The Lady Gets Lucky EPB

by Joanna Shupe

  “Hello,” she said to an older woman dicing onions. “I’m Alice Lusk.”

  The woman looked up from her work. She wore a purple day dress with an apron tied over it. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Lusk. I’m Mrs. Henry, Mr. Ward’s cook.”

  Kit had brought his own cook? That clever man. She smiled at Mrs. Henry. “Thank you for coming. I’m grateful you’re here to help. You undoubtedly know more about food than I do.”

  “Well, that’s kind of you to say, but I’ve never worked in a fancy restaurant. My cooking’s for a family, not High Society.”

  “I haven’t worked in a fancy restaurant, either, so we’ll muddle through together as best we can. How long have you been in Mr. Ward’s employ?”

  Mrs. Henry put down her knife and wiped her hands on a towel. “Let’s see. Four years now this past May. Mr. Ward hired me from his parents’ house, and I was there six.”

  “You’ve known him a long time, then.”

  “I have, indeed. A rascal, that one. Like a Labrador. He’s got a lot of energy but he’s loyal, you know?”

  Alice’s lips twitched. “I do know. Thank you for coming today. I never would have been able to do this alone.”

  “Oh, I’d do anything for Mr. Ward. Besides, this is a nice change of pace. I normally just cook for him and the other staff. And my children, of course.” She pointed to the other two occupants of the kitchen. “Over there is my fourteen-year-old daughter, Opal.” She pointed to a young girl peeling potatoes. “And that is my seventeen-year-old boy, Sam.” At the sink stood a young man rinsing lettuce.

  “You brought your family,” Alice said. “I’m honored. Thank you, Opal and Sam.” They smiled at her and nodded.

  “They know their way around a kitchen,” Mrs. Henry said. “They’ve been helping me out since they could walk. You just tell us what to do. Mr. Ward said you were quite accomplished.”

  Kit, always the charmer. “Well, I won’t distract you from dicing the onions. Will you mince some, as well, please?”

  “I will, miss.”

  The three of them got to work. Mrs. Henry hadn’t lied—Opal and Sam were extremely competent assistants. Sam deboned chicken and made stock, while Opal washed and chopped vegetables. Alice and Mrs. Henry tackled some of the more complicated sauces and compotes. Kit poked his head in once or twice, checking in on everyone, and he brought them all a lunch of meats, cheeses and bread from a German restaurant down the block.

  Alice could hardly look him in the eye. She kept recalling what happened in the tiny office yesterday, how he’d licked between her legs . . . sucking and kissing her . . . and her stomach flipped. Who would have dreamed such a thing existed between lovers? And that both of them would enjoy it as much as they had?

  It didn’t mean anything, however. Just another lesson. She couldn’t read more into it.

  The kitchen door swung open as Alice kneaded dough for the dinner rolls. “Miss Lusk, a moment?” Kit asked.

  Her stomach went flying once more, but she tried to keep her composure. “Opal, would you mind taking over the kneading? About five more minutes should do it.”

  Opal came over and Alice shook out her arms as she walked out of the kitchen. Kneading bread was hard work. Kit was standing near the bar. “Yes?”

  Without speaking, he took her hand and led her to the tiny office. When the door closed, he pushed her against the door, his long body caging her in. Dark eyes studied her face. “I cannot stand it. I am trying to stay out of your way but having you so close is driving me mad.”

  She bit her lip. “You may come into the kitchen and help.”

  “If I do, I won’t be able to keep my hands off you. There’s something about you in a kitchen, in command and so dashed smart, that gets me hard.”

  “Kit!”

  “I can’t help it, Alice. Are you flattered or embarrassed?”

  She wasn’t certain. “Both, I think, but I must return. I cannot leave Mrs. Henry and her children to do all the work. Incidentally, you are compensating them, I hope.”

  “Of course. With money for all three and time off for Mrs. Henry next week. Kiss me, Alice.”

  “We shouldn’t.” Though she wanted to. More than anything. “Later. When we’re finished.”

