Fortune's Lady (42 page)

“Why?”

“Because as soon as he rises to speak, everyone leaves.” He chuckled fondly. “Well, he goes
on
so. You have to remember, many of the M.P.'s are only simple farmers or merchants—they haven't the patience for his convoluted arguments and flights of fancy. And he's getting on in years—he gets weary and out of sorts, and then he can't seem to bring his speeches to an end. Ah, but you should've heard him a few years ago, Cass. There was never anyone like him.”

“And yet Colin doesn't see him as harmless, I don't think. He really despises him.”

“His power is in his writing now. When he lost the support of the Whigs, he went over their heads to the people. It's mostly because of him that public opinion is turning away from France these days.”

He stood up. She was afraid it was time to leave, that for some reason he'd wanted her to see all this before he let her go, but now the tour was over. “How many Members are there?” she asked. She was stalling, she realized glumly, and despised herself for it.

“About six hundred and fifty.”

“So many! Surely they can't all fit in here.”

“No, only about half show up at any one time. It's always been that way.”

“How does it work? What do you do?”

“We debate. The Speaker calls on the Honorable Gentleman from Muddleton-on-Sea. He rises. He begins to speak—extemporaneously, of course; any man caught with notes is hooted out of the Chamber. All the other Members are either absent, asleep, talking out loud, or hurling letters back and forth to each other. It's the most extraordinary thing, Cass, you would hardly credit it. If he's a dull speaker, poor fellow, he's interrupted by jeering so loud you can't hear a word he says. But if he's good, the whole Chamber listens in absolute silence. Junior Members soon learn that they won't be governing Great Britain single-handedly after all. Some go into a long sulk after their maiden speech and don't say another word for years. Others set out to learn the game.”

“Like you,” she guessed. “That's what you've done.”

“What I'm
doing.
It's a long process, but worth the effort. Because although I'm not governing Great Britain, this House of Commons is.”

She smiled. “And I thought it was the king.”

“No, we only let him think so.” He took out his pocket watch. “Well, love. Let's go, shall we? It's getting late, and I have one more thing to show you.”

She felt a weakening in the knees at his thoughtless endearment. The pain of leaving was almost too much to be borne. All at once, it struck her that she didn't have to bear it. She could choose to stay with him. Who would care? Who would know the truth except her, and him, and John Walker? He was waiting, his hand outstretched. She shuddered as the vista of a life with Riordan—or as much of one as he cared to give her—spread before her mind's eye and she balanced on the brink of capitulation. But at the last second she drew back.

“Philip,” she said tensely, “what are we doing? Why did you bring me here? Please, this is—difficult for me. Mayn't we go home now?”

He came close, but didn't touch her. His face was extraordinarily tender, his eyes seeming to see to the bottom of her soul. “You promised me two hours,” he said gently. “It's almost over. Believe me, sweet Cass, I want to go home as much as you.” He put his hand out again. “I don't ask you to trust me. Just to come with me.”

She hesitated, then slipped her hand in his.

Out of the Chamber they went, through a different dim passageway, down a winding stairway of damp stone, and along another series of narrow halls, until at last they came to a studded double door. She looked at him inquiringly; his expression was odd and unreadable. He held the door open for her. She went past, took three steps, and stopped. By the light of a hundred votive candles, she saw that this time she was in a real church.

“What is it?” she faltered, whispering.

“The Lower Chapel. It's only used by Members nowadays, for weddings and christenings.” He cleared his throat and stood in front of her. “I thought it would be a good place for us to get married.”

No, he couldn't do it without touching her. He reached for her lifeless hands and took a deep breath. “Will you marry me again, Cass? I love you with all my heart.” He pulled her closer, taking her stunned silence for indecision. “Marry me and let's get old together. You'll be the most beautiful little old lady.”

Still she didn't speak, but neither did she protest when he wound his arms around her and rested his forehead against hers. “I'm so in love with you,” he murmured, brushing her nose with his lips. “I'm a good catch, Cass—even Burke says I'm an honest man. And there's a group of men in Buckinghamshire who've invited me to stand for the next election from their district. As strange as it seems, it looks like I'm a man on the rise. Are you going to say yes? I don't mind getting down on my knees if it'll help.”

