Her temper flared. Her patience grew thin as she waited for a message from the murderous scum.
She plopped her straw hat on her head. On her way out the bedroom door, she grabbed her white gloves and floral shawl. Perhaps a walk in the fresh air would calm her.
When she reached the top of the steps that led to the entryway below, a shadow flitted across the hardwood floor at the bottom of the staircase. She recognized the person wandering around by the silhouette of fluffy feathers protruding from her bonnet.
“Julia darling, I thought I heard someone walking about.” Sylvia Morgan appeared at the foot of the stairs. “It’s about time you came down.”
Julia stopped her descent. In her present mood, she didn’t feel inclined to be pleasant, but she made the effort. Betsy and Sylvia were good friends. She didn’t want to anger either of them.
“No one else is up yet.” Sylvia let out a heavy sigh. “I’ve been so bored sitting here alone.”
She didn’t want company, particularly Sylvia’s. The woman had an uncanny ability for reading Julia’s expressions. In her present emotional state, she may not be able to hide her thoughts from the woman’s penetrating stare.
“I wasn’t aware you were visiting today.” She made her way to the foot of the staircase. “Perhaps if I’d known in advance, I could have rearranged my plans, but as you can see, I’m on my way out.”
“You’re going out dressed like that?” She rolled her eyes in a dramatic fashion.
“What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?” As soon as the words tumbled from her mouth, she regretted asking. Sylvia had no qualms pointing out her flaws.
“Nothing is wrong...if you’re the charwoman.” She pulled at the skirt of Julia’s gray muslin gown. “You’re not wearing a crinoline or a hoop.”
“I don’t like to wear them.” With a metal hoop scraping along the walls, she couldn’t sneak though the house, but she gave Sylvia a different excuse. “They’re too cumbersome. I seem to always knock things over when I walk about.”
“You’d much prefer wearing nothing at all?”
“I have on a petticoat.”
“Only one, I suppose. You realize that fashion dictates you wear at least three.” Sylvia stepped around her to view her backside. “I swear, I can see the crack of your bottom.”
A gasp escaped her lips. Her hand brushed at her backside even though she knew Sylvia exaggerated.
“Although that might be a rather exciting look for the bedroom, I dare say it’s not for the daytime—particularly with your figure.”
She closed her eyes and prepared for Sylvia’s critical appraisal of her figure—or lack thereof.
“Good God. You’re not wearing a corset.”
Her eyelids popped open when Sylvia grabbed at her midsection.
“Yes, I am. I just didn’t cinch it tight. Otherwise, I can’t breathe.”
“It’s not meant for breathing. It’s for your bosom and waistline.” She pulled Julia in the direction of the mirror hanging in the entryway. “Just look at yourself. You have neither.”
A brief glance was all she needed. Her figure suited her fine. Sylvia might not approve of how she looked, but her opinion didn’t matter. She pulled her shawl over her shoulders to hide her body from further comment and used the one strategy guaranteed to get her on a different subject. “I wish I had your figure. You’re so tiny. And your gown is beautiful. Pale pink is such a lovely color on you. It contrasts nicely with your dark hair.”
“Well, thank you.” She looked in the mirror at her own reflection as she preened and patted at her hair and gown. “It’s silk, you know. Quite expensive. It’s from an admirer.”
“Of course,” she agreed, for Sylvia never paid for anything. Her many admirers bought her expensive bobbles and gowns.
“I must be going,” Julia said. “I’m certain Mrs. Collins will be up shortly to keep you company.”
“Where are you going? If it’s somewhere interesting, I might be persuaded to go with you.”
“I’m afraid you’ll find this rather dull. It’s for the final fitting of my gown at Madame Russo’s shop.” She had not planned to visit the shop until later today, but she needed something to tell Sylvia.
“How droll,” Sylvia said, but her mood brightened. “Perhaps I shall accompany you. I haven’t decided what to wear to the Tinsdale party on Friday. Perhaps when I see the gown you’ll be wearing, I’ll have a better idea about what I shall wear.”
