Fortune's Lady by Patricia Gaffney

until dawn; my meeting with the committee went on till noon. I didn’t realize a few hours rest in the afternoon would discompose you so, Oliver.”
    â€œNever mind that. I just have one question, Philip: What in the name of God were you thinking of?”
    Riordan turned back to the mirror, avoiding the older man’s eyes. “At what particular time?”
    â€œDon’t play games with me.”
    He laid his razor down and picked up a towel, still not answering, trying to shake the feeling of being a naughty boy who has angered his schoolmaster. After twenty years, he marveled, Oliver still had that effect on him.
    â€œA dozen people saw you with her,” Quinn persisted. “Didn’t you realize it?”
    â€œI thought no one would recognize me.”
    â€œNo one would have if you hadn’t made such a spectacle of yourself! Did you think you could”— he sputtered, then got it out—“have intercourse with her in a public garden?”
    In spite of himself, Riordan laughed. “The thought crossed my mind,” he admitted.
    â€œIdiot! Even Wade saw you mauling her! If you were trying to test her, why not do it in private?”
    There was a knock and the door opened. It was Walker again.
    â€œGo on, Oliver. You can speak in front of John.”
    â€œI asked you a question.”
    The door opened again; to Riordan’s relief it was Beal, his valet, in front of whom they couldn’t speak. Behind him was a yellow-haired chambermaid with a tray. She set it down on a table by the bed, blushing prettily at the intimidating sight of the master’s all but naked body, and went away.
    â€œAnyone care to join me?” asked Riordan, indicating the tray. No one responded.
    â€œI’ve already laid your clothes out in the dressing room, sir,” said the valet in an aggrieved tone.
    â€œOh, have you, Beal? All right, then. Go away.”
    â€œYes, sir.” He left.
    â€œI’m still waiting,” Quinn reminded him.
    Riordan went to the tray, picked up a meat pie, whole, and took a tremendous bite out of it. He stared at Quinn, chewing slowly. Walker stood a short distance away, hands behind his back, quiet and unobtrusive as always. Finally Riordan swallowed. “What was the question?”
    Quinn let out an angry breath. “The whole plan is ruined, thanks to you! How is she supposed to begin an affair with Wade when everyone thinks she’s having one with you?”
    â€œThat is a bit sticky, I can see that,” he returned, unrepentant. “I guess it wasn’t such a good idea to use Miss Merlin after all.”
    Quinn turned sharply to the secretary. “Walker, would you mind leaving us for a few minutes?”
    Riordan protested; Quinn insisted. The secretary excused himself.
    â€œNow,” said Quinn.
    Riordan spun on his heel and went into the dressing room, unfinished pie in hand, but it was no use. Quinn was right behind him. He threw off his towel and reached for the white cambric shirt Beal had put out.
    â€œI’d hoped the kind of behavior you exhibited last night was something you’d safely relegated to the past.” Quinn’s voice was heavy with disapproval. “What happened?”
    Riordan pulled on his breeches, avoiding the other man’s eyes. “Nothing happened,” he said sullenly. “She was there. She was willing. That’s all. For Christ’s sake, Oliver, I’m only human.”
    Quinn shook his head. “I’m disappointed, Philip. I was sure that kind of woman no longer appealed to you.”
    â€œWhat kind of woman is that?” he asked very softly, his hands suddenly still over the buttons of his shirt.
    Quinn looked at him in surprise. “You know what kind of woman I mean. The sort I thought you’d given up by now. You weren’t drinking, were you?”
    â€œNo!” he denied hotly.
    â€œThank God for that, at least.”
    Riordan