  “I have a dinner tonight, so I’m leaving shortly.”

  “Oh.” Her stomach deflated. He was taking someone out for dinner. Of course he was seeing other women, like the woman at the opera, so this shouldn’t surprise or bother her. Yet, it did.

  “A friend, Alice.” He slid a finger under her chin and lifted her face. His gaze was earnest, unflinching. “A male friend. Forrest Ripley. I’ve known him forever.”

  “I assumed it was the woman from the opera.”

  Stepping back, he dragged a hand through his dark hair. “No. I didn’t . . . that is, I am not seeing anyone.”

  This made no sense. During the house party, she’d asked him not to, but they weren’t in Newport any longer. “Why?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “It’s not up to me. I assumed you would return to your life once we were back in New York.”

  “Alice, answer the question. Do you want me to?”

  “I . . . don’t know.” A bit hypocritical of her to demand his attention when she’d gone driving with Lockwood yesterday afternoon. “I want you to be happy.”

  Putting a hand on the door above her head, he leaned in. “I am happy. I’m especially happy when you let me drag you in here so that I may lick your pussy.”

  “That happened once,” she whispered, staring at his collar stud as her skin went up in flames. “And you shouldn’t say such things aloud. Someone might overhear you.”

  He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Will you let me do it again? It’s all I can think about.”

  It’s all I can think about, as well.

  “Kit . . .” Her heart pounded in a frantic rhythm as blood rushed to her lower half. “We shouldn’t.”

  “And when has that ever stopped you, my star pupil?” He dragged a fingertip over her shirtwaist, along her collarbone, over the edge of her corset, her sternum, until he reached her stomach. “I need to taste you again.”

  She was panting, boneless against the wood at her back. “I have to go.”

  “Think about it. Tomorrow night, after the dinner.”

  “Won’t you be celebrating with Preston and your staff?”

  “I want to celebrate with you. In here. Just you and me.”

  “You know I cannot stay out all night. My maid—”

  “Will be told that you are ill and do not wish to be bothered until Saturday morning.”

  “Oh, is that so?”

  “Please, Alice.” He bent and kissed her throat, then put his lips by her ear. “I want to thank you properly after everyone leaves.”

  She shivered, sensation nearly overwhelming her. “What if tomorrow night is a failure?”

  “Then we’ll commiserate together.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips and walked to the desk. “Now, I have a meeting with Preston and the club’s manager. So unless you plan to be found here, blushing like a schoolgirl—”

  Alice lunged for the latch and hurried out the door. Patting her cheeks, she tried to regain her composure before returning to the kitchen. No need for everyone to know she’d nearly allowed herself to be ravished in Kit’s office.

  You should not stay late tomorrow. Kit will break your heart if you let him.

  Logically, she knew this. But the desire coursing through her veins was telling a different story, one that spoke of limited opportunity and lifelong memories. Her mother returned on Saturday. Another chance like this would not present itself again.

  One more time with Kit wouldn’t hurt. Would it?

  She could have fun with him tomorrow night and keep her heart intact.

  Yes, she definitely could.

  Chapter Nineteen

  In his office, Kit went over the plan for tomorrow night’s event once
more. “To summarize, cocktails begin at seven. We have two attendants taking hats and canes as the gentlemen arrive, then four waiters for drinks. Everyone will sit at eight, when the dinner service starts. Madame Durham will begin performing while the men are eating, around half past eight. No plates will be cleared until Madame Durham finishes. Then dessert is served.”

  “Understood,” said Louis, the club’s manager. “I’ll ensure the waiters are prepared.”

  Preston stubbed out his cigarette in the crystal dish on Kit’s desk. “I still cannot believe you convinced Madame Durham to sing.” He shook his head. “She is practically American operatic royalty.”

