Naughty Marietta

by Nan Ryan

  “Did you count the curtain calls?” Marietta asked breathlessly, her face flushed with excitement, her eyes shining.

  “Seven,” replied Madam Sophia, giving the taller, younger woman one last affectionate pat on the back. “Now turn around, dear, and I’ll help get you out of the costume.”

  Sighing happily, Marietta dutifully turned. Madam Sophia’s plump fingers went to the tiny hooks going down the back of Marietta’s gown. As she worked, Madam Sophia said, “Such a grand opening night! Every seat filled and—” An urgent knock on the dressing room stopped her in midsentence. Madam Sophia clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Maltese, I presume. Shall I tell him you’re not dressed?”

  “No,” said Marietta. “You can let him in. I’ll finish behind the dressing screen.”

  Madam Sophia grabbed her charge’s arm, whirled her back around. “With him in the room?”

  Marietta laughed off Madam Sophia’s chagrin. “That’s what dressing screens are for, Sophia. Is my dress completely unhooked?”

  “It is,” said the coach, hands going to her wide hips.

  Marietta nodded. “Then open the door for Maltese.”

  “If you undress behind the screen, he’ll see the tops of your bosom,” scolded the disapproving Madam Sophia.

  “Nonsense,” said Marietta. “He’ll see nothing. Now, please, answer his knock and then you may go.” Madam Sophia made a face.

  Marietta laughed at her friend’s needless concern and assured the older woman, “Nothing will happen, believe me. I see to it that Maltese is always a gentleman with me.” She danced around behind the screen. “You know I’m telling you the truth.”

  Madam Sophia lifted a skeptical eyebrow, crossed to the door and admitted the eager admirer. To Maltese she said, “Marietta has early rehearsals tomorrow.”

  Eyes only for Marietta, Maltese said, “I won’t keep her up too late.”

  Madam Sophia bustled out in such a hurry, she bumped into Lightnin’, who stood just outside the door. They glared at each other.

  Maltese closed the dressing-room door and leaned back against it. “You were a sensation tonight, my dear,” he said.

  “You’re so sweet,” she replied with a flirtatious smile. “Give me a minute to get out of my costume and I’ll be ready to go to dinner. Will you blow out the lamp?” Marietta asked and ducked behind the dressing screen.

  “Of course, sugar,” Maltese said as he crossed to the mirrored dressing table, lifted the lamp’s glass globe and blew out the flame.

  The lamp extinguished, now only a single white candle burned in a holder near the open back window. The small room was bathed in the candle’s mellow glow. Shadows danced on the walls. It was a seductive atmosphere.

  Marietta was soon to make it even more seductive.

  His voice cracking a little, Maltese turned about and said, “So…you haven’t changed yet?”

  “No, Sophia and I were so busy congratulating ourselves I didn’t get around to it. But don’t worry, I won’t be a moment,” she said and favored him with another dazzling smile.

  Marietta was a tall woman. Her head and shoulders rose above the covering screen. She lowered the sleeve of her turquoise gown down one shoulder and asked, “You don’t mind waiting, do you?”

  Maltese swallowed hard. “No, sugar. You take as long as you need.” His eyes flashing with expectation, he reached for a chair, turned it around so that it faced the screen and quickly sat down.

  Marietta knew exactly what she was doing. She would, on this festive evening, provide her middle-aged benefactor with a few memorable thrills. And she would do so without actually showing him anything or compromising herself.

  She knew how it would excite him to know that she was stripping behind the screen. So Marietta stepped out of the turquoise costume and draped it over the screen.

  She paused, rested her arms atop the screen and said, “I’m just dewy with perspiration from my strenuous performance.”

  “Are you, sugar?” Maltese managed to say, his wide-eyed gaze resting on her pale shoulders. “Did you want to go up to your quarters and take a bath before dinner?”

  Marietta pretended to be thinking it over. “No, tell you what, Sophia was so thoughtful, she placed a basin of water here behind the screen. I’ll just strip off everything and take a little sponge bath. If that’s all right with you?”

  Maltese was now practically speechless with excitement. He nodded his silver head vigorously and gestured with trembling hands.