He touched the tears on her face softly with his fingers. “I love you,” he said into her shining eyes. “I'll never stop loving you, even when I'm a shriveled up old goat of a man.” He dropped his voice. “I'll always be after you, too, because I'll only get more virile the older I get. You won't be able to keep—”

“Oh! Philip!” She flung her arms around him and buried her face in his shirt. “Oh! Oh!” was all she could seem to say.

“Does that mean yes?” he laughed, embracing her, lifting her off the floor, and then immediately loosening his hold for fear of breaking her ribs.

“Yes! Oh, yes, yes, yes. Oh, Philip!”

“It's a good thing I'm the one in this family who gets paid for being eloquent,” he grinned, then kissed her with all his pent-up passion. “Do you love me, Cass?”

“I do, I do love you. I love you, Philip, I've always loved you.” She was giddy with happiness. It was as if a dam had burst inside, and the long-submerged words of love were spilling from her lips in an irrepressible cascade. “Shall we really marry, then? Here?”

“Here, as soon as I can speak to the canon and arrange it. I spent half the afternoon trying to find him, but he wasn't available.”

“Will it be soon?”

“It will if I have anything to say about it. Because we won't really be marrying, we'll be solemnizing new vows, so there'll be no need to wait for the banns. I don't see why it can't be done right away.”

Solemnizing new vows. She hooked her arms around his neck and hugged him. “You mean this time we won't just ‘declare our wish to marry'?”

He didn't return her teasing smile. “You are my wife, Cass. You were before and you are now. Do you believe me?”

“I'm not sure,” she murmured, wetting her lips. “Maybe you'd better show me.”

He made a sound in his throat, part hum, part growl. “Why, you cheeky wench. And in the Members' Chapel, too.”

She felt cheeky. “What better place to have a Member than in his chapel?” she asked, pressing herself against him, loving the way his eyes widened in amusement and answering desire. He brought her even closer and kissed her with the slow, sensual urgency that always undid her, then walked her two steps backward until he had her pressed against the thick oak door. She loosened her arms around his neck enough to give him room to touch her but not enough to break the kiss. Her breasts changed shape in his palms. His tongue filled her mouth; her head went back and she let him nibble and taste while one of his hands restlessly stroked her stomach. When he pushed himself against her and murmured something starkly suggestive in her ear, she knew it was only his weight pressing against her that was keeping her upright.

She also realized how close they were to committing a sacrilegious act. She pulled away with a heroic surge of will and whispered against his throat, “I've thought of a better place.” Riordan was breathing hard, and unable to remember what this related to until she finished, “In the Member's bed.”

“Ahh,” he said on a shuddering sigh, “the Member's bed. Yes. The very thing.” But he looked around reluctantly. “Still, these pews couldn't be as hard as they look. If we—”

“Philip!”

He chuckled. “Tell me you love me before we go,” he urged. “I don't think I heard right before.”

She brought his head down and put her lips to his ear. “I love you,” she said distinctly, then repeated it for good measure, in a sibilant whisper, her teeth nipping his earlobe.

He shivered involuntarily. “Oh, Cass. Are you going to get it.”

The mixture of threat and promise excited her unbearably. Without another word, they took each other's hands and left the chapel, intent now on nothing but the deadly serious business of getting home fast. Walking was out of the question. They found a hackney near the park and flung themselves into it like escaping criminals. Riordan called out the address to the driver imperiously and promised him an extra crown if he could make it in under a quarter of an hour. Inside the coach, they collapsed with laughter, amused at their own eagerness.

Twelve minutes later, the coachman pulled up before Riordan's residence in Portman Square and waited for his fares to alight. Nothing happened. Swells, he thought; must be waitin' fer me to open the blinkin' door. He got down with only a low-key grumble, though; a crown, after all, was a crown. But when he jerked open the door and looked inside, the lady gave a kind of shriek and the gent snatched his hand out from under her skirts and they both turned beet red. Which just went to show, swells weren't no different from common folk. Well,
some
different, he grinned, pocketing the bright new guinea the swell tossed him. “It's all right, we're engaged,” said the gent, and the two men exchanged broad winks.

