Almost Perfect (26 page)

“Well, that’s it. We’re here,” Philana announced grimly, speaking for the first time in nearly an hour as, wheels crunching, the carriage trundled past the gurgling fountain that marked the beginning of Ryecroft Castle’s drive.

Once again wearing her green summer pelisse atop her day dress, Philana sat in the carriage’s forward facing seat, the gray plumes on her bonnet waving in the stiff breeze. Cassie and Eliza sat across from her; they hadn’t wanted to watch the men riding ahead of them.

Roland hadn’t come with them, although not by choice. He’d pleaded, promising that his injury was nothing more than a scrape. But even Eliza, who was no nurse, could see he was far more gravely affected by his wound than he protested. It was Philana who finally convinced him to stay, arguing that appearing at Ryecroft Castle with a bloody arm wouldn’t serve Eliza’s cause. They’d left him sobbing in the drawing room.

Cassie turned on the seat and looked past the coachman’s legs at the house. It wasn’t that she disbelieved Philana, it was the sense of unreality that held her in its grip. She had to confirm for herself that what was happening wasn’t some awful dream.

Ryecroft Castle hadn’t changed in their brief absence. It was still a massive, three storey U-shaped house built of reddish stone. Grand windows, glass gleaming in the sun, marked its lower floor, even on the servants’ wing. Useless crenellations marched across the house’s roof line. From behind that toothy façade rose a fanciful forest of chimneys, each one different from the other. Some twisted, others looked like pots, still others spiraled like stairs. The wind swept through them, turning humdrum smoke into snapping gray pennants atop Lord Ryecroft’s grand folly.

Her gaze shifted to the men riding ahead of the carriage. What a strange parade they made. Lord Bucksden led the way, he and his two servants just disappearing in between the house’s twin wings. Lord Ryecroft and Lucien rode about a half dozen yards behind the bandaged earl, which meant they hadn’t yet reached the outermost edge of the house. Lucien looked marvelous atop Mr. Percy’s beautiful horse, far better than his more handsome cousin looked on the bulky beast he rode.

What was she doing?! Cassie wrenched around and dropped back into the carriage seat. Her lavender pelisse slipped off her lap; it was too warm to wear and, considering what she faced, she didn’t care if she were dusty. She let the garment lay on the carriage floor as she carefully stoked her anger at Lucien, reminding herself of all the wrongs he’d done her. She needed it. Anger was all she had to keep anxiety at bay.

The journey here had given her plenty of time to recall the way luck had happened in that first game with Lucien. It wasn’t going to happen this time. It couldn’t.

The carriage entered the cavernous embrace of the house’s arms. The snort of the horses repeated around them. Eliza made a tiny desperate sound.

Unlike Cassie who was too warm, Eliza huddled in her blue pelisse, clutching it close to her. On her head was Philana’s spare bonnet, although it didn’t look its old self. The need to be busy had plagued Eliza terribly while they’d waited for Lord Bucksden’s reappearance, so she and Philana had searched Ettrick House for something to remake the bonnet. They came up with a pretty violet ribbon embroidered with pink and yellow flowers. That, and a pair of blue ribbon rosettes had replaced the bonnet’s former black plumes and ribbons. The corner of Cassie’s mouth twisted upward in a reluctant smile. If the end of this card game left Eliza facing her doom, then she meant to confront it in her own particular style.

Eliza made another sound. Her shoulders hunched. Her head bent.

Cassie put an arm around her sister, pulling her closer. “What is it, dearest?”

“I think I’m going to be ill,” Eliza whispered and clutched her midsection.

“Didn’t I warn you not to sit in that seat? It always makes me ill,” Philana said sharply, then anger and tears mingled in her eyes.

Cassie sent Philana an irritable look, then stroked a hand down Eliza’s back. “No you’re not, darling. All will be well. You’ll see,” she soothed, wishing there was someone to soothe her.

This time she didn’t need to work to stoke her anger. Damn all men and their exaggerated ideas of honor! Where was the honor in gambling over the possession of a woman? Rather than agree to this game, both Lucien and Lord Ryecroft should have found a way to deny Lord Bucksden’s claim on Eliza.

As Cassie straightened she met Philana’s gaze. Her aunt looked as angry as she felt. “You won’t lose,” she commanded her niece.