  “Does that mean yes?” she asked in a honeyed voice.

  “Y-yes,” he finally croaked. “Yes, absolutely.”

  “Good. I declare, I’m just so hot and sticky.”

  Marietta sensuously wiggled free of her lacy petticoats and tossed them atop the discarded costume.

  “These tiny little hooks on my camisole are hard to manage,” she informed him, her face screwed up in concentration as she worked at undoing the minuscule fasteners. She laughed then, and added, “If I can’t get these little devils open, I may have to enlist your help.”

  Maltese’s breathing grew labored and shallow at the exciting prospect. He watched with growing anticipation.

  “Ah, there!” she said after a moment. “Finally got the last one.”

  “That’s nice,” he said, a cloud of disappointment crossing his perspiring face. But the disappointment evaporated as the lace straps of the camisole slipped down her shoulders. The frothy undergarment was soon draped across the screen’s top and Maltese felt his heart hammer in his chest. His beloved—standing not six feet from him—was now bare to the waist.

  He began to pant when Marietta lifted her arms, swept her long red-gold hair atop her head and pinned it there. The movement caused her shoulders to lift, the swell of her full, bare breasts to rise dangerously close to the top border of the screen.

  Maltese anxiously licked his dry lips. He gripped his trousered knees with dampened hands; hands that itched to touch the beautiful woman who so tempted him. He could almost feel the warm heaviness of her white breasts in his palms.

  Marietta, knowing what was going through his mind, chattered gaily as if nothing unusual were taking place, continuing to thrill her suitor without really giving him anything. When she slithered out of her lace-trimmed pantalets and tossed them over the screen, she sighed as if with great relief.

  Maltese, red-faced now, pulse pounding in his ears, squirmed on his chair as she noisily kicked off her shoes, then peeled her silk stockings down and tossed them over the screen.

  “Ah, there,” she sighed, “everything’s off and I’m as bare as a newborn babe. It feels sooo good. Sometimes I wonder why we must wear such hot, heavy underclothing.” She laughed musically then and added, “Sometimes I wonder why we must wear any clothes at all, don’t you, Maltese?”

  “Y-yes, oh, yes,” he groaned as his heart tried to beat its way out of his chest.

  Just then a strong night breeze stirred the sheer window curtains. The candle flame danced wildly. The quick surge of light outlined—for a fleeting instant—Marietta’s bare silhouette against the dressing screen. Maltese quickly put a hand to his mouth to stifle his rising moan of joy. Such undraped perfection! Such purity! And it was his, all his.

  Light-headed, dizzy, Maltese felt his brain pounding out the message, “My darling Marietta is naked. Totally, gloriously naked. She is bare. Not wearing a stitch. And there’s only a silk screen between us.”

  Marietta began to hum as she dipped a sponge into the basin of water and pressed it to her throat, then let it slide slowly down her chest until it disappeared behind the screen. Maltese had never known such sweet agony. He watched, entranced, as his naughty Marietta sponged off her entire body. He could see nothing, but he imagined that he could. He wished that she would announce which part of her lovely body she was presently washing. But, of course, she wouldn’t. She was too much of a lady.

  Maltese held his breath, hoping against hope that the candle wo
uld flare again. His chest tightened as he pondered whether or not she had reached the nether region between her long slender legs. God, he wished that she would tell him.

  Marietta revealed nothing, just continued to hum.

  Still, being afforded the opportunity to share this intimate bathing exercise with her was incredibly pleasurable and highly arousing. He could, if asked, truthfully brag that he had watched Marietta take a bath. But that would be raffish behavior.

  Nevertheless, Maltese had high hopes that one day Marietta would be naked in a candlelit room with him and there would be no screen between them. He would be the one helping press the dampened sponge to her heated body.

  This pleasant fantasy continued as Marietta finished her bath and got dressed. When she stepped out from behind the screen, she was fully clothed and fully aware that she had given her aging caller all the excitement he could handle for one evening. Nothing more would be required of her. A sumptuous dinner at the Castle Top and then a good-night peck on the cheek.

  Maltese would leave her a happy man.

