Fortunes Fool

by Gale, Eva; D'Arc, Bianca; Kent, Cassidy; March, Selah

  the feeling you didn't think that did you?" Her heart started to beat wildly in her chest, part relief and still a portion of remorse. "No, I didn't think that's what you meant." She couldn't do this to herself anymore. "You thought I meant to ask about another woman?" She searched his face and realized that the thought never occurred to him. She traced the pattern on the tablecloth with her finger. "I know you need someone you can be proud of, that's in your social circle." She met his eyes. She tried to sound funny but it just came out sounding like cracked glass. "I never planned on marrying any time soon. But if that's what you

  want?" No. More than anything it was what she wanted, but there were many things she wanted and couldn't have. He didn't hold any respect for her gifting or her family's. Although it wasn't something she proclaimed from the rooftops, that didn't mean she didn't believe in it.

  Even though he teased her all the time wanting readings, she knew it was a ploy he used to get closer to her. It would be different if he had to present her as his wife when she had already been to all of their houses as the entertainment. Abigail the fortune teller now as Mrs. Caden Dupree. Of course he's say that it was all fine until one of the wives asked that Abby read her their palm. Then all hell would break lose. He would never allow her to real palms the way she did now, and eventually it would distance her from her family and she would never slight her mother in such a callous way. There was no middle ground between them. It was the right thing to do, but why did it have to hurt so much. She knew then that she needed to be strong enough to leave. And she would end it tonight, because her heart could not take the pain of seeing him one more day.

  He stood up and threw his napkin onto the table, then pulled her up and to him. "I'm sorry, this has not gone like I planned. Let me make it up to you."

  She gathered her pittance of courage and smiled. "Come into my parlor said the spider to the fly." Oh, her heart would be trampled tonight for sure. Maybe she should even leave now, because the fist squeezing her chest was almost unbearable. His eyes got a wicked gleam. "Yes, I would love to eat you." Every shred of self-preservation she was grasping onto scattered like ashes in the wind. Not that she had to be convinced or seduced into sleeping with him. All he had to do was crook his finger. It was emotional suicide how she danced to his tune, but she couldn't help it. After tonight he wouldn't be hers to tease and kiss, and greed? Greed was a powerful motivation. "Lead the way into your parlor, Monsieur Spider." He took her hand and led her up the stairs, her expectations fueling every step. If this was going to be her last night with him, she would make sure that it was a wonderful memory for them both.

  The room glowed with firelight. He stood her at the bed's edge and started taking out her hairpins, letting them fall to the floor. He turned her around and unbuttoned her shirtwaist, peeling it off her arms and folding it then setting it on the bench he had at the end of the bed. All the way down to her corset he unwrapped her like a candy and started to kiss her neck. She shivered, leaning her head back so he could have more, relishing the feeling of sparks dancing on her skin. She'd been waiting all day for him to love her, and anticipation could be the most powerful of aphrodisiacs.

  His lips trailed down to the hollow of her throat, leaving a burning trail on her skin and pooling heat in her sex. Tension coursed in her veins making every touch like an ominous rumble of thunder with the reverberations sounding in her heart.

  Tonight would be their last night, and yet she wanted to hold herself back from the pain. But she couldn't. She couldn't give him less than all of her. If she held back she would always regret what could have been the most precious night of her life. And she would never let herself have another chance to make up what might have been. Tonight was it, and she would make it all that she could, for him and her.

  So as he kissed her, trailing his tongue around the shell of her ear, she laid her heart down in an offering.

  Pieces of clothing fell on the floor like cast off present wrappings and the cool air caressed her, making the heat from his hands that skimmed over every inch of flesh scorch.

  Her heart cried for more and surcease all at once, but his hands were on her, soothing her, drawing her under his spell. He bound her with silken cords of whispered words and kisses until she knew that when the evening ended she would be picking up pieces of herself, and leaving in shards.

