by Laura Parker
“Poor wee soul. It gives a girl a turn to learn she’s not what the butcher ordered.” Meg gave her a sideways glance. “I mean, Merlyn did say your husband never bedded you.
“Of course, ‘tis none of my business,” Meg continued, seeing the girl’s expression change and close against her. “Our Merlyn’s an odd sort, don’t you agree? He’s a loner, thinks too much. Why, once, after a particularly bad review of his new play, he sat right beneath this very roof and drank Blue Ruin till he couldn’t unlock his jaw. Took more than two quarts to put him under,” she said, admiration strong in her voice.
Cassandra knew Merlyn had been an actor. Meg had told her he was not a leading man—his deep voice and eyepatch made him too wicked a figure to play heroes—but was a respected villain of some renown. When he’s not stealing jewels or people, Cassandra reminded herself. He was like a many-faceted gem in the ring he’d given her, reflecting different colors and patterns, never the same twice. Instinctively, her hand rose to touch the ring pinned inside the neck of her gown, but she stilled the impulse. Meg saw too much for her comfort.
“A fortnight and Merlyn’s not come back,” Meg commented as she loosened the frog closing at her neck and slipped the cloak from her shoulders. “Aren’t you worried?”
“No.” Cassandra’s tone was indifferent, but as each sunset gave way to another night she wondered with new intensity how she would manage now left to her own devices. It was that fear that had prompted her to ask Meg to find a job for her. “Did you have any luck?”
“Hardly a whisker’s worth,” Meg answered, accustomed to the daily question. She made an impatient sweeping gesture with a hand. “You’re not exactly the type to take up the trade.” She glanced once again at her guest to see if Cassandra had understood her meaning. “Well, then, what’s left? Don’t suppose you’d agree to ply the needle for a living, not with your gentry and all?”
“I’m not too proud to eat,” Cassandra answered.
Meg gave her a surprised look. “Then there is one thing I heard today. The Company Players are looking for a new seamstress. The last ran off with a stagehand. There’s a mort of mending, some sewing, dressing players, and that sort of thing,” she warned. “You’d not be coddled. Not a fig’s worth of consideration. If you were too slow or your work was poor, out you’d go.”
Cassie lifted the skirts of the purple grosgrain gown Meg had given her to replace the one Merlyn had torn to shreds. By cleverly cutting around the soiled and worn spots, she had refitted it to her much smaller frame. Nothing could be done about the unflattering color. “Perhaps I could show this as an example of my work.”
“I suppose,” Meg said doubtfully. “But, for gawd’s sake, do pull that switch of dark hair from your face. ‘Tis not a sin to be plain, but you’d make a study of it. Maybe I can do something with powder and pomade. There’s nary a bit of color in you, except when you’re in the company of Merlyn Ross.”
Cassandra ignored the last comment. The work was menial but not degrading. Best of all, no one would ever think to look for her in the wardrobe corner of a theater. “What are the wages, Meg? I mean to repay you for the meals we’ve shared.”
Meg’s eyes rounded in disbelief. Did the girl really think she had been the grand provider for the three mouths beneath her roof? Had she no idea of the cost of the cheese and bread and cream they’d greedily consumed? If not for the regular arrival of the butcher’s boy and the dairyman’s runner, they would have starved, for Meg had yet to see a coin for her acting. It didn’t require a guess to name their benefactor. Still, if the girl wanted to pay … “Three guineas a quarter,” she announced.
“Is that fair?”
“Lord love us!” Meg cried with unladylike vigor. “Gentlemen dole out tuppence for an evening’s pleasure.”
“Then why have there been no others to take the job?”
“Merlyn was wrong, you’re no fool,” Meg answered with an approving nod of her head. “There’s many what would jump at the chance, and provide other services as well. And that’s the trouble. The director’s wife is a jealous fat old bawd who once trod the boards herself. She fancies her husband will have trouble keeping his hands off any baggage above twelve years, and she’s right.” Meg gave Cassandra a meaningful look. “Just so you know, deary. Still, they won’t have any frights among the company and there’s bound to be many a fancy piece trying her luck—director’s wife or no. Perhaps, if we pin up your hair with a few bodkins, pomade your lips lightly, and—”
Meg raised her eyes to the ceiling as a gusty cry from above interrupted her. “Your little Adam has first choice, as usual, but then you’re to come straight back to me. It comes to me there’s a certain crimson velveteen gown …”
Meg was still murmuring to herself when Cassandra sped up the stairs to her son.