  Six

  Cole joined the departing crowd.

  He left the opera house, but he did not immediately go to the hotel. Crossing the street, he approached a false-fronted business, now darkened and closed for the night. He stepped into the shadows of the roof’s low overhang, turned and leaned back against the building. Arms crossed, Cole stood looking up at the top floor of the opera house.

  Marietta’s private quarters.

  Cole wondered if she was up there now, entertaining her aging Romeo. He recoiled at the thought and quickly looked away.

  From where he stood, he could see down the alley directly beside the opera house. The tall, spare man he’d observed in Maltese’s private box was posted there by a side door near the back of the building.

  Cole watched him for a moment, then looked back to the front of the theater. The crowd had thinned dramatically. Only a few stragglers remained on the sidewalk, talking, getting into carriages. Two men stood out—both were big, burly fellows dressed in work shirts and buckskins. Undoubtedly, the Burnett brothers that Harry the barkeep had told him about. Cole studied the brothers for a while, sizing them up, wondering how he was ever going to slip Marietta past them.

  His attention was drawn once more down the side alley, when the door opened and out into the mountain moonlight stepped Marietta and her middle-aged lover.

  Cole sank farther back into the shadows. He watched as the couple came up the alley toward the street. They turned onto the sidewalk and into the glow of the gaslights lining the avenue.

  Again Cole was struck by Marietta’s incredible beauty and for a moment he sorely envied the silver-haired man with whom she shared her time and her charms.

  Cole’s jaw tightened.

  He continued to watch as the couple, arm in arm, strolled up the street. The scar-faced bodyguard called Lightnin’ followed a few paces behind. Marietta and Maltese soon entered the bustling Castle Top restaurant at the top of the hill. Lightnin’ stayed outside. An armed, unmoving, black-clad sentinel.

  Cole again glanced directly across the street. The Burnett brothers still loitered outside the opera house. They would, he surmised, be waiting when Marietta got home.

  Cole pushed away from the building and headed for his hotel. Back at the Teller House he undressed without lighting the lamp, tossing his clothes over a chair. He mulled over what he had seen and heard. And he grimaced.

  Old Maxwell Lacey’s beautiful red-haired granddaughter was the mistress of a wealthy, powerful man who was old enough to be her father. And it would not be simple or easy to whisk the gold-digging beauty away from Central City. Not with the lovesick Maltese certain to interfere.

  Naked, Cole crawled into bed. He yawned and thought back over the evening. Like a quick jolt of adrenaline came the unforgettable moment when he’d gotten his very first glimpse of the gorgeous Marietta. Cole felt himself stir at the vivid recollection. She was without doubt the most beautiful, the most innocent-looking, the most desirable woman he had ever seen.

  He wanted her. Wanted her now. Wished that she was here, naked in his arms.

  Cole exhaled with frustration and silently cursed himself. He flopped over onto his stomach and pressed his surging erection into the softness of the mattress. He gritted his teeth, cursed his weakness and waited for this quick burst of unwanted desire to pass. He was annoyed with himself. And he was surprised. It wasn’t as though it had been weeks since he’d had a woman. He’d had one just last night in Denver. What the hell was wrong with him?

  Cole waited impatiently for the stirring sexual hunger to subside. All at once he recalled the discordant sound of Marietta’s singing voice. He could hear it ringing in his ears. That did the trick. Desire fled. Heat passed. Cole relaxed.

  He heaved a sigh of relief, turned onto his back, folded his hands beneath his head and wondered idly if the beautiful opera singer was in love with the Maltese mining magnate.

  No, she wasn’t. He’d bet his ten thousand against it. Harry, the barkeep, had said Maltese purchased the newly built Tivoli Opera House solely so that Marietta could star in all the productions. Marietta was cleverly, cold-heartedly using the lovesick Maltese to further her fledgling singing career.

  Cole lay awake pondering how best to get the heartless little gold digger back to Galveston. He decided he’d have to spend a few days in town before he tried anything. He’d watch her closely, check out where she went and when. And with whom. Try to catch her away from her big bodyguards. If he could get her alone for just a moment, he would introduce himself. Tell her he was a fan.