“Of course not,” Cassie replied without hesitation, buoyed by her anger.

Far too soon the carriage stopped before the mansion’s door. Lord Bucksden’s disreputable-looking servants were just remounting to ride their horses back around the house to the stables. Philana descended first, making her exit from their vehicle as proudly as any queen. Cassie sent Eliza down next then followed. The butler met them inside the door, taking their outer wear and bonnets.

Lord Ryecroft’s entry hall was Palladian in style, its floor and walls all creamy marble. A long bas relief panel faced the doorway, depicting men in togas around a table. Cassie hadn’t yet been able to discern what it was they were supposed to be doing at that table. The ceiling two storeys overhead repeated this motif. Ovals of plaster flowers encircled more bas relief, toga-clad men, some of them at war, others studying and still more trapped forever in plaster as they lifted their hands and opened their mouths to offer the world some stunning profundity.

The hall ran the length of this part of the house, rather like a gallery. The doors that opened up off of it gave access to most of the public rooms. A footman stood at one side of the drawing room’s door. Conversation echoed from the opening, reverberating oddly into the entry hall, the sibilance magnified by the marbled surfaces.

Glancing over her shoulder to see that Cassie and Eliza followed, Philana almost marched to the drawing room door. The tap-tap of her shoes and rustle of her gown filled the entry hall. Eliza and Cassie followed, joining Philana in the doorway.

The room was crowded, what with all fifty members of the party in the chamber. All the twenty odd chairs arranged in a semi-circle around the single card table at the room’s center were filled. Sipping tea or something stronger served by the footmen slipping through their midst, more guests gathered in small groups behind the chairs. It made for an elegant tableau, the men in blue, brown or dark green long tailed coats and black pantaloons, the women in dresses every color of the rainbow, some solid colors, some sprigged, some striped. The matrons among them all had their heads covered with lacy caps or beribboned turbans.

As always, only two men stood out. Mr. Percy wore a vibrant green brocade waistcoat beneath a coat of deep blue while Colonel Egremont, seated next to him in the circle of chairs, proved the dandy’s foil in his regimentals, his pale blue trousers with their golden stripe down the leg, his blue jacket with its scarlet trim. His golden epaulettes and cording glimmered as they caught the sunlight streaming in through the wall of French doors across the room.

Not all the people in the room were interested in the game. Eliza’s friends had retreated to the settee, relocated for the moment near the piano. Three ladies, including Lord Ryecroft’s young sister and Lady Barbara, occupied the seat. A pair of lads perched on its arms, while a few more hung over its back as they conversed with the ladies. Three more girls sat on the floor beside it, chatting with each other.

“May I join them?” Eliza breathed, almost pleading.

“Only if you wish me luck,” Cassie whispered in return.

Eliza’s giggle was quiet and desperate. “Luck, luck and more luck,” she said, then, with a quivering smile to Philana, started toward her friends.

The only one in the room who paid her any heed, proof that the terms of the wager were still secret, was Lord Bucksden. He’d taken the seat at the far side of that central table, the one facing the door. He’d shed his overcoat. With his bruising, his bandaged head and his riding attire he looked out of place in the refined elegance of the room. Not so Duchess Eleanor, who stood behind him. Even though her white dress with its narrow red stripe did her complexion no favors, the garment was the perfect backdrop for her rubies.

As Lord Bucksden watched Eliza, almost consuming her with his gaze, Philana made a raging sound. “I really despise that man,” she muttered, then looked at Cassie. “I’m going to make Colonel Egremont or Mr. Percy give me a chair and you will win.”

That left Cassie alone in the doorway, contemplating the remaining empty chair at the card table. Its back faced the door. The other two chairs at the table were occupied by Lord Ryecroft and Lucien. Although they’d shucked their hats and gloves they looked no less out of place than Lord Bucksden in their riding attire. Their chairs were pushed far enough from the table so it was clear they weren’t players.

Although she told herself not to do it, Cassie’s gaze caught and clung on Lucien. His chair was pushed out and turned so its back faced the door. He sprawled in it, his arms crossed over his chest in impatience, his gaze aimed at Lord Bucksden.

She waited for anger to spike. Instead, a part of her sighed, once more admiring the curl of his sun-streaked hair against his snowy shirt collar. All too well she remembered the feel of her hands against his flesh this morning. Only this morning? It felt like forever ago.

