought of them for playing behind her back this way, and then she wanted to flee in the face of her overwhelming embarrassment. But those were the reactions of a much younger Cassandra. She was older than that now.

  With casual aplomb, Cassandra drew her cloak closed and stepped forward into the candlelight. “Gentlemen, may anyone join this game?”

  Chapter 28

  The cardplayers looked up in startlement at the hooded intruder with the muffled voice. Rupert shrugged at the request and shoved Wyatt’s paper toward the coins mounting in the center of the table.

  “My markers are good. I have no need of this faradiddle.” In truth, he was shaken. The encounters with the whore and the drunken devil had unnerved him, making him uncomfortably aware of how precarious his situation was.

  If either Eddings or Merrick had any notion of those incidents, his reputation could be ruined in every fashionable house in town. And if they had uncovered secrets that deep, they could be very close to the darkest secret of all. His marriage to Cassandra could not save him then, far from it.

  The knowledge that he had been playing with people who knew him but whom he didn’t recognize caused a shiver of unease. Rupert studied the rest of the room’s occupants, but they were mere shadows outside the candlelight. Remembering the American lounging against the wall, he relaxed. He had one friend here, even if newly made.

  Gathering up his scattered courage, he threw Duncan a shrewd glance. There was no telling which way that bird turned. Duncan had refused to reveal his sister’s whereabouts, but neither had he been the one to produce the documents.

  The cowled newcomer glanced at the sheaf of papers in the table’s center and made a rude noise. “Worthless without a signature. Looks like good odds to me. Put up a worthless paper and win a fortune. Want me to take your cards?”

  ~*~

  Cassandra! Even disguised, her voice was unmistakable. Merrick gritted his teeth and glared at her cloaked figure near Rupert. She must be sweltering in that outfit. How the deuce had she found them? Or got here in the first place? He ought to shake her until her teeth rattled, but his first imperative was to remove her before she was recognized.

  “The game’s closed, sir,” he told her. “You’ll have to wait your turn.”

  Rupert grinned. “What are you afraid of, Merrick? Maybe it’s time we let some fresh blood into this game. Let’s keep it on the square, shall we? Duncan, why don’t you remove yourself and let our medieval friend join in the play?”

  To allow Cassandra to enter the game would be disastrous, but at least she had the expertise needed to keep the cards out of Rupert’s hands. What else she would do was anybody’s guess, but Merrick had to act quickly. He relied on Duncan’s expertise.

  Catching Thomas’ arm, he nodded toward the darkened corner.

  Obediently, the less-skilled younger man rose from the table, carrying his winnings with him. “I’m comfortable for the night, and paper won’t pay my bills. You’re welcome to take my hand if you will.”

  Cassandra accepted his chair. She picked up Thomas’ hand and threw the brooch holding her cloak onto the pile of coins.

  “That’s worth more than a bundle of papers,” she announced scornfully to the table at large.

  The American visibly started, then stepped closer, almost as if he would protest, Merrick noticed, but the other players drew their next cards.

  The play went swiftly and viciously after that. Under Cassandra’s and Duncan’s dexterous hands, Rupert didn’t have a chance. The original plan had called for the winnings to fall to Merrick, but Cassandra’s interference made it a contest between brother and sister.

  Merrick couldn’t play the cards away from them if they chose to leave him out. This past week of practice had taught him only rudimentary skills, and he had not yet learned to count the cards as Cassandra did.

  With resignation he tried to adopt a new scheme to force Rupert to sign in the event that the documents fell into other hands. Unsigned, they were worthless.

  “My hand, I believe.” The homespun cloak revealed a slender arm in a tight sleeve as the winner raked in the pot.

  The sheaf of papers lay on top, and Rupert smirked. “Have joy of your winnings, sir. The documents might be worth a few pounds in legal fees.”

  “You tendered them as markers, sir. I believe a gentleman signs his markers.” Cassandra shoved a page toward him. “Your signature, please. These other gentlemen might act as witness.”

  Rupert shoved furiously from the table. “Don’t be an ass, man. I’m not gambling my wife to her lover. Don’t interfere where you’re not known.”

  “Your signature, as a gentleman,” Cassandra demanded. Her heart was in her throat. She hadn’t meant to do this. She had only meant to keep Merrick out of her affairs, but the proximity of her husband activated her instinct for self-preservation.

  “I will give you my marker,” Rupert replied arrogantly.

