An Affair with Mr. Kennedy (21 page)

Oh dear.

She spotted him just as her gaze wandered to the far side of the male gathering. He wore a faded blue rugby shirt along with an all too familiar frown. The ice in his stare could freeze the first hardy daffodils of spring.

Their gazes met over the small cluster of players. She backed up instinctively and repositioned her newly purchased vehicle for escape. From the corner of her eye she saw him lob the ball over to one of his teammates.

It took him a few long strides to catch her by the middy blouse and take her boldly in his arms. He kissed her hard, and a thrill shot through her body as he bent her back across his arm.

“Whooo-hooo,” came the raucous hoots and shouts. Of course such outrageous deportment would be encouraged, even cheered on by his teammates, who undoubtedly thought his response a shocking but understandable reaction to the ladies’ cycling costumes.

“That is what happens to young women who wear bloomers in the park, Cassandra.” His grim expression belied his true feelings, for his eyes spoke the truth. He was both amused and bedeviled by her.

When her knees went to jelly he steadied her. Cassie staggered backward with one hand still attached to the back of her hat. She glanced at Lydia, whose mouth, as yet, hadn’t closed.

Gathering her wits about her, she thrust out her chin and made a show of straightening her boater. She ignored the boisterous men and proceeded in the most genteel fashion to make introductions. “Mr. Zeno Augustus Kennedy, please meet Miss Lydia Valentine Philbrook.”

“Miss Philbrook.” His cool gaze slid from one young woman to the other. “When you told me you were riding in the park, I assumed—”

“Yes, I expect you never dreamed your weekend sport would be so rudely interrupted by two women in bloomers. I hope that we haven’t put you off your appetite, for you are still expected for dinner at three.” Cassie nodded politely and pushed off on her bicycle. “Good day, Mr. Kennedy.” She nodded to the footballers. “Gentlemen.”

ZENO’S HARDENED GAZE lingered on Cassie’s pretty bum as she pedaled away down the path. It appeared his kiss and her reference to his dinner invitation had knocked the wind out of his teammates’ sails. The poor confused blokes drifted back onto the playing field.

He gazed at Lydia rather intently. “You’ve known her a long time?”

Lydia nodded. “Since ballet and art classes.” The young lady hurried her bicycle down the pathway.

Zeno accompanied her a few more paces. “Has she always been like this?”

“Why, whatever do you mean, Mr. Kennedy?” Cassie’s friend played coy with him.

“Bicycles, bloomers … cigars.” There were numerous other behaviors he dare not allude to, including tattoos and wanton lovemaking.

“Well, she wasn’t nearly this much fun after she married Thom.” Lydia climbed astride her bicycle. “You know about the cigars?”

Chapter Sixteen

B
etween the parlor and dining room Zeno pulled Cassie against him and kissed her. He should have released her on the spot, but his body refused to obey. Instead, he closed his eyes and nuzzled wisps of hair at her temple and breathed in her scent. Her presence electrified him this evening.

She spoke softly against his ear. “I’ve a bit of awkward news. I’m afraid my parents arrived unexpectedly, moments ago.” She fiddled with a button on his waistcoat. “Of course I insisted they stay for dinner.”

A cough and
ahem
signaled they were not alone. With the help of a quick shove from Cassie, Zeno stepped away. “Mother. Father. Drs. Olivia and Henry Erskine, I would like you to meet Mr. Zeno Kennedy.” Cassie cleared her throat.
“My … landlord.”

This was going to be damned awkward. Zeno stepped forward and reached for Dr. Erskine’s hand. “Delighted to meet you both.”

He could not help but notice Cassie’s parents were a handsome couple and her mother would be lovely indeed without her current tight-lipped, narrow-eyed, raised-chin expression.

“Where is Lydia?” Cassie glanced about. “Ah, here you are.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Erskine.” Lydia tilted her head at Zeno. “Mr. Kennedy.”

“We meet again, Miss Philbrook.” Zeno nodded politely.

Lydia turned to their hostess. “And wherever is Jeremy? Late again, I take it?”