“One more deep breath, Cassie. It must be a snug fit,” Meg commented as she took another tug on the lacing that closed the back of the crimson velvet gown. “Aye, that’s it. You’ve a surprisingly narrow waist for a girl who’s birthed a babe. And you’ve hips to match them generous curves above.”
Too nervous to answer, Cassandra continued to pull Meg’s boar-bristle brush through her heavy mahogany mane which hung over one shoulder. It had taken them all the evening before to refashion the velvet gown Meg found in her attic. Luckily, it was a smaller size than the grosgrain, requiring only a few tucks and the raising of the hem.
“You go to the theater first thing this morning,” Meg said. “That way I can stay with Adam. Back by noon, mind. If I’m late for rehearsals, I’ll be out on my ear.”
Meg stood back to judge her work. “Turn around, then, and let’s have a look.”
Cassandra slowly turned, looking over one shoulder and then the other to try to catch the effect.
Meg reached out to adjust the lace at the top of the bodice cut low to reveal the outline of breasts and shoulders. She patted it and flicked it with her fingers before yanking it out altogether. “Don’t need it. Spoils the look.”
Cassandra’s mouth primmed as she stared down at the daring expanse. “What about the director’s suspicious wife?”
Meg glanced at the decolletage and shrugged. “Was a time when me breasts were as firm and high. Ten years ago I had all the lads dancing about me skirts, begging for a kiss. Sweet Meg, that’s what they called me. Then our Merlyn came along. Oh, he wasn’t so lovely as the rest, but he has a way about him that makes a girl forget there ever was another man.”
The wistful words made Cassandra unaccountably angry and she snapped, “Don’t call him our Merlyn as if we shared joint ownership of the man. We’ll likely never see him again.”
Meg gave the younger woman a speculative glance. “You’ll see him, and when you’re least expecting it.”
Cassandra smoothed the velvet over her hips, pretending indifference as she said, “Have you seen him, Meg?”
“No. And don’t think I wouldn’t tell you if I had.” Meg lifted her chin, her eyes sparkling between half-closed lids. “Was I keeping company with ‘your’ Merlyn, I’d make certain you knew.”
Cassandra’s puckered brow smoothed. “I don’t see why.”
“Don’t you, now?” Meg returned, a smile slipping naturally into place. “Then it’s not my part to teach you. Still, I’ve never seen a woman yet could walk away from one of his smiles. You’ll forgive him his temper. The gown was ruined before he touched it. Besides, he’s generous when the mood suits him. You’ll have a dozen gowns to replace that one, mind my word. Now, don’t pucker up like a prune, you’ll need to be sweet as syrup this morning.”
Cassandra stood perfectly still while Meg applied various artifices to her face, darkening her lids with kohl and pinking her cheeks and lips with rouge.
“Now let’s have a look at you,” Meg said at last and went to drag out the cracked full-length mirror she kept covered in one corner.
Cassandra stood before the glass and stare
d. It was not the reflection that looked back most days. Her brows were arched in bold surprise, her ruby lips pouted in consideration. The swell of her shoulders and breasts above the deep crimson gown seemed much creamier and more lustrous in contrast. It was as if Meg had erased her own ordinary features and replaced them with a beauty’s likeness.
“I feel quite new, as if you’ve made me over inside and out.” Cassandra laughed, and even the sound of it seemed richer, more important. “The ugly duckling is now a swan.”
“I prefer to believe,” a masculine voice said, “the mademoiselle was always a swan who only now sees the full possibility of her beauty.”
Startled by the rich voice with just a hint of a French accent, Cassandra and Meg turned to find a gentleman lounging in their doorway. He wore a tricornered hat over his wig, and his blue velvet coat was cut away in the newest fashion to reveal bias-cut breeches that displayed slim hips and powerfully muscled thighs.