“I don’t think you’ll find my gown very inspiring,” she said, hoping to discourage her from tagging along. “It’s just a simple frock without any embellishments.”
“Probably so, since I know you don’t like to wear anything that draws attention to yourself.” She linked her arm around Julia’s and steered her toward the front door. “But it will give us an opportunity to talk. I’ve been dying to tell someone about the little adventure I had last night.”
Julia didn’t bother to hide her groan. A conversation with Sylvia was not something she looked forward to. Her favorite topic centered on her sexual encounter of the night before, but she allowed Sylvia to lead her to her carriage.
By the time they reached Madame Russo’s shop, she had heard more than she wanted about Sylvia’s prior night’s activities. But her stories were always the same. She’d invite a gentleman to her home. He’d find her desirable and thrust some expensive gift on her. Then he’d beg her to give herself to him. Ultimately, she and her “gentleman” friend would sate their lust in various rooms throughout the house.
To Julia’s relief, Sylvia never told of her encounters in intimate details—other than that first time three months ago. She’d been so shocked when Sylvia had attempted to relate a tale of lust and debauchery that she’d covered her ears with her hands and demanded she stop.
Sylvia had given the excuse that she only wanted to educate her since she seemed so naïve about men and their lustful ways. Julia had then informed Sylvia that her mother had told her all she needed to know about men. Anything else would be conveyed by her husband on their wedding night.
Of course Sylvia had laughed at her remark. Julia didn’t have a beau, much less a fiancé. To Sylvia’s way of thinking, it seemed Julia didn’t want a man. She’d rejected all the men she’d been introduced to at the numerous parties they’d attended.
Sylvia and Betsy continually thrust men at her, but she’d thwarted all their efforts. They tried to persuade her to become friendly with the men, but she’d never been impressed with the ones she’d met. The men dressed in expensive evening clothes, their speech sophisticated and their manners polished, but they were nothing more than irksome bores. They may consider themselves gentlemen, but they reminded her of the lecherous drunks she’d encountered a week ago in that dingy tavern.
The ones Sylvia and Betsy introduced her to may not be grubby and filthy, but they were just as repulsive.
Only one man interested her. A man of courage and honor. His kisses had thrilled her. His touch had set her body on fire.
She wondered how Sylvia would respond if she related her own encounter with a dark-haired, blue-eyed pirate. He’d found her beautiful. And she felt certain he’d desired her. But Sylvia would probably laugh hilariously, for her evening had ended with nothing more than a kiss.
A kiss she would never forget.
“What are you thinking about?” Sylvia asked. “You have a peculiar look on your face. I don’t believe I’ve seen you smile like that before.”
“Nothing.” She wiped all expression from her face.
The carriage rolled to a stop in front of the dress shop. Julia climbed down before Sylvia could question her further.
“Do you have to walk so fast? Your legs are so long and gangly that I have to take two steps to keep up with your one.”
She never slowed her pace, since that wouldn’t stop Sylvia from berating her for not being small and petite. She walked into the shop and left her in the street. By the time Sylvia enter
ed the dressing area, Julia had removed her hat and gloves, and unbuttoned her gown.
Sylvia put her hand against her chest as she gasped for air in a dramatic fashion. “I swear, Julia. You walk so fast that I have to run to keep up with you.”
“I’m sorry, but I want to get this over with. It seems like such a waste of time to be fitted for a gown I’ll probably never wear.”
“Not to worry,” Madame Russo said as she assisted her out of the plain, gray gown. “This was made more to your specifications.”
While she untied the strings of her petticoat, Madame Russo retrieved the undergarments.
Sylvia eyed the crinoline the dressmaker held. “That looks crooked and misshapen.”
“It’s the latest fashion.” She helped Julia into the spring steel cage held together with white linen tapes. “The front and sides lay flatter to the body while the fullness is over the backside.”