  Kit was well aware. The first Black singer to headline at Carnegie Hall two years ago, Madame Durham had also performed for European princes and queens, as well as American politicians. Though she lived in Boston, she was in New York preparing for a performance at Madison Square Garden. When Kit heard this, he’d used a former lover’s connection to Andrew Carnegie to arrange a meeting with the famous soprano. Through charm, begging and offering a hefty fee, he convinced the singer to appear in the supper club for thirty minutes tomorrow night. “Yes, and I think her performance sets a tone about the egalitarian type of entertainment we intend to showcase with the club. Between Franconi’s food and her singing, I think we will sell out our memberships.”

  “Here’s hoping,” Louis said. “Was there anything else, sir? Otherwise, I need to see about the wine changes we discussed.”

  “That’s all. Thank you, Louis.”

  “You are welcome. Things certainly seem to be shaping up. Whatever was happening in the kitchen today smelled delicious.”

  “Indeed, it did.”

  Mrs. Henry and her children had left already, departing just a few minutes after Alice. The group had worked all afternoon, and Alice said they were caught up and tomorrow would go as expected. He had complete faith in her and Mrs. Henry.

  “I have to say,” Preston continued when they were alone. “I’ve known you for a long time and I am impressed. You’ve worked unbelievably hard on this.”

  “You act as if I’ve never worked hard on anything before.”

  One of Preston’s brows arched. “Getting women into bed doesn’t count.”

  “Please. I’ve never worked hard on that.”

  “Hmm. Speaking of working hard to get a woman into bed, how are things with the lovely Miss Lusk?”

  “I am not trying to get her into bed.”

  Preston had the gall to laugh. “Sure.”

  “I cannot fuck her. She’s a virgin and on a desperate hunt for a husband.”

  “Yes, and from what I’ve heard she may have found one.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Oh, haven’t you heard the latest? You’re usually up on all the society tittle-tattle.”

  There was gossip about Alice? “Tell me.”

  “Your dear little virgin went on a ride in the park yesterday with the duke.”

  The pencil in Kit’s hand snapped in half. “Lockwood?”

  “Yes.”

  Fuck. That arrogant bastard. How dare Lockwood try to woo Alice? Kit couldn’t blame the duke—Alice was amazing in every way—but that didn’t mean Kit had to like it. Lockwood and Alice had seemed quite chummy at the opera. Had they anything in common? Was the duke aware that she liked to cook and was very good at cards, at least Kit’s version of cards?

  “I see that news is sitting well,” Preston said wryly. “What are you going to do about it?”

  Pressing his palms deep into his eye sockets, Kit considered the question. Alice needed a husband and she wanted to marry for love. Was Lockwood a possibility? He’d have no problem finding a rich wife—nearly every unmarried girl in the city would swoon at the chance to become a duchess—which meant Lockwood liked Alice. That something about her appealed to him.

  So, what was Kit prepared to do? He couldn’t marry her, that was clear, and preventing Lockwood from courting her was beyond cruel. If he wished the best for Alice—and he most definitely did—then he had to stop kissing and touching her. He had to let her go.

  It was what he’d promised after the house party, yet he’d slid into familiar patterns the instant she reappeared in his life. He must show more resolve, more willpower. Stop dragging her into his office. Stop flirting. Stop thinking about her all the damn time. She deserved someone like Lockwood, as much as Kit hated to admit it. Alice deserved the world—a title, children, a doting husband. If Lockwood was willing, then Kit couldn’t stand in the way.

  “Nothing,” he told Preston, and lowered his hands. “I’d be happy for her, if that’s what she wants.”

  “Indeed.” Preston cocked his head thoughtfully. “Wasn’t the reaction I expected, but it’s awfully noble of you.”

  “I am not the courting type. She needs to marry to get away from her mother, and England is a fine choice.”

  “You’re not ready to settle down, even if it means losing her?”

  Kit drummed his fingers on the desk. “I don’t have her, so there is nothing to lose. And no, I have no interest in marriage. Just because Harrison is married doesn’t mean I’m next. Why don’t you marry?”

  Preston’s expression darkened, his brows pulling together. “My father already tried that, remember? Didn’t work out for him.”

  “You never told me how you wiggled your way out of that.”

  “It’s not important. I won’t have him manipulating me ever again.”