“Our illustrious chum is hanging a preview and has been delayed.” Cassie rolled open the dining room doors. “He hopes to drop by for dessert and coffee.” She showed Zeno to his seat at the table and leaned in close. “I advise you to keep your head this evening. You shall need it.”

Despite the warning, Zeno sailed through the soup course with small talk, but could not help but feel the eyes of his inquisitors upon him. And he did not have long to wait once the lamb was served.

“So, Mr. Kennedy, from what part of Scotland do you hail?” Erskine stabbed his fork into a slice of roast and a small boiled potato.

“Isle of Skye. Sheep farmers and whiskey makers.” Zeno grimaced inwardly. Bad choice of words. Made it sound as if the family were a drunken gang of peat cutters. He cleared his throat. “The Kennedy earls reside at Culzean Castle in South Ayrshire. Lowlanders loyal to the crown.”

“The only good drink is a Talisker scotch.” Dr. Erskine offered a toast. “Here’s to a bottle and an honest friend …”

Now, there’s a relief. Zeno picked up his whiskey glass and met her father’s tumbler with a wink and a grin. “Sin on.”

With the barest of smiles, Olivia Erskine gave them the once-over. “Two Scots and each with a full glass. Love at first sight.”

Cassie wore a glint in her eye. “Zak does seem to bring out the haggis in Father.”

Mrs. Erskine puffed up and studied him. “I take it you served in the military, Mr. Kennedy? Sometime after you completed your education? My daughter mentioned an athletic award or fellowship to Cambridge University?”

“Please call me Zak.” He winked at Cassie. “St. John’s. My studies were in linguistics, with a postgraduate term spent translating Latin and Greek—minor poets and philosophers.” Good lord. Now he sounded like a flighty, unfocused academic.

Zeno removed a succulent piece of meat from a rib before setting his knife down. “After university, my uncle’s service made it possible for me to get a placement in the Second Dragoons.”

Dr. Erskine leaned forward. “The Royal Scots Greys, a crack cavalry outfit, I must say. ‘Second to none,’
the motto, what? Well, Rob will be impressed, won’t he Cassie?”

“No doubt, Daddy.” Cassie shot both her parents a disparaging look, which allowed Zeno to get a forkful of dinner into his mouth. “Goodness, I must apologize for the interrogation, Zak.”

He made contact with sparkling silver eyes. She was the picture of loveliness. An effortlessly beautiful woman with a very modern outlook on life and, well, sex, to be honest. And there could be no doubt the two were inarguably linked. As he watched, a shade of pale rose crept from her throat to her cheek. Was she thinking about last night?

He forced his attention back to the Erskines’ background check. “The Greys wore bearskins and kilts—breeches for riding. Thankfully, they don’t wear kilts on horseback anymore.” He relaxed a little, as the remark appeared to amuse everyone at table. “Although I do recall a night when the Highlanders in my squadron got drunk enough to ride around the parade ground in their plaids. Rode past the sergeant major’s quarters. Pulled up our kilts—stuck our bare-naked arses out in the air.”

Dead silence.

Zeno gulped from his water glass. “Not half so amusing the next morning. Certain parts hurt like hell—”

To the rescue, Cassie cut in. “And was the sergeant amused?”

“We scrubbed latrines for a week.
Nemo me impune lacessit,
” Zeno chuckled.

Cassie’s father snorted a roar of laughter. “No one provokes me with impunity.” After two tumblers of hard spirits, a lilt had materialized in Henry Erskine’s brogue.

Zeno now counted the good doctor, at least provisionally, in his camp.

“Service in the dragoons amounted to daily drills and parade work, barely tolerable, dull duty. I requested reassignment and was consigned to military intelligence. Stationed first to France, then Burma.

“Frankly, I jumped at the chance for a little adventure. It turns out intelligence work suits me. When my last tour was up I stayed on in London, resigned my commission, and went to work in the Home Office. Later, they moved me over to a new division of Scotland Yard.”

Olivia Erskine took an unexpected interest in the conversation. “You seem to have developed quite a reputation surrounding your work, Mr. Kennedy.” Her remark was casual, but intoned in the voice of a wary mother.