What was she doing?! Cassie turned her gaze to where it belonged--anywhere but on Lucien--and started into the room.

“Ah, here she is at last,” someone whispered, Cassie thought it might have been Squire Kerr.

Fabric rustled. The quiet thrum of conversation dropped into silence, even in the youngster’s corner. A chair scraped as Colonel Egremont rose to offer Philana his seat.

Cassie's heart pounded in her ears. Lady Ross reached out to touch her sleeve, offering a reassuring squeeze and a smile before again clasping her hands at her bosom. Squire Kerr nodded, his brows lifted as if to encourage. His wife, a timid woman, gave a friendly waggle of her fingers. Another man winked, his expression conveying that, however strange this match might be, he expected her to take the day.

Cassie stopped behind her chair. Lord Ryecroft almost sprang to his feet. Lord Bucksden rose more slowly, watching her the way a hawk watches a mouse. Lucien rose last, almost reluctantly then turned to look at her.

Cassie wasn’t certain if she should cry or laugh. It happened again. His presence reached out to embrace her. Despite the hurt he’d done her and her anger at him, her body still reacted to him.

Their gazes caught and held. For this moment his gray eyes were clear, untouched by any emotion. He crossed his arms then the fingers of his exposed hand moved, drawing her attention to them and his signet ring. It flashed a little as he moved it on his finger just as she’d shown him this morning.

Startled, she dropped to sit in her chair, still staring at his hand. He moved the ring again. She glanced up at him, not certain what to make of this, or if she should make anything of it at all.

His eyebrows quirked upward, but before she could read anything into that motion he dropped back into his chair, shifting once again so he sat with his shoulder to her. All she could see of his face was the rugged jut of his cheekbone and the line of his carefully sculpted sideburn where his hair didn’t cover it.

Confusion tore through Cassie’s carefully contrived anger then shredded her confidence. Her unwanted awareness of Lucien spiraled. Why was he doing this to her? What was he doing to her? Whispering, the house guests closed in behind her, rustling and shifting as they sought to see the table.

“Humph,” said Duchess Eleanor. “I shall never understand men. As if it weren’t bad enough to damage your pretty face in the boxing ring, my dear earl,” she said to Lord Bucksden, laying a friendly hand on his shoulder, “now you intend to game with riffraff. At least you have an excuse, my lord. Your brains are likely addled from your injuries.” She shot a raging look at Lucien, leaving Cassie wondered what he’d done to earn the duchess’s wrath.

Not finished complaining, Eleanor looked at her grandnephew. “Ryecroft, I still cannot comprehend why such haste was needed in arranging a card game. It’s shameful, I tell you. Men dressed for riding in a drawing room! In my day we never countenanced such a thing. Isn’t that so?” she demanded of the watching ladies, most of whom were quick to nod whether or not they agreed with the duchess.

Lord Ryecroft, his dark hair wind-blown, leaned back in his chair until it balanced on two legs and smiled up at his great-aunt. “I know, darling. Very improper,” he said as if commiserating. “We shall just have to muddle through and pray that this sort of situation never again arises, shan’t we?”

That restored Cassie’s anger. Why was Lord Ryecroft allowing this situation at all?

Eleanor shook her head in exasperation, the ruby insect pinned to her gold and red turban dancing in reaction. “Why can’t we know what the wager is?” she complained. “It’s hardly right that we’re asked to witness this game when we’re ignorant of its purpose. Then again, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, not with that one,” she did all but point like a fishwife at Cassie, “at the other end of the table.”

Calculation and concern flashed through Lord Bucksden’s eyes. He glanced at Lucien, the set of his shoulders saying he once more sought a trap. Then he looked up at the duchess. “Why do you say that, Your Grace?”

Eleanor lifted her chin in dismissal at the same time she aimed the weight of her irritation at Cassie. “Because everything about that commoner is improper.”

Cassie almost laughed. The duchess had no idea how true her words were. Beside her, Lucien made a sound then he sat back in his chair, tilting it a little.

Lord Ryecroft leaned forward, once again moving so swiftly that he startled Cassie. He smiled and motioned to the waiting footman, who provided a deck of cards. “Well, now that we’re all here, will you both agree to a partie of Piquet, winner takes all?”