by Nan Ryan
Ah, yes here was her unsuspecting target. But she wouldn’t let him know it.
Not yet.
Smiling down at her, Hank was already counting the minutes until they could take their leave and he could take her in his arms. He saw no obstacle in his path. Like everyone else, he had heard the stories of the uninhibited duchess’s affairs. That she was a libertine suited him fine. He preferred women of experience. His only regret was that the two of them had to endure the boring dinner party when they could be back at her place or at the hotel cottages getting properly acquainted.
Hank took the soft hand the duchess offered and acknowledged her. She spoke his name and it sent tingles up his spine. But all too soon she freed her hand from his.
“You’ll excuse us, Hank,” said Lillian Titus. “The others are anxious to pay their respects to the duchess.”
Hank nodded. But he was surprised and oddly disappointed that the duchess turned away without a parting glance. All at once he had the uneasy feeling that she was not particularly interested in him.
Taken aback, he watched as she swept regally around the room, smiling at guests as she was introduced, warmly greeting those she had known from summer seasons past.
Hank never took his eyes off the vision in violet. His body tensed. Teeth clamped down, he silently willed her to turn and look at him. To give him some subtle sign. To let him know that she was aware of him.
It never happened. Not once did she so much as glance back in his direction.
Nonplussed, Hank was relieved when finally a smartly uniformed butler stepped into the open double doors of the drawing room and announced, “Dinner is served.”
Hank felt a hand on his arm. “You’re the Silver King!” trilled a feminine voice and Hank reluctantly took his eyes off the duchess. A winsome redhead in a figure-hugging gown of emerald-green satin was smiling seductively at him. “You don’t remember me, do you, Mr. Cassidy?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
“Well, you should be,” she teased and her eyes sparkled. “I’m Caroline Whit. We met three years ago. I was here with my husband, Rodney. Ring a bell? Rodney Whit from Vermont.”
“Rodney Whit? Sure. Is he here this evening?”
“I hope not,” she said with a laugh. “I divorced him last winter. And please don’t say you’re sorry. I’m not.” She leaned closer and whispered, “The only good thing I got from dear old Rodney was a love of racehorses. I understand they’re your passion, as well.”
“That’s why I’m in Saratoga,” he said.
“We have a lot in common, Hank. We’d better go in to dinner,” she said. “I hope you’re seated next to me.”
Hank gave no reply, but graciously escorted Caroline Whit into the candlelit dining room where the long, linen-draped table was set for fifty guests.
“Caroline, you’re at the far end of the table, to the right of my Horace,” said Lillian Titus, stepping forward to direct Caroline to her seat. “Horace finds you so entertaining, he insisted you be seated close to him.” Caroline Whit made an unsuccessful attempt to hide her disappointment.
“And you, Hank, I’ve placed you here next to the Duchess of Beaumont.” Lillian leaned close and whispered, “I’m counting on you to charm Her Grace so that she’ll enjoy herself this evening.”
Hank smiled. Nobody wanted the duchess to enjoy herself this evening more than he did.
Claire was enjoying herself.
Everyone had greeted her and accepted her as the Duchess of Beaumont. There had been no looks of doubt or probing questions or whispers behind raised hands. She could hardly keep from laughing out loud. She had—for now—been successful in her duplicity. She hoped Olivia was as successful bucking the tables as she was playing the belle of the ball.
Claire had also succeeded in concealing her fierce attraction to the handsome Hank Cassidy.
When Hank took his seat next to her, she didn’t turn and smile at him. Nor did she acknowledge his presence. Instead she pretended to be totally engrossed in conversation with the gentleman on her right, Parker Lawson of New York City. Lillian Titus had whispered in Claire’s ear that the blondly handsome Lawson, an eligible bachelor, was one of the heirs to the late Jay Gould’s vast fortune. Upon Gould’s death in ’92, Parker Lawson had become a very wealthy man.