  Cole briefly considered courting her, but decided against it. He wasn’t that big a heel. He would simply level with her. Admit that he had come to Central City to escort her home to Galveston and her waiting grandfather.

  After all, he wasn’t sure she would refuse to go.

  “New York. London. Rome. Amsterdam. Madrid!” exclaimed a glowing Marietta after the morning’s rehearsals. “Andreas, tell me that one day I shall sing in all those cities’ fine opera houses!”

  The other players had left the opera house as soon as rehearsals had ended. Only Marietta, Sophia and the opera’s artistic director, Andreas, remained on-stage.

  Andreas, a slender, refined man with sandy hair, a pencil-thin mustache and a fondness for the red-haired Marietta, smiled indulgently but was noncommittal.

  He said, “My dear child, before you can hope to appear in the opera houses of London and New York, you must spend years mastering your craft. Listening to Madam Sophia, doing as she instructs. Learning, practicing, improving.”

  This was not what Marietta had wanted to hear. She sighed heavily and sank onto a chair. “Andreas, you know very well how much I practice. That’s all I do all day, every day. Tell him, Sophia.”

  The rotund Madam Sophia agreed. “She works very hard, Andreas. Perhaps too hard.”

  The discerning artistic director, like the voice coach Madam Sophia, was all too cognizant of the unfortunate fact that the long hours of practice were not going to make a great deal of difference. Marietta, bless her, beautiful though she was and possessed of a great stage presence, was never going to sing in Rome and Madrid. She simply did not have the voice. But Andreas did not have the heart to tell her.

  “Marietta,” Andreas said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “I believe Madam Sophia is right. You’ve been practicing too much. Both you and Sophia need to take a rest. Why don’t you get out of that costume, get dressed up in something attractive and go out for a walk or a carriage ride.” He smiled and added, “The fresh mountain air will be good for you.”

  Marietta’s weariness instantly fled. She jumped up out of the chair. “You mean it?” She looked from Andreas to Sophia. Both nodded. Her emerald eyes now sparkling, she mused aloud, “I could go shopping or out to lunch. Or just take a walk. I’d enjoy that so.”

  “And it would be good for you,” Madam Sophia said.


  “You go, my dear, and enjoy yourself,” said Andreas.

  “I will,” Marietta replied. “Oh, yes, I will!”

  Marietta felt a great surge of excitement wash over her as she planned her little adventure. She had the entire afternoon to herself. No practice. No rehearsal. Maltese was down in Denver and wouldn’t be back until late evening. She was free to do as she pleased!

  Marietta, as happy as a child, impulsively dashed over to Andreas and gave him a big bear hug. The normally reserved artistic director was disarmed by her. He laughed and gave her small waist an affectionate squeeze. She released him and turned to Sophia.

  Her arms around the short, stocky voice coach, she said, “Will you be a darling and help me dress?”

  A half hour later, a smiling Marietta, fashionably garbed in a bronze poplin traveling suit, stepped out into the warm Colorado sunshine.

  Her bright smile weakened a little when she saw both Burnett brothers in the alley. In her way. She wished, just once, she could go somewhere without them following her.

  Marietta took a spine-stiffening breath and raised and opened her bronze silk parasol. She stepped up to Conlin Burnett, the older of the two brothers, and told him, “I am going to take a walk. By myself. I do not want either one of you getting in my way. I do not want you dogging my every step. In fact, I want you to just stay right here where you are. Will you do that?”

  Con Burnett, twisting his battered hat in his big, callused hands, frowned and said, “Now, Miss Marietta, you know we can’t allow you to go off on your own. Lightnin’ would have our hides. We’re supposed to look after you.”

  Marietta gritted her teeth. She was wasting her breath and knew it. Maltese swore he had hired the Burnetts to watch after her. She knew better. He had hired them to watch her.

  Marietta whirled away and headed up the alley. The brothers exchanged worried looks and hurried behind her. She reached the sidewalk, looked up the street, then down. The parasol shading her delicate skin, she turned and sauntered up Eureka Street with no particular destination in mind.