Free Fortune's Lady by Patricia Gaffney Page B

loyal to this country than I! I was born here. Every drop of my blood is English. I’ve come home after twelve miserable years in a country I could never call mine, and nothing and no one will ever force me to leave again!”
    â€œI beg your pardon, but—”
    â€œAnd anyway,” she added furiously, “it wasn’t my loyalty Mr. Riordan was testing!”
    â€œI’ve already apologized for Philip’s behavior. It was inappropriate.”
    She made an angry, inarticulate sound. Inappropriate!
    â€œBut I confess, I don’t quite understand your agitation. After all, nothing really happened.”
    Cass opened her mouth, then closed it and sat back in seething exasperation. It was pointless to tell him no man had ever taken such liberties with her before. Or, if that wasn’t quite true, at least not in the same way Mr. Riordan had taken them— and never with such devastating results. “We appear to have different views on what constitutes ‘nothing,’ Mr. Quinn,” she said with frosty dignity. “But never mind; as I said before, our bargain’s over.”
    He put his fingers together and pressed them against his lips in the prayer-like way he had. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œYou can’t break our agreement now; it’s too late.”
    She laughed without humor. “Nevertheless, I do break it. You’ll have to carry out your devious little scheme without me.”
    â€œYou don’t understand. You can’t break it.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” she said again, frowning.
    â€œVery simply, you know too much. You know me, you know Riordan, and you know who we’re after. You have no choice now but to help us.”
    â€œBut I refuse.”
    â€œThen you’ll be arrested.”
    She forced a laugh. Quinn stared back owlishly, and she realized he was serious. “You can’t do that,” she scoffed.
    â€œOf course I can, with the greatest ease. I can instruct the driver of this carriage to take us to Newgate right now, where you can be imprisoned for as long as I like, on any grounds I like. I most certainly have the power, Miss Merlin, and I promise you I’m not bluffing.”
    For the second time in the same day, Cassandra called a man a bastard.
    â€œI would do it in a minute,” he continued as though she hadn’t spoken, “though certainly with great regret. Now, listen to me. You’re angry and you feel insulted, perhaps even ashamed. For the third time, I’ll tell you I’m sorry it happened. But it’s over. It’s time to get on with our business, which is a little more important than your hurt feelings. I’m prepared to double the money we agreed on before; you can consider it payment for services rendered, shall we say, beyond the call of duty.”
    His cold-bloodedness appalled her. She was preparing to tell him precisely what he could do with his money when the carriage came to such an abrupt stop that she was almost thrown into his lap. In the next moment the door was yanked open and the enormous torso of Philip Riordan filled the portal. “Where the bloody hell did you find her?” was his gracious greeting.
    How could she ever have found his angry, arrogant face handsome? wondered Cass, willing herself to sit still and not shrink away from his intimidating presence. She noticed with a mixture of horror and satisfaction the faint bluish bruise on the left side of his jaw—not, it was true, as noticeable as the one on the knuckles of her right hand, but definitely visible. She couldn’t recall ever having struck anyone before, not even a childhood playmate.
    â€œIn Piccadilly,” Quinn snapped. “Miss Merlin has just been telling me she doesn’t wish to continue in our employ.”
    â€œOh, she doesn’t, eh?” He turned to her; their eyes clashed. In that instant