A thin, white petticoat went over the top of the crinoline before she slipped the rose colored gown over Julia’s head and smoothed the skirt down the steel-framed foundation.
“It’s not her backside that needs to be built up.” Sylvia walked around her for a better view while the dressmaker fastened the hooks in the back. “You need to cinch up the corset so her breasts pop up in the front.”
“No.” Julia put her hands to her bosom. “I don’t want anything spilling out of this dress.”
“I don’t know why you have to be so particular. You’re not the one paying for the gowns.”
“True, but I am the one who has to wear them. I refuse to wear anything that’s too revealing.”
“You didn’t seem to mind that last gown. That is, not until the boy delivered it to the house.” She had a perplexed look on her face. “I was here at Madame Russo’s the first time you tried on that sapphire-blue gown. I remember your expression when you looked at yourself in the mirror. You seemed quite delighted with the cut of the gown.”
She had been pleased with the gown. The daring plunge of the bodice had done the trick with Wilber Hennigan, but she couldn’t admit that to Sylvia.
“It was the color of the gown that pleased me,” she said as she searched for a plausible excuse. “I’ve always been fond of that shade of blue. I didn’t notice how exposed my bosom was until I put it on later at the house. It must have been the different lighting.”
“You shouldn’t lie. You’re not very good at it. I can see the guilty look written all over your face.”
“What do you mean?” She brushed her hand over her face as if to wipe away the guilt.
“I mean, you knew exactly how low the gown was cut, and you were thrilled. Then later, you must have gotten a guilty conscience. That’s probably why you refused to wear it.” She surveyed the front of Julia’s gown. “I’m certain that’s why you’re overcompensating with this gown. It doesn’t appear as though you have any breasts at all.”
“I wish that were the case.” She tugged at the bodice to hide more of her bosom. The cut of the gown showed only the beginning swell of her breast, but the front dipped at the very center, revealing the shadow of her cleavage. “If there was nothing to look at, it would discourage men from trying to peer down the front of my gown.”
“No, Mademoiselle,” Madame Russo said to stop her from pulling at the gown. She adjusted the short sleeves so they draped off her shoulders. “The sleeves go like this.”
“But I don’t like them like that.”
“I agree,” Sylvia said. “Her shoulders are much too square to be exposed. And the bodice makes her breasts look too small. That crinoline is so straight up and down on the sides that it makes her look even taller. Honestly, Julia. You look more like a tall, thin boy.”
“Oh, no.” Madame Russo threw her hands in the air. “Mademoiselle could never be mistaken for a boy. She has a marvelous body, just perfect for any gown she wears. And even if her bosom is not showing, it is obvious she has lovely breasts.”
“Please.” Heat flushed into her cheeks. “Can we just get on with the fitting? All I want is a modest gown so I don’t attract any attention.”
Sylvia and Madame Russo looked at each other. They both let out a heavy sigh, but it was Madame Russo who expressed her opinion out loud.
“Mademoiselle, nothing you could ever wear would prevent you from being unnoticed.”
Chapter Six
Payton forced his index finger between the snug fitting collar and his cleanly shaven neck as he gazed around the room. A tailor had done a hasty job of fitting him for evening attire before he’d left San Francisco. The man had practically begged Payton to give him more time to make sure it fit properly, but he’d been in a hurry to leave. Once he’d realized Miss Sally Smith had lied, played him for a fool, and then ran off, probably to Sacramento, he’d been anxious to follow.
He almost laughed out loud at his own stupidity. The astute Mr. Stover would never have been so gullible as to believe Smith was her real name. Payton wanted to find her, but that seemed an impossible task. He had little information to go on other than she’d been with Wilber Hennigan when he died. He didn’t know her true name, where she disappeared to, or even if she would be in Sacramento.
At times, he doubted she existed at all. In his mind he would reach for her, but she’d slip though his fingers like a mist. Perhaps he’d only imagined the beautiful angel who’d appeared out of the smoke and fog. She seemed to be as elusive as a mermaid riding on the waves just beyond his grasp.
