Daughters of Fortune: A Novel (12 page)

“Class is nearly over now,” he concluded. “But maybe take this weekend to think about what you want to say about yourself and the best way to express it.”

Before Morgan could respond, the bell rang. The class started to tidy up, chattering about their weekend plans. Caitlin was the last to wash her brushes. She had just gotten back to her easel when Morgan walked by with one of her cohorts.

“I don’t see what’s so great about her picture anyway,” she sneered, making sure to speak loud enough for Caitlin to hear.

“Mr. Wright probably just feels sorry for her,” her friend responded.

George had arrived at that exact moment to meet Caitlin after class. It was Friday afternoon, and they planned to head into town for hot chocolate and cake at the Little Tea Shop on Watling Street. She overheard Morgan’s bitchy comment and shook her head.

“Don’t worry about them,” she told Caitlin. “They’re just jealous.”

Caitlin gave a weak smile. Somehow the knowledge didn’t make it any easier.

There were plenty of quaint country pubs around Towcester. The Brass Monkey wasn’t one of them. A dingy establishment on the outskirts of town, the floors were sticky; there was never any toilet paper in the
bathrooms; and it stank of stale cigarettes and beer. But the landlord wasn’t fussy about ID, so Greycourt’s seniors patronized it despite these obvious faults.

It was Friday night and, as usual, Elliott Falconer was holding court at one end of the bar. Beneath the scarred table, where no one could see, he could feel Morgan’s hand sliding up his leg, her knuckles grazing his groin. He sighed. The last thing he needed right now was another random hookup with his psycho ex.

He reached down and pushed her hand away. “Cut it out, Morgan.”

He made his voice deliberately harsh so there could be no misunderstanding. Not that anything he said seemed to get through to her these days. How many times could you tell someone it was over? Although maybe getting drunk and sleeping with her every few weeks was sending out mixed messages . . .

“Why don’t you hit on someone else?” He nodded across the smoke-filled room. “What about that guy in the corner? He looks desperate enough.”

The entire table turned to see where he was pointing—at an overweight, bald man in his fifties. Everyone, apart from Morgan, laughed. She scowled at Elliott.

“Fuck you.”

The obscenity sounded out of place in such a refined voice, and everyone laughed again.

Elliott set down his pint. It was unusual for Morgan to react so strongly to his jibes. Usually she put up with any crap he threw her way. He was the only person at Greycourt who could treat her like dirt and get away with it.

“What’s up with you, then?” he asked.

Morgan looked away. “Nothing.”

He was about to let it go—frankly, he didn’t give a shit. But then Lucille Lewis, Morgan’s sometime best friend, said something interesting.

“It’s Caitlin Melville.” Like most of the girls at Greycourt, Lucille was prepared to betray a confidence if it meant getting Elliott’s attention for even a moment. “She’s Mr. Wright’s new pet, and Morgan’s jealous.”

Morgan shot Lucille a furious look. She had no desire for the humiliating incident in art class to become public knowledge.

“Don’t be stupid,” she said quickly. “I’m just tired.”

But Elliott sensed she was lying and couldn’t help adding salt to the wound.

“Caitlin Melville?” he drawled, a slow grin spreading over his face. “Oh yeah, I remember her. She’s pretty hot.”

Beside him, Morgan stiffened. “Don’t be so ridiculous.”

He shrugged. “I’m not. She’s a babe.”

The guys around the table murmured their agreement. Caitlin had unknowingly become an object of lust among the hormonally charged adolescent boys at Greycourt. She wasn’t their usual type, they all agreed in the locker room. She was quiet, shy even. And the company she kept—all those geeks and dykes like George Harvey. She didn’t do much with herself either. Other girls shortened the hem on their regulation skirts, or bought their shirts a size too small. Not Caitlin. She didn’t make any effort: no makeup, raven hair tied back in a ponytail. But that didn’t matter. She had a natural beauty that needed no enhancement: creamy skin, deep blue eyes, and full, pouty lips. And a knockout body. While Elizabeth was lithe and compact, Caitlin was all Rubenesque curves.