  He kneeled in front of her, holding her and pressing his lips into her stomach and sliding his cheek along the softness of her stomach. She ran her fingers through his hair and tried to pull him up.

  He growled and inhaled her scent, slipping his fingers in her wetness then kissing the hollow of her hip, making her thighs tremble.

  Her heart burst with the words, but she smothered them with a moan as his tongue found the apex of her folds, teasing them apart until she was spread open before him.

  She closed her eyes against the sight him feasting on her and touching his shoulders, pulled him over her and sighed with his weight as he slid inside her, filling her almost until it hurt, her salty taste on his lips.

  Her thighs gripped his hips, drawing him in, and wanting him deeper still, up to her heart.

  Instead he took her legs and slung them over his shoulders, her heels bouncing on is back and he pounded into her. She pulled her legs down. That's not what she wanted tonight. She needed him parallel, hip to hip, feet to feet. To have as much of her touching him as possible. For their tongues to meet, and their breath to mingle. This was the last she'd have of him.

  She hooked her ankles around his and gripped him with her thighs, pushing him in as far as he could. Then she pulled his shoulders down until he lay on top of her completely.

  Tension hummed through him, the need to move under his straining muscles, but he lay there for her, still, until she lifted her hips up.

  A rumble vibrated his chest and she lifted them up again, and this time he met her, but gently, almost as if he were unsure.

  She tormented herself more than he with her need to be so close and filled. With his scent in her nose and body covering her, he had become so hard that her pussy squeezed in small spasms around him. She lifted her hips once again. "Please." His wet forehead rested on her shoulder and he took a shuddering breath, and on his exhale he impaled her starting a rhythmic drumming of wet skin slapping. She didn't want it to end, but with every drive he ground himself into her so deeply she came, her cunt squeezing on him to the point that she clenched her thighs, wailing in a low keen. Not a moment later she felt his own orgasm fill her, still pumping as he growled with his own release. Not sorry at all that just once he left his seed deep inside her. * * * * "No." He asked her more times than she could bear, and now she

  was getting angry. "What do you mean no?" She opened her eyes to look at him. "I would never be accepted in your peer group. And I will not walk around proud of being your mistress. Moreso, I can't do that to my family. And what if I became pregnant?"

  His heart stopped at the mention of children. He'd never even thought of that, and considering that he himself was once homeless he knew for certain that she was wrong. Money coupled with ambition washed all that away. Not the stink from your own nose, but it made you less offensive to others. A ball of fire swirled in his chest as he fumbled to get the last button through its hole. "You're full of shit. You're just scared." Her head snapped back. "Maybe I am. But you're not a woman in my position. I have nothing to offer other than what I am. Though that may sound like enough, we both know it's not. I can't reinvent myself for you so that I'm accepted by your peers, and because I'm not a man, they'll hold all of it against me."

  He grabbed her shoulders and spun her to face him. "If you won't marry me then come live in the brownstone." Her eyes searched his face, looking for what, he didn't know. "I would be willing to take that if it was all you could give."

  She took a deep breath. "I've said no, and I mean it. I won't. I can't hide away in alleys and be brought to secret assignations through darkened streets, and I won't liv
e in your house."

  He would take anything he could get and he would do anything she asked if it meant keeping her with him. "We could be circumspect." She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, "No." He scrubbed his hands through his hair and walked away. "You haven't given me a logical reason, and you can't think up many in favor of you marrying me. The least being that I could help your family to stop this charade of palmistry that they use to dupe people." It was as if all the air were sucked out of the room and time stopped. "I didn't mean that they way it sounded." She walked over and glared at him. "There is the exact reason for me to not be your mistress or marry you. You never respected me to begin with. I've never lied to a person about their readings. It may not be logical like money and math, but it's not some snake charmer oil. Always the charity case, I was." She picked up her cloak. "Well, I never once fucked you for money, and I'll be damned if I marry a man who loathes my family so they can be taken care of. My mother would die of mortification that I lowered myself to your standards." She walked out the door and stopped. "And another thing." She came back in. "My father was very well respected within this town, and he adored my mother. His sadness as he died was that he wouldn't be able to protect her from the gossip anymore. He never would have escorted her through back doors." She looked him up, and down and shook her head. "I'll get home by hired carriage." "Is there anything I can do to change your mind?" "Goodbye, Caden." At that she left and within moments he heard the front door slam, and the crunch gravel from the drive. It was a grand finale for his perfect night. He poured himself a glass from the decanter and slung it back, then poured himself another, whiskey splashing over the rim onto the rug.