But as she talked with him, Claire was vitally aware of Hank Cassidy. There was no doubt in her mind that this big, handsome Westerner knew how to please a lady. The prospect of making love to him made her wish that there was no need to wait. She wished that their heated, but impersonal affair could begin that very evening.
But she was too clever to let that happen. She could not let him know that she fully intended to entice him into her bed. Not yet. She would wait a week or two. And while she waited she would arouse his interest by feigning indifference.
Hank scowled when the duchess laughed merrily at something Lawson whispered to her. When finally Lawson was distracted by a lady seated on his right, Hank seized the opportunity.
“You’ll be here for the entire season?” he asked.
“That is my intention, Mr. Cassidy,” she said, then turned her attention to the bowl of vichyssoise before her.
“Call me Hank,” he coaxed. “And what do I call you?”
“Your Grace,” she said coolly.
She had set the tone and it did not change throughout the dinner. Hank broached every subject he thought might interest her. None did. He got clipped yes or no answers to any and all questions. And barely a nod of her golden head to any amusing story he shared. Nothing he said seemed to engage her. He tossed her many a signal. She swatted each one down without batting an eyelash.
Never had he tried so hard to charm a woman and failed so miserably. His ego was totally deflated. Damn her. He should dislike her for treating him badly. She was cold and rude and a terrible snob.
And he was captivated.
Claire knew her plan was working. And she was pleased.
She pretended, throughout dinner, to take little interest in him. In truth she clung to his every word, was amused by his entertaining tales, was warmed by his every smile and dreamed of the moment when he would come into her arms.
But she wouldn’t let it happen tonight. It was too soon. She’d make him wait.
When the seventh and final course was finished and the guests were directed back into the drawing room, Claire didn’t join them. Instead she bade her hosts good-night, explaining that she was still a trifle tired from the trip.
The carriage was promptly brought around. Parker Lawson, who’d been at her elbow from the minute they exited the dining room, suggested that he escort Claire back to her estate. She thanked him, but declined.
On Parker’s arm she descended the mansion’s front steps. He handed her up into the carriage and asked, “May I escort you to Congress Springs in the morning? Everyone will be there, you know.”
“You’re so kind, Parker. I’ve accepted an invitation to join a half-dozen of the ladies who are here this evening.”
“Then I will see you there?”
“I’m sure you will. And now, good night.”
“Good night, Your Grace,” he said and reluctantly backed away. Claire glanced past Parker to the lighted mansion. She smiled with satisfaction.
Hank Cassidy stood on the veranda in the moonlight, his muscular shoulder leaning against a pillar.
He didn’t look happy.
And that made the duchess very happy.
Nine
“Olivia, where are you? Come quickly! I’ve met him. I’ve met the man who will be my lover,” Claire announced the minute she reached the estate and stepped into the foyer.
“Already?” Olivia, in robe and gown, promptly came out of her room leaning on her hickory cane. “How can you be sure? We just arrived today. You’ve only met a handful of the—”
“Does it matter?” Claire interrupted, her violet eyes aglow. “I have found him and need look no further. He was at the dinner
party and every female present envied me because I was seated next to him.”
Claire’s exhilaration was infectious. Olivia felt suddenly giddy with excitement. “Come to my room and tell me all about him.”
Arm in arm the two women went down the wide center hallway and into Olivia’s bedroom. They sat down on a sofa before the cold fireplace and Claire sighed happily.
“His name is Hank Cassidy,” she began. “A big, suntanned Westerner from Nevada. He’s handsome and charming and intelligent and eligible.” Claire breathlessly described Hank, concluding by declaring that there was a natural arrogance about him; an easy assurance of male power that was tremendously appealing. “I tell you the man is utterly irresistible.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said Olivia, then asked, “What does he do? What is his profession?”
“I have no idea,” Claire said flippantly. “I never asked and he never said, but some of the guests called him the Silver King. Why should I care what he does? What difference does it make? I am not looking for a life mate. I only want a lover for a few thrilling nights.” She sighed.