“Cor!” Meg cooed, forgetting her genteel accent in the full amazement of seeing so richly dressed a gentleman.
Cassandra only stared at the rouged features of the gentleman with a black silk patch and a single eye full of wicked emerald laughter, and her heart leaped in her breast.
Meg, realizing the gentleman must have sought her door for a purpose, favored him with a saucy feminine smile in full appreciation of his masculinity and her best imitation of Cassandra’s cultured tones. “Do come in, m’lord. You’re most welcome.”
The tall stranger had to bend to enter. Sweeping his hat from his head, he made the ladies a pretty bow of acknowledgment. “Enchanté.” He turned to Meg. “The lovely mademoiselle will understand if I say I must speak with Cassie alone?” He appeared to pull a gold coin from thin air and offered it to her. “For wine, good wine,” he suggested.
“Cassie? Why, you sly puss!” Meg cried, shaking a finger at the younger woman. “You never let on you knew a soul in London, and here’s a handsome Frenchy come for you.” Not waiting for a reply, Meg took the coin he offered, bit it quickly, and then dropped it into the bodice of her gown.
“Wine it is, bread and cheese, too, if you’d like. I’ll be only … well.” Her gaze swung to Cassie, who’d said not a word. “I’ve an errand to run on the next block. Perhaps an hour?” she suggested and received the man’s quick nod. “Be nice to the gentleman, Cassie,” she said with emphasis as she swept past her and out the doorway.
“Merlyn Ross!” Cassandra accused stiffly when Meg was gone.
Merlyn shrugged, an irritated look breezing across his features as he said in his natural voice, “You’re the only soul I’ve ever known could spy me out so quickly.” He threw his hat on the table and took two purposeful strides toward her. “Why is that, do you think?”
The question in his deep voice sounded with unnerving intimacy in Cassandra’s ears and she glanced at him uneasily through her lashes. “Why do you always wear your eyepatch? I find it detracts from your disguise.”
Merlyn reached up and snatched it off with a smile. “You don’t seem able to keep your eyes from me, that’s true.” His voice was very low, yet it reverberated through the room. “You called out my name the night of the christening ball, remember? But perhaps it’s not so strange. ‘Tis only fair that my image should remain with you when yours haunts me.”
Cassandra turned away from his mesmerizing stare. Despite her unreasoning joy to see him she would not give up easily her accumulated grievances, not the least of which was his long absence. How dare he stroll back into her life looking more … more … She gave him a brief glance. Magnificent. It was the only word to describe him. Even in the paint and powder of a dandy he was absolutely the most uncompromisingly masculine creature she’d ever encountered. An unwonted breathlessness overcame her at the thought, and that reaction annoyed her further. “Two weeks without your company convinced us that you were not coming back.” She turned fully to him, her chin lifted in challenge. “We’ve done well without you. Beginning today, I earn my own way.”
This news clearly startled him. “Earn your way?” His eyes swept over her and then halted at the lovely display at her neckline. “Surely Meg has not convinced you to ply the harlot’s trade?”
Cassandra gave in to the childish impulse to stamp her foot as quick temper flared through her. “You’re a beast!” The retort sounded trite and petty, even to her own ears, and the notion was confirmed by his laughter.
“Oh, I see. Meg’s prompting you for the stage. God’s death, you’ll have them tossing rotten fruit before the end of the first act.”
“Go away!” she hissed at him. “I do not want you in my life.”
Merlyn seemed not to hear the dismissal, for he pulled out a chair and seated himself, careful to spread the full skirts of his elegant coat. “You’ve not asked me who I am today. Or you do remember? You’ve met Jack Commoner the condemned prisoner, Old Jack the childnabber. Meg must have told you of Merlyn Ross the actor. Sit, lady, this stiff posture misbecomes you nearly as much as that gown.”
“What’s wrong with this gown?” Cassandra asked before she could catch herself and was submitted a second time to his humiliating laughter.
“Not a woman alive can bear to be criticized. Look at you, all starch and indignation. Yes, if you will have it, you’ve a pretty look, but I prefer your Newgate garb.” His darkening gaze made Cassandra’s breath suddenly hard to manage, but he did not comment upon it. “Where was I? Oh yes. You will remember the Comte de Valure.”
