The Gilded Cage Read Online Free Page B

would never be in the least bit serious about him.
    The sound of a carriage on the street below made Marguerite rise on her elbows. The horses’ hooves slowed, and she was up at the window, slipping behind the curtain to peer down. Just a glimpse of the top of Horatio’s hat and she was moving, gathering her robe in two determined fists and flying across the room and down the hall to the back stairs to the kitchen. Through the kitchen and dining room and scooting into the library. As she carefully closed the door halfway, she heard Horatio and Bell in the front hall. Marguerite took several deep breaths to get her breathing back to normal. Then she plucked a book from the bookshelves and strained to listen.
    â€œIf you’ll look to the fire, I’ll make the tea,” Bell said softly to Horatio.
    â€œI’ll be happy to,” Horatio said. “Hurry back.”
    Perfect! Thank goodness Bell did not worry about propriety, not that anyone did, in this house. She would not give a second thought to entertaining Mr. Jones so late. They’d probably become involved in some boring political discussion that Bell wanted to continue. Marguerite waited a moment until Bell had rustled back toward the kitchen. She opened the library door, then hesitated, looking down at herself. Quickly, she wet her cold index finger and reached inside her chemise. She pinched both nipples hard until they pushed up against the filmy material. She wasn’t blessed with a generous bosom like Bell’s. Anything would help.
    When she opened the parlor door, Horatio looked up. Disappointment flashed in his eyes for a split second, and Marguerite tamped down her annoyance. Of course he was looking forward to being alone with Bell. She brushed a tumbling lock of raven hair off her forehead and let her lips part in surprise.
    â€œMr. Jones. I didn’t know you were here.” Marguerite’s hand flew to her open robe, but instead of closing it securely, she merely pulled it together slightly. A full six inches of white throat and bosom were still exposed.
    Horatio looked away, then looked back, his light brown eyes embarrassed. “Miss Corbeau. I’m sorry if we disturbed you. B—Miss Huxton is making some tea. She’ll return in a moment.”
    â€œI was just searching for a book,” Marguerite said. She punctuated the remark by dropping it.
    In the time it took her to hesitate slightly, then bend over, Horatio was in front of her, stooping for the book. His eyes came level with the curve of one small, perfect breast, and his hand froze on the spine of the book. Quickly, Marguerite stood erect, the picture of modesty, and let him retrieve the book for her. Her fingers slid against his for a second when she took it.
    â€œThank you.” Her eyes didn’t leave his face. Confused, Horatio looked away. Marguerite smiled slightly, just a curve of the lips. She felt a surge of delicious power as Horatio peeked back at her. Her mask of modesty clicked back in, and she dropped her eyes.
    But Bell should be coming any moment, and this was all she had time for. Marguerite turned and ran from the room without a word. She mounted the stairs, inwardly exulting at her daring. She’d had so little practice, and her performance had been perfect! And it had been enough. Horatio would not forget what he’d seen, and he would wonder if he was being foolish by continuing to scrabble after Bell’s skirts. He would wonder. He would imagine. And one day soon, he would come.
    In the parlor, Bell closed the door behind her. She noticed at once Horatio’s agitation. She put down the tray and came toward him, concerned.
    â€œHoratio, what is it? Has something upset you?”
    Suddenly, Horatio gripped her hands and squeezed them. “Bell, we must talk.”
    â€œHoratio, you’re hurting me.” Bell extricated her hands and smoothed her skirt with trembling fingers. She knew what was coming;