“Yeah.” There was a faraway look in Elliott’s eyes. Earlier that evening, in the dining hall, he’d deliberately stood in her path as she’d walked to her seat, forcing her to squeeze past him. He could still remember the feel of her breasts brushing against his chest. She had to be a 34D at least, he reckoned. In a school where most of the girls either didn’t eat or threw up what they did, a decent rack was rare and highly prized. “She’s definitely hot.”

Morgan pursed her lips. She always hated hearing compliments about another girl. But for it to be about that stupid little country bumpkin really got to her.

“Well, it’s not like you’d ever get anywhere with her,” she retorted. “The Virgin Mary isn’t about to put out.”

Elliott grinned with the easy confidence of someone who had slept with half his class and knew the rest wouldn’t need much persuasion. He’d noticed Caitlin’s puppy-dog eyes following him around school.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he said, with a touch of his trademark arrogance.

There was a chorus of catcalls around the table.

“Sounds like a challenge.” This came from Sebastian Ashford, Elliott’s best friend and roommate.

“Fifty pounds says you can’t screw her by the Snow Ball,” Seb’s identical twin brother, Nicholas, added.

With their delicate bone structure and floppy fair hair, the Ashford twins were good-looking to the point of being almost girlish. But their beauty was only skin-deep. Intensely cynical and morally bankrupt, more than one girl around the table couldn’t be quite sure which twin she’d slept with, or whether it was both. Their sharp minds were in constant need of diversion, and this seemed as good a game as any to keep them amused—for a little while at least.

Elliott gave a quick glance around to make sure Elizabeth Melville wasn’t within earshot. She might not have much time for her half sister, but he had a feeling she’d still draw the line at this. Only once he was sure she was nowhere near did he give the nod. “You’re on.”

Half an hour later, the bets had been placed. Elliott stood to win—or lose—about a grand. The money didn’t bother him. His generous allowance would cover the financial hit. It was more about maintaining his reputation. And there was no way he intended to lose that.

It wasn’t hard for Elliott to engineer a reason to talk to Caitlin.

Monday lunchtime, he was in the senior common room when he overheard two nerds in the drama club talking about her. They’d apparently roped her into doing the scenery for the next school play,
The Winter’s Tale
. She’d told one of them, Rob Cooper, that the seven-foot papier-mâché pillars she’d designed for Act I in the palace were now dry. They were meeting her in the art room after classes to carry them downstairs to the school auditorium. Elliott saw his chance. It didn’t take much to persuade Rob to let him take his place.

Elliott walked into the art room and greeted Caitlin like an old friend, even going so far as to complain that he hadn’t seen her around much since the term had started. Caitlin thought of the dozen or so times she’d walked by Elliott and he’d ignored her and promptly forgot all about them.

She watched as he effortlessly picked up one of the pillars. Next to him, Paul Edmunds, the other half of the team responsible for shifting the scenery, was struggling with his.

“I didn’t realize you were involved with the drama club,” she said to Elliott as he headed toward the theater.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, I help out from time to time.” He grinned. “Mainly when they need some heavy lifting done!”

Behind them, Paul sniggered. Elliott shot him a glare and glanced quickly back at Caitlin, but she hadn’t noticed. She was too busy wishing that she’d worn something other than her paint-spattered jeans and a shapeless T-shirt.

“Well, let’s get these downstairs . . .”

Caitlin didn’t want the afternoon to end. Fortunately, Elliott didn’t seem in any rush to leave, either. After they’d finished their task, and Paul had tactfully departed, Elliott leaned against the wall and gave Caitlin a slow grin, the one that made her stomach flutter.

“So are you free now for coffee?” he asked. “We could drive into town.”

Caitlin hesitated. “I can’t,” she said regretfully. “I told George I’d watch her ride. She’s competing at four.”

So blow her off,
Elliott was on the verge of saying. But he stopped himself. Most girls would happily dump their friends to spend an hour with him. But his gut told him Caitlin wasn’t that type.

“So when are you free?” He tried hard to look vulnerable. “Unless that was just a polite excuse, and you don’t really want to go out with me.”

“How about Saturday?” she suggested quickly. It was hard to keep the enthusiasm out of her voice.

He heard it and grinned lazily. “Saturday sounds perfect.”

Her face lit up, her expression confirming everything he’d thought.

This was going to be too easy.