  “Your marker is worthless. You wagered your wife, and you lost. Sign.” Cassandra stood at the same time as Rupert, forcing him to look her in the eye, daring him to see and defy her.

  He was too blind from drink and anger to see. Reacting in his usual manner to the insult of having his marker refused, Rupert lifted the dregs of his drink and flung them in Cassandra’s face. “I’ll not be insulted by a young pup. Name your weapons.”

  A gasp ran around the room. Before the growing rumble could become a roar, Merrick shoved the table aside. “Cassandra, stop it. You need only sign those papers yourself and my solicitors’ will see them to court. You don’t need him at all.”

  Rupert went white, but rage returned him to his senses as he reeled in recognition of his caped opponent. “Try it, my darling, and I’ll fight it through every court in the kingdom. All the world will know what a willing whore you’ve become.”

  Bertie shoved Merrick’s shoulder before he could swing his raised fist. Shorter but much heftier, the squire’s son pushed the earl from the fray.

  Chairs toppled as onlookers shifted from the fray. Duncan caught the brunt of Merrick’s weight as he stumbled from Bertie’s push. Before Cassandra could decide whether to lunge at Rupert’s throat or run to Merrick’s side, the American silenced the chaos with a voice of command.

  “Eddings, your sister has just been insulted. Is it not your place to see her name protected?”

  As Merrick recovered his balance, Duncan glanced around in bewilderment, rightfully so. Cass studied the stranger. His blue-green eyes seemed familiar, but neither the rugged face nor the colonial accent had a place in her memory.

  Now was not the time for puzzles. Cassandra cried her protest at involving her brother in what was, after all, her fight. But under the stranger’s furious challenge, Duncan had little choice but to agree.

  “You can’t duel a female, Percival,” he said, “even if she is your wife. I’ll stand in her place. Somebody fetch some pistols. We’ll settle this now, like gentlemen.”

  “No, you won’t!” Cassandra shouted furiously. “I won’t be fought over like a bone between two mangy dogs. I’ll sign that wretched paper and Rupert can protest it in every court in the damned world, but I’ll not be his wife!”

  Merrick caught her by the shoulders and propelled her toward the door. “It’s too late now, Cass. It’s not your affair any longer, it’s theirs. If you’ll leave, I’ll try to talk them out of it.”

  “No! I won’t leave! Why can’t you see?” she cried in anguish. “It’s my life they’ve ruined. It’s my life they fight over. I’ll not have another man come to harm over me, even Duncan. Let me have the pistol! Merrick, let me go!”

  She was near hysterical with rage. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she fought Wyatt’s greater strength.

  The stranger caught Cassandra’s shoulder and swung her rage toward him. “It’s no longer your fight, young lady. It’s a point of honor between two gentlemen. Do not disgrace yourself further by these dramatics.”

  It was easier to turn her fury
on a stranger than Merrick. Cassandra spit at his feet. “That to honor! They have no honor. Call the watch and have them thrown in Newgate to cool their heels awhile. They will be alive when they come out, and their nonexistent honor will not be one whit harmed. I’ll cut my hair and scar my cheeks so no man will ever look upon me again so this need never happen again. Just make them stop!”

  Her pleas were piercing. Merrick tried to gather her into his arms, but the American held up his hand to stay him. He brushed back the hood and touched Cassandra’s creamy cheek with a kind of wonder. A wild mane of red-gold fire fell loose from its binding, cascading in a glittering waterfall down her back.

  “It’s not your fault, little one. Believe me, you have nothing to do with this. They are men with their own lives, who make their choices based on their own greed and desires. You are an excuse, nothing more. Go home now, and let them settle their differences in their own way.”

  Feeling the fury seep out of her, Merrick gestured for Jacob. The servant looked reluctant, but Cassandra’s sobs would tear him in two if she lingered longer. “Get Lotta and take them home,” he ordered.

  With a desperate lunge, Cassandra broke free. “No, I won’t, I can’t,” she cried as she pushed past the stranger and ran for the freedom beyond the door.

  “Follow her, dammit!” Merrick roared as Jacob hesitated.

  The valet hovered with the box of pistols he had produced. Shoving the box at Duncan, he muttered, “Not the diamond,” and ran after Cassandra.

  Relieved of their lone obstruction, the men remaining studied each other uneasily, until Duncan straightened his shoulders and started for a door in the rear of the room.

  “The back garden should be sufficient for our purposes, gentlemen. Merrick, do you stand with me?”