“True enough. But tell me, is this irresistible Hank Cassidy the kind of man with whom you can have an affair and then end it with no regrets?”
“I don’t see why not,” Claire said with a smile. “Perhaps the repressed, unsophisticated Claire Orwell couldn’t. But no doubt the daring Duchess of Beaumont could.” Claire shrugged slender shoulders. “I will behave as she would. Love him and leave him.”
“And never look back, you naughty girl, you?”
“Never,” Claire was quick to answer. She stood up. “Now unhook me, please. I must get some rest so I’ll look my best in the morning.”
Olivia rose, stepped around behind Claire and made short work of the tiny hooks and eyes going down her back. “What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”
“Out to Congress Park early in the morning to drink of the mineral waters,” Claire said. “Then breakfast with a Mr. Parker Lawson from New York City. Not that I’m romantically interested in Lawson. No, no, not at all. But I’m hoping Hank Cassidy will hear that I’ve been seen with him.” She smiled playfully, then continued, “Later I’m to have luncheon at the Grand Union with a half-dozen of the ladies I met this evening. Then back here in the afternoon to rest before attending a concert on the veranda of the United States Hotel at twilight.”
“Sounds like your dance card is sufficiently full.”
“You wouldn’t believe how these wealthy Americans fawned over me. I’m confident not a soul in attendance doubted that I’m the Duchess of Beaumont. I received so many invitations to parties and soirees, I can’t possibly attend all of them.”
“What a lovely dilemma,” said Olivia. “And I suppose this handsome Hank Cassidy will be at many of the gatherings?”
When Claire’s dress was parted, Olivia unlaced the tight-fitting corset and Claire gave a great sigh of relief. She turned about to find Olivia looking stern.
“I’m certain he’s at the top of everyone’s guest list,” Claire said. “And you can just stop your frowning, I have no intention of losing my heart.”
“And what of Hank Cassidy’s heart? What if he should fall in love with you?”
“That,” said Claire, “would be his misfortune.” She laughed and added, “Dear, dear Olivia, please do not trouble yourself about either of us. Hank Cassidy is a big boy. I’m quite sure he can take care of himself. I’ve an idea that a brief summertime affair with no strings attached will be just as appealing to him as it is to me. And when the time is right, when I’ve got him right where I want him, I will be totally honest with him.”
“Honest?” Olivia’s eyebrows rose accusingly.
“Let me amend that statement. I’ll never reveal my true identity, but I will be honest about wanting nothing more than an affair. Now, it’s late and I’m tired. Good night.” She moved toward the door.
“Sweet dreams,” Olivia said. “By the way, like you, I made great progress today.” Claire turned back to listen. “I have engaged a housekeeper, maid, cook and a distinguished-looking butler who will double as our driver. He’s promised to lease a decent carriage which we’ll keep here at the estate for the season. All of the newly hired staff will be here first thing in the morning and…and…oh, yes, Walker, has requested your permission to travel down to South Carolina to visit his granddaughter. Said she’s his only family and he hasn’t seen her in more than a decade. He reminded me that the last time you were here—some eight years ago—you quite generously insisted that he take a six-week holiday.”
Claire smiled. “Tell Walker he’s free to leave tomorrow and need not return until mid-August.”
Olivia nodded. “Then it’s settled. Within a week, this house should be in tip-top shape and running smoothly.”
“You’re a treasure,” Claire said and meant it.
“Speaking of treasures, I will discreetly begin pawning your jewels tomorrow. Then, with your permission, I will take a portion of the cash and see if I can get lucky.”
“You have my unlimited permission,” Claire said.
Feeling wonderfully lighthearted, Claire climbed the stairs to the second floor. Once inside the master suite, she kicked off her shoes and danced around on the plush Aubusson carpet, humming happily. She took the pins from her hair and let the long locks spill down around her shoulders.
As she swayed, she pushed the loosened gown to the floor and stepped out of it. Her petticoats and the unlaced corset followed. She spun dizzily over to the bed, sat down on the edge of the mattress and removed her silk stockings, letting them float to the carpeted floor. Then she was up again and dancing around the room.