  It was perfect for a few hours. He had mistreated her, and he was sorry. But being sorry now was too late.

  He was good at strategizing at work, and he needed to bring that specific talent to this situation. He was looking at this wrong. This particular situation was not a loss, it was a negotiation. She just didn't realize it.

  Unfortunately the perfect weapon for this problem would be harder on her because while he would know his intent, she would be left to wonder of his sincerity. Patience. Patience always won the siege. He knew she didn't feel indifferent

  toward him, and that was his ace. He would have to plan carefully and keep watch on her so that he didn't wait too long. * * * * It was as if for the past thirteen weeks there was a solar eclipse. Not that he would have noticed. He had record gains this past quarter and was a cyclone of command that left some of his tellers crying over misplaced pennies. He felt a tinge of remorse, but didn't stop.

  Spring would arrive soon and he'd not spoken to Abby since she left his home. He'd kept watch, making sure they had coal and food, and that she had taken no lovers. He couldn't blame her if she did, she didn't know his plans, but the dread of his weekly reports coming back with information on another man in her life was sometimes more than he could bear. In that respect, the agony of his plan lay squarely on him.

  Not any more, though. He'd word this morning that The Jennings' were having a Spring Festival. Complete with fortune telling. He cleared his calendar, and within ten minutes secured an invitation. Tomorrow night he would see her. He felt green, anticipation coursing through him.

  But would she still want him? Would she accept those parts of him that he hadn't shown her yet? The ones he still hid? The parts of him that still dreamed of eating out of the garbage when he was nine, hiding behind the restaurants and being yelled at to get out of the alley while they threw bottles at him? How he yelled out in his sleep as he dreamt that they shattered above his head on the brick walls, shards of glass falling in his shoulders like sharp rain. When he had those nightmares would she look at him different in the morning? Or did she need him to be the Caden that everyone else saw all the time? He'd be finding out soon enough.

  Chapter Nine

  Mrs. Jennings, their hostess, had gone all out in the spirit of the season. Bouquets of tulips and hyacinth bulbs in their forcing glasses were in every room. There was nowhere she could go to stop sneezing.

  Other than allergies, spring was on its way and she, for one, was elated. She'd spent far too long in the house dwelling on her last conversation with Caden, and hoping every day that he would send her some word that he wanted to see her.

  At first she thought it was lust, pure and simple, but nothing was ever just lust. Something in the psyche drew people, even to satiate lust. Her mother told her that it was the recognition of the soul that brought two people together, even for short times. Never before had she entertained that there was truth in her mother's beliefs.

  But it wasn't just that. She missed him. His smile, the way he smelled, and how he made her laugh. How she felt lying in his arms. The heavy thick contentment that seeped into her bones afterwards. The sense of perfection, that no matter what lay on the other side of the door, there, with him, she was safe and loved.

  Maybe she was a fool for not running to him at his office and begging to be installed even as his mistress. Some days it was all she could do to just stand at the locked door with her hand on the knob forcing herself to not open it.

  But she had withstood the temptation. She wanted him, but not scraps, and not his disrespect. To love her was to love all of her, palm reading and strange mother included. He needed to be able to stand for her and with her. At least, that's what she wanted.

  She set the vase of tulips off to the side so she could see the room to study the people milling about. It was a game she played trying to decide who would come sit for her readings. Her mother called that practice, but she just did it to occupy her time.