He studied the woman carefully. “I must advise you to ignore most everything you hear or read that mentions my name. I now work exclusively for Special Irish Branch, and all our operations are secure and unknown to but a few people in government.”

“And this work you do for Scotland Yard, it is rather dangerous, is it not?”

He set down his fork. “Yes, ma’am. At times very dangerous.”

She leaned forward, grim-faced and unblinking. “A woman was killed in an explosion. Someone of your acquaintance, I believe?”

An icy shiver ran down his spine, as if he walked dangerously close to a cliff edge back home with a cold surf crashing onto the rocks far below. “A great tragedy, but a wholly coincidental one, Mrs. Erskine.” He gazed protectively toward Cassie. “I must assure you both, your daughter’s safety is my greatest—”

Cassie burst in. “Mother, I must insist you and Daddy give Zak a break from your inquisition. He’ll have a sour stomach after all this.”

“Whenever Olivia draws my gut, I take tonic water from a siphon bottle for the cure. Isn’t that right, Cassie?” The doctor gave his daughter a wink.

Mother Erskine caught the conspiratorial message between father and daughter and smiled before she returned to Zeno. “One more question. Please, indulge me.”

“Fire away, Mrs. Erskine.” For the first time all night, Zeno relaxed. He was even amused.

“While it is universally agreed we must put these dynamiters and their horrid reign of terror to an end, I am curious where you stand on devolution for the Irish.”

“Ah, the Irish question.” Zeno chewed on the last of his asparagus while contemplating a headlong plunge into dangerous political waters. “A tricky and difficult situation, Mrs. Erskine. But nonetheless, I will answer honestly. I believe by not passing Home Rule, we pave the way for a complete break.”

Cassie spoke first. “Revolution?”

Zeno shook his head. “I doubt it will come to great conflict. Self-governance will more likely come from a good deal of Irish civil disobedience, and no small amount of constitutional work on our part. The Lords will lose their power to override legislation. It’s inevitable.”

Olivia picked up her glass of wine and appraised him with a kinder eye. “And high time, too.”

CASSIE SMILED AT her lover. Her lover. She wanted more of his body as well as his mind. Her departed husband, rigid in his thinking and strident in his politics, preferred horse-breeding to his seat in Parliament. Tonight Zeno’s speech made her aware of a commendable aspect of his character. He was interested in justice. A man of strong principles who looked at all sides of an issue.

“All right, Cassie, let’s have our toast.” As her father refilled the wineglasses, she pushed her water goblet into the middle of the table, and held her wine above it. She noted Zeno’s smile as he recognized the familiar Scottish salutation to come.

“To the king over the water.” Cassie toasted her father.

“I drink to my verra bonnie lass.” Father met her glass with a tender look and a quiet clink. “And to my verra bonnie wifey.”
Clink
.

Zeno added to the sentiment. “And to the general joy of the whole table.” All glasses met in agreement over the water goblet.

“My word,” exclaimed Lydia. “Sedition and Shakespeare all in one toast.”

As dinner plates were whisked away and dessert was served, Cassie saw her chance to move conversation away from Zeno and
his politics. “Lydia, you have been unnaturally quiet this evening. Shall we tell everyone about our stimulating ride in the park today?” To which there quickly developed a lively discussion on the merits of bicycle riding, and a retelling of the incident at the football field.

Lydia, for once in her life, exercised discretion by avoiding the detail of Zeno’s very public demonstration of affection, and Cassie jumped in to credit him for taking a moderating role in settling the argument with the unruly footballers.

With a new zeal in her eyes, Olivia catapulted herself into near ecstatic discourse. “You would be interested to know the American suffrage leader Susan B. Anthony believes the bicycle has done more to emancipate women than anything else in the world. She has said, and I quote: ‘It gives women a feeling of freedom and self-reliance. I stand and rejoice every time I see a woman ride by on a wheel—the picture of free, untrammeled womanhood.’”

“You must join us, Mother. You, Lydia, and I will have a cycle together in the park, perhaps next Sunday afternoon if you are in town. We might even appeal to Mr. Kennedy, ask for his continued egalitarian influence so that we might ride unmolested past the rugby fields.”