Her energy soon beginning to wane, she yawned, came back to the bed and stripped off the last of her underthings. She picked up the nightgown Olivia had laid out for her. She didn’t put it on. Holding the gown against her body, she wondered, “Would the duchess sleep in a long, choking nightgown? Or would she sleep in the nude?”
Claire tossed the nightgown aside. She put out the bedside lamp and the room was cast into darkness. Naked, she climbed into bed. The silky sheets felt good against her sensitive flesh. She kicked the top sheet and coverlet to the foot of the bed. She stretched out on her back and purred like a lazy cat.
The double doors stood open to the balcony. A rising night breeze stirred the sheer curtains and wafted into the room to stroke Claire’s bare body and awaken her senses. She took a deep breath and flung her arms above her head. The gentle gusts were pleasantly cool.
Claire hadn’t realized, until now, that she felt feverish, as if she were running a temperature. She was not deceived. The source of her fever was not some malady she’d contacted; not an illness she was coming down with. It was the vivid recollection of Hank Cassidy’s beautiful, artistic fingers wrapped loosely around his stemmed wineglass at dinner, caressing it, exciting her.
Claire abruptly sat up and swung her legs over the mattress’s edge. She pushed her long hair back off her face. Rising from the bed and grabbing up her robe, she slipped her arms into the sleeves, but didn’t tie the sash at her waist. She crossed to the open double doors and stepped out onto the balcony, looking cautiously around to be sure no one could see her.
She moved across the balcony and placed her hands on the wide, waist-high railing. While the night wind tossed her hair around her head and billowed her unsashed robe out behind her and chilled her overwarm body, a thrilling image flashed into her mind. Hank Cassidy standing naked on this very balcony with her, taking her into his arms, making love to her here under the moon and stars.
She shivered deliciously.
It was not such a far-fetched idea. It was a very real possibility. It could happen. She could make it happen. But she had to wait. And she would.
Claire was a disciplined woman.
She had carefully laid out a time line to which she would strictly adhere. For no less than two full weeks, she would demonstrate casual indifference towa
rd Hank Cassidy. At the same time she would make it a point to be where he was. And she would go out of her way to laugh happily and flirt outrageously and make Cassidy suspect that she was living up to her reputation as an uninhibited wanton.
Ten
Hank was up early.
Much earlier than usual.
Bare-chested, a towel draped around his broad shoulders, he stood before the mirror shaving with a sharp, straight-edged razor. When he had finished shaving and blotted away the last of the foamy lather, he bent and splashed several handfuls of cold water on his face. He lifted the clean towel and patted his closely shaven face dry.
He tossed the towel aside and walked into the bedroom to dress. The valet had laid out a freshly pressed suit of tan cotton poplin. A pale blue cotton shirt and dark brown neck piece completed the ensemble. Hank left the tie where it was. And he left a couple of the shirt’s buttons undone.
When he was dressed, Hank left his cottage and hurried toward Congress Park. He wasn’t going there to drink of the waters. The waters tasted like burned matches and he couldn’t understand how anyone would actually drink from the springs.
But they did.
Before breakfast each morning a colorful parade of well-dressed, happily chattering ladies promenaded to Congress Park. Gentleman gathered at the springs to watch the morning procession. It was a ritual, a social event not to be missed. Or so Hank had heard. He hadn’t bothered to visit any of the many springs since his very first year at Saratoga.
But now as he neared the white-latticed pavilion built over the springs, anticipation sent the blood zinging through his veins. He was sure the Duchess of Beaumont would visit the springs on her first morning in Saratoga.
And he’d be there to greet her.
A beige silk parasol shading her fair face from the morning sun, Claire joined a group of ladies for the short stroll to Congress Park. Claire admitted, when accused, to never having visited the springs on any of her previous visits. She, on the other hand, had a strong desire to drink thirstily of the mineral waters.