  The party was exuberant and frothy, people milling about thankful, just like her, that the sun decided to shine. Most of the women were dressed like petit fours and punch, and the men accordingly looked like they wanted to eat them.

  Had she always been oblivious to those looks between lovers? That shared knowledge that made glances meaningful. Is that the way she and Caden looked at each other and was it as easy to tell by the longing on their faces?

  She wanted to bang her head on the table. Could she go five minutes without thinking about him?

  It had been thirteen weeks and there was not a day that she didn't think of him twenty times at least. She should be ashamed of herself. Really. It was time to move on.

  She took a deep breath and looked across the room to where her mother and Camille were sitting with a few guests. Mother looked pretty, but tired. The stress of finances drained her and over the winter Abby started to notice that the purplish bags never left from under her eyes and what once were fine lines, now were engraved.

  Camille sat, oblivious to her mother and completely twitterpated because a young man was paying attention to her. "You look as if the weight of the world is on your shoulders." Abby jolted and her hand flew to her mouth. "Caden?" She was too

  startled to stem the harsh tone in her voice. "You don't sound too happy to see me." Her heart caught in her throat as she drank him in. "I'm…you

  surprised me." His gaze arrested her as he took in every detail, goosebumps rising

  on her skin where his eyes lingered. "I missed you." Her cheeks burned under his examination. "Would you like me to get you a drink?" How was it fair that he looked more handsome than ever, his obsidian eyes haunting? Meanwhile she wore a mended gown from three seasons ago, updated with new lace and ribbon. She patted her hair. "No thank you, I'm fine." "Did you miss me?" For a second she considered answering no. To hold him off and make him hurt as she had been, but it was futile to lie. She knew the truth was in her blush and her gaze and her decision had been her own. "Yes." She had nothing to be ashamed of, she just needed to be stronger than her emotions. She had lain naked next to him, sharing everything, and she refused to be ashamed of that now. Loving someone was not a flaw.

  Still, she held her heart close, because it was so close to shattering as he eyes absorbed her. He held out his hand. "Come walk with me." "I can't." S
he shook her head. "Why?" "Don't ask such a stupid question." He pulled out a chair and sat down. "Well then, read my palm." She rolled her eyes and held out her hand for his. She looked it over, "You will live long life with much wealth," she

  said, in a thick Romanian accent. "Can you be serious?" "Can you be anything but?" He huffed. "Can you answer my questions without asking another

  question?" "If I do will you go away?" He leaned in close, "You are so full of shit. You just said that you

  missed me." She glared at him. "I missed you in my mind. You in the flesh is

  something I was wholly unprepared for." "Yet here I sit." "I answered in a declarative sentence. Two, exactly. Now go." "Why are you being such a smartass?" She groaned. "I told you, I wasn't ready to see you. I wanted to see you. I hoped to see you, but now, with you in front of me, I realize I was wrong. I need more time." He sat back. "Time for what?" "Time to get over you." "I don't want you to get over me." She tapped the table. "Could have fooled me." He arched his brow. "Did you ever send word? What was I supposed to think, that you

  were pining?" "I asked you to marry me," His brows met making him look feral, "and you said no. What was I supposed to do, beg? Would that have proved my sincerity?" He jabbed his finger towards her. "You said no. I respected that. That is what you wanted, respect?"

  "You twist my words! You did not ask me to marry you." She started to get up and jab the table but sat back down. "You agreed to get married, there were no questions asked. And if there were I would still say no."

  Abby's mother swooshed over, the feathers in her hat following her. "Hello, Mr. Dupree. So nice to see you here." She looked at Abby, "Darling, you might want Mr. Dupree to go see the greenhouse. It's so lush and beautiful."

  "Fine," she said under her breath as he held out his elbow. She placed her hand, and stiffened at the closeness and the heat of his body. If she were to have the strength to do this, she needed to keep from touching him. He led her though the doors into the lush humid room.