“Engaged!” cried Cass, once they were in the house.

“Just a little joke, my sweet.”

He was grinning like a fool and she had to laugh at him. “Some joke—oh!” He picked her up with a flourish and kissed her while her mouth was still open. Her pique flew away; her only concern now was whether they would make it to the bedroom or consummate their union in the middle of the stairs. The passing of a maid in the hall settled that, but she had to frown a stern warning at him to prevent him from calling out another cheerful impropriety such as he had to the coachman.

Before the door closed they started to undress each other. But it wasn't efficient; their hands kept getting in each other's way, fumbling at buttons and fasteners. They made an unspoken agreement to take their own clothes off, and accomplished it in rapt silence, eyes locked, with great economy of movement.

Naked, they embraced. At the first touch Cass was ready; she wanted to feel him inside, now, without preliminaries. But he'd taught her a better way, and she ground her teeth and prepared to endure the agonizing pleasure of waiting. For once they didn't talk. She shivered under the touch of his hands on her arms, her shoulder blades, her spine, stroking and pressing, as if relearning what her skin felt like. His chest hair had always delighted her, so soft and sleek; it grew downward so neatly, she'd wondered once if he combed it.

She let her hands drift down his diaphragm to touch the hard muscles of his belly, and brushed the intriguing trail of hair below his navel with the backs of her fingers. He was erect and ready, but seemingly in no hurry. He cupped her breasts and lifted them, watching her face, stroking the nipples with his fingertips. Her mouth opened on a soft sigh. He bent his head, she thought to kiss her, but instead his lips found her hard little peak and devoured it. She put her fingers in his hair and held on for dear life, moaning and murmuring his name, feeling sparks shooting through her. How strange and wonderful, she thought when he went down on one knee and began to tongue her navel. He held her steady with his hands on her buttocks, kissing and sucking her, and then he told her to open her legs.

She stopped staring blindly at the ceiling and looked down. He couldn't have said that. But no—she hadn't misheard, because he repeated it.

“Philip, I—”

He raised his head, and his eyes were as black as onyx. “I want to kiss you here, Cass.” His hand cupped her pubic mound. “Open your legs for me.”

“But—this isn't—”

“Yes, it is. It's good and natural, and I promise you'll like it.”

Well, he was her husband and his word was law. After another second's pause, and with a Gallic shrug that under other circumstances would have made him laugh, she slid her feet a few inches apart.

It wasn't really kissing, she discovered quickly. It was more like—oh God, it was like heaven on earth. “Philip! I don't think I can stand this!”

He rose, lifting her in the same movement, and carried her to the bed. He laid her on her back and sat beside her. His mouth was wet, a fact which embarrassed and fascinated her. Before she could think of resisting, he parted her legs, pushing her knee up, and bent his head to her again. At first she jumped, and jumped again, because the place he was nibbling with his lips was so sensitive. But soon they both learned what she could tolerate. Her head fell back against the pillow. Sensations she'd never experienced, never even suspected, bombarded her in a gentle, remorseless assault of pleasure until she cried out softly, begging him to stop.

He stopped.

“No, don't—I didn't mean it!”

His throaty laugh coaxed a sheepish snicker out of her, but then her breath caught as he obeyed her latest command and went back to what he'd been doing. Her stomach muscles were knotted, knees flexed, hands and toes clenching the coverlet. There was nothing in the universe but her body and his mouth. Her head thrashed from side to side, but otherwise she held perfectly still. Her insides were liquifying, the hot tide of need rising fast. She thought he said “Now,” but if he was giving permission it was too late. The explosion came an instant before, fragmenting her and propelling the pieces into space. For unknown seconds she ceased to exist. As she came back to earth, there was another concussion, then another, but they were gentler and full of sweet release.