“What evil has this comte come to perpetrate?” Cassandra asked saucily, knowing she trod thin ice but not caring for the moment if it gained her back a little of her poise.
Merlyn smiled sweetly at her. “He’s stolen a king’s ransom in jewels and needs a place to hide them.”
“What?” She had not truly believed he would admit to yet another villainy.
“Do not bray, Cassie. It ruins the effect of your attire. Surely you didn’t think I’d come to play benefactor to a small child and his mother?”
The mockery was not lost on her, and Cassandra colored up. “I’d believe any evil to which you confessed,” she answered bitterly. “So, now that I’ve seen you, I must bid you good day. I’ll not keep stolen property.”
Cassandra moved to the door and opened it for him, but Merlyn did not move. “Don’t you wish to know the message I have for you?”
Cassandra hesitated, her dark honey eyes full of suspicion. “What message could you have for me?” When he did not reply, she took a reluctant step and then another toward him, too human to resist.
“That’s my Cassie,” Merlyn said, patting the chair next to his own. “You will appreciate this far better than I since I’ve been busy providing for you since last we met.”
“You? Providing?” Cassandra sat on the edge of her chair, in warning that she would leave on an instant. “I’m not so gullible as to believe that, not when I’ve seen Meg dealing with the butcher’s boy myself.”
“Your ignorance is remarkably obtuse. I find it extraordinary that you recognize me in disguise so quickly. No,” he cautioned when she opened her mouth. “I know what you’ll say. I told you once before that most of life is an illusion. But then, I have that message to deliver,” he continued calmly. “Actually, two. The first is that we must leave London. Immediately. Do sit down,” he directed, grabbing her by the arm when she popped up from her chair and tugging her back down. “You’ve no need to concern yourself over a job you’ll never have. We leave at nightfall. In the meantime …”
He released her and sat back folding his arms across his chest. “You’d be amazed at the things I’ve done this past fortnight. Oh yes, I had dinner with Nick Briarcliffe, but I must disappoint you. He did not ask after your health,” he said smoothly, ignoring her gasp. “Last evening I spent at Watier’s with Sir Edward Strickland. His young wife has just given birth. The physician pronounced good health for the child and a quick healing for the mother but pr
escribed an extended period of—shall we say celibacy—on the parents’ part.”
Dreaded anticipation pulled at Cassandra even before he spoke his next words, but she could neither silence him nor flee, for he held her pinned with his emerald eye.
“Having been dealt a similar hand, I was all fine commiseration. Told him it was my experience that a man with a mistress who’d given birth needed a second in order to survive the six-month abstinence.” Merlyn’s smile twitched, as if the memory gave him pain. “I do not, on the ordinary, mind giving amusement to a man. I think I carried it off rather well. Strickland laughed uproariously, saying he’d never heard a better solution. Yet he suggested that I keep better tabs on the first mistress, because it sounded to him as if she were playing me false. I laughed with him, to be friendly, and asked him just what was the normal period of absence from the marriage bed. You see, I had to admit there was no babe, only a joke to please him.”
Nothing in Merlyn’s manner suggested that he was joking now. Cassandra opened her mouth, but no sound came from her suddenly dry throat.
“A month,” Merlyn finished. His voice was cool, but Cassandra felt the heat of his blue-green gaze on the sensitive skin above her low-cut bodice. “A month,” he repeated with all the gravity of a sentencing.
She didn’t know which of them moved first. The idea of flight was uppermost in her mind, but she thought she detected a sudden tensing in him that warned her he was about to act. She was halfway to her feet when one hand clasped her elbow and spun her around so that his other arm could encircle her waist. She meant to scream, but something stopped her. His gaze was no longer cool and sardonic but shockingly alive, like twin flames of emerald and sapphire. Surrounded by the heat of his body which communicated itself to her through his clothes and hers, she knew her last effort to avoid the inevitable was gone.
“I wanted you that first night, in the coach as we left Briarcliffe,” he said softly. “But I waited. I wanted you the night I brought you here. Curse Meg for taking your part against me. I would not be here now but for a quirk of circumstance. ‘Tis justice, madame, that you can find no tongue to give me further lies.”