  “Which is why you flaunt Arabella around town every chance you get. To drive a stake through the old man’s heart.”

  Preston leaned back, his face clearing. “Revenge is only part of it. Mostly, I like Arabella’s company.”

  “And her presence keeps the debutantes away.”

  Preston tapped his temple. “Now you’re getting it.” He pushed out of his chair. “Let’s go round up Forrest. I’m anxious to knock some sense into him.”

  They left the office, their footsteps loud on the club’s tile floor. Kit asked, “Did you go inside that boardinghouse? Did you see his room?”

  “Yes, but he didn’t answer the door. Did he answer for you?”

  “He did, but only because I threatened to knock the door down if he didn’t. You wouldn’t believe what I saw in there. He looks terrible. Like he’s aged ten years in two months.”

  “That’s the drink. What else?”

  “Smelled terrible, too, like he hadn’t bathed in weeks. Clothes were dirty. The only food in the room was a few slices of moldy bread. Bottles everywhere. Nearly broke my heart.”

  “Jesus.” Preston jammed a derby atop his head. “What did he say?”

  “Argued with me. Accused me of not caring about him. Tried to get me to drink with him.”

  They went out the door and Kit locked up. Preston’s carriage waited at the curb, so they piled inside and the wheels began to turn. Preston studied the silver knob atop his cane. “And he agreed to go to dinner with us?”

  “It was his idea, in fact.”

  “We’ll take him to your house and get him cleaned up. The two of you are roughly the same size, so he can borrow one of your evening suits.”

  They traveled south on Broadway to Twenty-Eighth Street, then started west. When they pulled up to the boardinghouse, the same men were out on the stoop, harassing the pedestrians again. Kit ignored them and went inside.

  Preston ducked through the doorway, the tall bastard, and followed Kit up the stairs. Other than some murmuring, the hallway was quiet. Kit knocked on the door of 208. “Forrest, open up. It’s Kit and Preston.”

  Nothing.

  Preston pounded on the wood loudly. “Get up, man. Let’s go. I’m starving.”

  There was no sound, no movement from the other side.

  Kit turned the knob and was surprised to find the door unlocked. He peered inside . . . and found the room completely empty. No Forrest, no bottles. No moldy bread. The entire room had been cleared out. “What the hell?”


  “Are you sure this is the right room?”

  “Of course.” He glanced at the other doors. “This was where he was staying.”

  “Did he switch rooms?”

  “Let’s go find out.”

  They asked some of the other tenants on the floor but no one claimed to have seen Forrest. Then they went downstairs and rang the bell on the counter until the attendant shuffled out from a back room. “What do you want?” the older man snarled, his eyes rimmed with red.

  “The man in room 208,” Kit asked. “Did he switch rooms?”

  “No. Left in the middle of the night and hasn’t come back.”

  “What do you mean left?” Preston snapped.

  “Left, left. Moved out. Took off. Skipped out on his charges, too.” The man spit onto the floor.

  “You’re sure he’s not hiding out in another room?” Kit asked. “A friend, perhaps.”

  “People that live here don’t have friends. Plus, the boys on the stoop said they saw him sneak out around two o’clock.”

  “How much does he owe you?” Preston reached into his inner coat pocket.

  “Four dollars.”

  Preston dropped a sawbuck on the counter, along with his card. “There. Keep that, and if he returns, please call me. Day or night.”

  Kit produced a card, as well. “Or you can reach me. Either one of us.”

  The attendant pocketed the money and the cards. “This fellow important?”

  “He’s our friend,” Kit answered, “and he might be in trouble.”

  Preston nudged Kit’s shoulder. “Let’s go outside.” When they were on the walk, Preston searched up and down the street. “Where are they?”

  A whistle pierced through the noise. Looking up, Kit saw a man in a dark suit leaning out of a window across the street. He waved at Preston, who nodded and pointed to the walk. In a few seconds, the man was walking across the street to where Kit and Preston waited.

  “Mr. Clarke,” the man said. “All’s quiet inside. Nothing out of the ordinary.”