His eyes closed as he pictured her in his mind. Her hair had felt like silk. Her bare skin had been warm and smooth. Her lips were soft, her hand gentle against his naked chest. And her kisses...
He opened his eyes and shook his head while attempting to push images of her from his mind. Thoughts of her heated his blood and made his body stiffen. He took a deep breath and released it slowly, hoping to calm his aroused state.
“Tyler, my boy.” A slap on the back accompanied the salutation. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
Payton turned to face the man who had procured him an invitation to this party. “It’s a very lavish affair. Good food.” He held up his glass. “Excellent champagne.”
Gerald Baxter leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Dunbar’s mother arrived here a while ago, but I haven’t seen her. And I haven’t learned anything new about her, or her son.”
“Neither have I.” He took a sip of champagne. “I tossed around a lot of money at the poker table, but no one seemed eager to talk about them. Evidently, Betsy Collins and Lawrence Dunbar aren’t popular topics in Sacramento. I didn’t want to press too hard—not yet anyway.”
“Once he turns up in California, there’ll be plenty of gossip about him. A man like Dunbar won’t be content lurking in the shadows. He likes living high and spending money.”
“That’ll be difficult to do. From the information I gathered, Hennigan had the bulk of the money hidden away somewhere.”
“Dunbar’s mother may be the only person who can help him now that his partner is dead. She’ll lead you to him, one way or another, but you may have a long wait.” Baxter’s bushy gray eyebrows furrowed together. “What about command of your ship? How much time off will the steamship company allow you to take?”
“I had to give up the coastal run, but once I’ve finished with the business here, they’ll give me command of another ship. It runs out of San Francisco and goes to Hong Kong and Japan.”
“Let’s hope the wait isn’t too long.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll find him no matter how long it takes,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “I’m a man of patience.”
“I know you are, but you’re also a young man. This party shouldn’t be all work.” His smiled returned, and his voice rose to its normal level. “You should be dancing. There are some very attractive young ladies here tonight. If you see one that strikes your fancy, I’d be more than happy to make the introduction.”
“I’ll be sure to let you know.” He glanced around
at the females in the room. After the angel he’d met a week ago, no other woman appealed to him.
Suddenly, he shoved his champagne glass onto Baxter. “Will you hold this for me?”
“What is it, Tyler? You look like you’ve seen the Devil himself.”
“Just the opposite.” His lips curved into a smile. “I think I’ve just seen an angel.”
As Payton edged his way toward the young woman who’d captivated his soul several nights earlier, he noticed a subtle difference about her. She looked calm, serene, almost aloof, but he knew the woman standing on the far side of the room was his angel.
She wore her honey-blonde hair gathered up into an elaborate coil. Spiral curls cascaded down her back. Those incredible eyes of hers sparkled with reflected light from the crystal chandeliers. Her mouth, with the soft little peaks, glistened with a natural blush that closely matched her rose colored gown.
With something that felt like possessiveness, it pleased him that her gown wasn’t cut too low. The demure bodice denied the other men an immodest view of her breasts, but the short sleeves draped off her shoulders and displayed a wide expanse of creamy white skin.
****
Sylvia Morgan raised her champagne glass to her mouth in an effort to cover her lips when she spoke. “Julia darling, don’t look now, but there is a very tall, very magnificent looking gentleman walking directly toward us. Do you happen to know him?”
Slowly, she turned in that direction so her movement appeared casual. Several tall men milled around the room, but she immediately spotted the one to whom Sylvia referred.
“No, I don’t believe I know him,” she said, but a fluttering sensation stirred in the pit of her stomach.
Although she didn’t recognize him, something about the man approaching them made her instinctively cautious. He had a predatory look. Definitely carnivorous. And she felt as though he intended her to be his next meal. He stared directly at her as he wove his way through the couples on the dance floor.
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