would bring her plan to fruition, Cassandra
painted mental pictures of her dreams. In a real home, there would be no
drinking and gambling and whoring. There would be no screaming fights or
slamming doors or violent curses. There would be no wondering where the coins
would come from to buy the evening’s dinner or worrying which bill collector
should be paid first with the prior night’s winnings.
In a real home, her mother wouldn’t have to hide behind
closed doors and doses of laudanum. She could come out and be her friend again,
as they had been before they moved to London, before they had to live with her
father and brother. They would have lady’s maids, and the men of the family
would look upon them with respect. No one would curse them ever again, or strike
them. She felt certain in Wyatt’s home they would be safe.
It was worth whatever she had to do to accomplish it. Her
reputation could scarcely suffer any more than it had. Wyatt would be angry,
but he wouldn’t beat her. He would do the honorable thing, and then she could
explain why she had done it and offer her eternal gratitude. When he
understood, he wouldn’t mind so much. Surely he wouldn’t.
Sealing the two notes, Cassandra summoned a maid. It would
be better if she had Lotta with her. Lotta would understand and carry out her
instructions to perfection. She would have to make do with this stranger and
pray that things worked out as planned.
Once the maid left, Cassandra dithered with uncertainty. It
was already dark. Dinner was over and the company would be gathering in the
salon. She doubted if anyone had even missed her. What should she do if he didn’t
come?
She must think positively. She must think how to greet him
when he arrived.
Wyatt had seen all the gowns she owned, but not her
nightshift. Would the sight of her in dishabille shock him so thoroughly as to
make the rest of her plan simple? Or would it warn him away? She would wear a
robe. That was it. The robe might make him wary, but surely he would be just a
little bit curious. Merrick was too honest to expect anyone else to be devious,
particularly not the innocent he obviously thought her. Well, he was about to
be disabused of that notion.
Hastily Cassandra unfastened her gown and let it drop to the
floor. It seemed shameless to greet a gentleman with nothing covering her
nakedness but the thin lawn of her nightshift, but she didn’t think really
wanton women wore chemises beneath them. She had to be really wanton to lure
Merrick into this trap.
The chemise joined her gown on the floor. Opening a drawer,
she removed a freshly washed and ironed shift. The ribbon lacing seemed
girlish, but it was her best gown. It was a little tight across the bosom.
Perhaps if she laced it loosely enough...
A knock came at the door, and flustered, Cassandra kicked
the crumpled pile of clothing beneath the bed and grabbed for the satin robe in
the wardrobe. In a few minutes she would be a fallen woman, and she hadn’t even
let her hair down.
Belting her robe beneath her breasts, Cass took a deep
breath to steady her nerves. The knock came again. It had to be him. No one
else would sound so authoritative but discreet. Without another thought, she
opened the door and stood aside.
~*~
The room’s darkness left Merrick momentarily nonplussed.
Only a single candle burned on the far desk. The lamp in the hall spilled his
shadow across the uncarpeted floor, and he realized that Lady Cassandra had
been assigned one of the lesser rooms despite her rank. He finally located her
huddled uncertainly beside the door. Blinking against the gloom, Merrick stepped
inside.
“Cassie? What happened to the lamps? What is this urgent
matter you must speak of privately? Can you not come down to the study or
somewhere proper? Are you ill?”
Her muffled cry brought him further into the room. She had
no one to turn to but him, the message had said, and Merrick realized the truth
of that. Whatever gossip said, he
painted mental pictures of her dreams. In a real home, there would be no
drinking and gambling and whoring. There would be no screaming fights or
slamming doors or violent curses. There would be no wondering where the coins
would come from to buy the evening’s dinner or worrying which bill collector
should be paid first with the prior night’s winnings.
In a real home, her mother wouldn’t have to hide behind
closed doors and doses of laudanum. She could come out and be her friend again,
as they had been before they moved to London, before they had to live with her
father and brother. They would have lady’s maids, and the men of the family
would look upon them with respect. No one would curse them ever again, or strike
them. She felt certain in Wyatt’s home they would be safe.
It was worth whatever she had to do to accomplish it. Her
reputation could scarcely suffer any more than it had. Wyatt would be angry,
but he wouldn’t beat her. He would do the honorable thing, and then she could
explain why she had done it and offer her eternal gratitude. When he
understood, he wouldn’t mind so much. Surely he wouldn’t.
Sealing the two notes, Cassandra summoned a maid. It would
be better if she had Lotta with her. Lotta would understand and carry out her
instructions to perfection. She would have to make do with this stranger and
pray that things worked out as planned.
Once the maid left, Cassandra dithered with uncertainty. It
was already dark. Dinner was over and the company would be gathering in the
salon. She doubted if anyone had even missed her. What should she do if he didn’t
come?
She must think positively. She must think how to greet him
when he arrived.
Wyatt had seen all the gowns she owned, but not her
nightshift. Would the sight of her in dishabille shock him so thoroughly as to
make the rest of her plan simple? Or would it warn him away? She would wear a
robe. That was it. The robe might make him wary, but surely he would be just a
little bit curious. Merrick was too honest to expect anyone else to be devious,
particularly not the innocent he obviously thought her. Well, he was about to
be disabused of that notion.
Hastily Cassandra unfastened her gown and let it drop to the
floor. It seemed shameless to greet a gentleman with nothing covering her
nakedness but the thin lawn of her nightshift, but she didn’t think really
wanton women wore chemises beneath them. She had to be really wanton to lure
Merrick into this trap.
The chemise joined her gown on the floor. Opening a drawer,
she removed a freshly washed and ironed shift. The ribbon lacing seemed
girlish, but it was her best gown. It was a little tight across the bosom.
Perhaps if she laced it loosely enough...
A knock came at the door, and flustered, Cassandra kicked
the crumpled pile of clothing beneath the bed and grabbed for the satin robe in
the wardrobe. In a few minutes she would be a fallen woman, and she hadn’t even
let her hair down.
Belting her robe beneath her breasts, Cass took a deep
breath to steady her nerves. The knock came again. It had to be him. No one
else would sound so authoritative but discreet. Without another thought, she
opened the door and stood aside.
~*~
The room’s darkness left Merrick momentarily nonplussed.
Only a single candle burned on the far desk. The lamp in the hall spilled his
shadow across the uncarpeted floor, and he realized that Lady Cassandra had
been assigned one of the lesser rooms despite her rank. He finally located her
huddled uncertainly beside the door. Blinking against the gloom, Merrick stepped
inside.
“Cassie? What happened to the lamps? What is this urgent
matter you must speak of privately? Can you not come down to the study or
somewhere proper? Are you ill?”
Her muffled cry brought him further into the room. She had
no one to turn to but him, the message had said, and Merrick realized the truth
of that. Whatever gossip said, he
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