_________

Elizabeth wasn’t sure when she first noticed Caitlin and Elliott together. She had been so busy that term: what with studying for four honors courses, her student council duties, extracurricular activities, applying to Cambridge, and organizing the Snow Ball, inevitably she had less time to socialize. She hadn’t even wanted to go along to the rugby match that Saturday. She could think of far better things to do than stand in the November drizzle and watch thirty men running through the mud. But it was a home game against Oundle, Greycourt’s biggest rivals, and as student council president she should show school spirit. So she huddled up on the sidelines with the other diehard supporters.

With two minutes left in the game, Greycourt was three points down. Sebastian, one of the forwards, made a pass to Elliott, the fly-half. He tore down the field, passing Oundle’s defense . . . The crowd roared as he grounded the ball in the end zone, scoring and putting Greycourt two points ahead as the whistle blew.

Elizabeth clapped and cheered with the others, watching as Elliott ran across the field, high-fiving the team as he went. Elizabeth rolled her eyes. God, how he loved playing the hero. She watched in amusement as he headed toward a little knot of adoring girls. He picked one of them up, swung her around in victory. So Elliott has a new girlfriend, Elizabeth thought. Poor thing. She wouldn’t last long, that was for sure. Finally Elliott put the girl down. They spoke for a couple of moments, and then Elliott kissed her and started to jog toward the locker rooms. He’d gone twenty yards when he turned and shouted something back.
The object of his attention looked around, finally giving Elizabeth a glimpse of her face.

Elizabeth blinked once, then again. Now what the hell’s going on
there
? she wondered.

Refreshments were served in the school cafeteria after the game. As soon as they got inside, Elizabeth cornered Morgan. If anyone would know what was going on between Elliott and Caitlin, it was her.

“So is it true?” she demanded.

Morgan followed her gaze toward Caitlin and Elliott. “Is what true?” she asked, stalling for time.

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “Are Caitlin and Elliott going out?”

“I guess so,” Morgan hedged.

“And how long have they been together?”

“A couple of weeks,” she admitted reluctantly. “Maybe longer.”

Elizabeth couldn’t believe it. How had she missed this? Okay, so she hadn’t spent much time with her old crowd this term. But still . . .

She thought guiltily about the promise she’d made to her father. He’d called her into his study the night before term started and asked her to keep an eye on Caitlin at Greycourt. But she’d barely spoken to her half sister since they’d gotten here.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Elizabeth asked Morgan.

“I don’t know. I suppose I didn’t think it was important.”

“Not important?” Elizabeth scoffed. “Usually another girl only has to look at Elliott and you’re screaming bloody murder.”

Morgan’s lips tightened. “I must be over him, then, mustn’t I?”

Elizabeth thought about it for a moment. She wasn’t sure she believed Morgan—but what possible reason did she have to lie? “So, is it serious?” she asked finally.

“How should I know?” Morgan fired back. She didn’t like all these questions. She knew Elizabeth was smarter than she was and was worried that she was going to trip herself up and reveal something she shouldn’t. “Why don’t you ask them instead?”

Elizabeth glanced across the canteen to where Elliott and Caitlin were drinking juice together. For once, Morgan was right; she needed to hear this straight from the horse’s mouth. But something told her it would be best to wait until later, when she could get Caitlin alone.

*   *   *

Caitlin pulled away in his arms.

“Elliott, no.” Her glance went to the door, a chair wedged under the handle in case his roommates came back. “I think we should stop.”

“Really?” He looked down at her. In the soft light of the bedside lamp, she could see the amusement in his dark, intelligent eyes. He could tell she didn’t mean it.

He bent his head and kissed her again. After a moment, she sighed softly against him, and he knew that he had her. Slowly, skillfully he maneuvered her onto her back, his single bed creaking under their combined weight. This time, when she felt him pushing up her gray wool skirt, one hand gently caressing the soft flesh of her inner thigh, while the other unbuttoned her blouse, she didn’t tell him to stop.

That was because she didn’t want him to. In fact, a pretty big part of her wanted him to keep on going, to know what it felt like to have his fingers reach inside the white cotton panties that were standard issue at Greycourt, to have him touch the dull ache between her legs that was there whenever he was around. A month ago, she’d never have imagined feeling this way. Up until then, Caitlin had always considered herself to be a sensible girl. But when it came to Elliott Falconer, she couldn’t think straight.