The Rake's Proposition

by Bess Greenfield

  Mrs. Glendenning’s pointy elbow jabbed Claudine’s ribcage. “Go on. Everyone is waiting.”

  “My sister doesn’t wish to make a spectacle of herself,” Leo protested.

  Mrs. Glendenning waved her hand through the air like she was swatting a fly. “Nonsense. It’s all in fun, just a little entertainment to pass the time. What could be wrong with that?” Her small red mouth beamed with good-natured enthusiasm, but her catlike eyes sparkled with viciousness.

  The Great Santiago sidestepped his way along the row until he stood directly before Claudine. When he extended his hand, a chorus of encouragement from surrounding passengers brought her reluctantly to her feet. Looking like a fisherman who’d reeled in the catch of the year, the mind reader escorted her to the front of the room.

  Wood screeched against wood as his assistant dragged a balloon-backed chair to the center of the stage. Mr. Santiago motioned toward it. “Please have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”

  She followed the first instruction. The second was impossible.

  He gave the audience a conspiratorial look. “This is going to be fun, don’t you think? Great beauties always have even greater secrets.” A few people coughed. Others shifted in their seats.

  A slight frown marked his shiny forehead as he looked down at his not-so-willing volunteer. “Now close your eyes, miss.”

  The awkward angle made his sharp features appear sinister. “You cannot read my thoughts if my eyes are open?”

  “The Great Santiago can do anything,” he shot back defensively. “I’m only thinking of your comfort. The process can be somewhat jarring otherwise. But the decision is yours, of course.”

  It didn’t feel that way with a room full of people waiting for her to do as directed. Shutting out sight made her more aware of every sound, particularly the low hiss of whispering.

  The man’s sharp fingernails dug into her scalp from behind as if he were actually attempting to penetrate her brain. “Relax your body and let your mind go where it will.”

  A few disapproving murmurs came forth. Neither activity was appropriate conduct for a lady, as all were well aware.

  “I see a gentleman,” he announced. “Distinguished, wealthy, charming. A suitor? A relative? It’s difficult to say. The relationship is so very… murky. There is something not quite right about it.”

  His fingertips pressed even harder. “Oh, my. It seems the gentleman is not who he pretends to be, and the lady is a willing partner in his deception!”

  The whispering grew louder, more querulous.

  Claudine’s heart raced with the impulse to escape, but her body felt leaden. Had Mr. Treadway orchestrated this scene as some petty form of vengeance for her rejection of him? Every word out of Mr. Santiago’s mouth sounded scripted. It would not have been difficult for Mr. Treadway to provide him with information of a sensational nature.

  “Silence,” the mind reader snapped. “I must have silence in order to concentrate… Now I sense fear, guilt, and even… shame,” he continued in a melodramatic tone. “For no secret can be kept from The Great Santiago. A scandalous truth will soon be exposed!”

  The words used to describe her emotional state—fear, guilt, shame—transported her back to that night in the grand salon. She knew this man was incapable of reading her mind. He was leading up to a different revelation altogether. So why did she now feel like he and everyone else could guess her worst secret?

  Conjecture buzzed through the room. Mortified, she opened her eyes. The audience was staring at her as though she were on display at a museum for oddities.

  Leo sprung from his chair. “Still reading vague dark secrets in the mind of every lady you coerce onto the stage, are you? I must say I’m surprised you haven’t bothered to change your routine after all these years. No one is better at wrapping a kernel of truth in layers of innuendo and exaggeration.”

  The mind reader pointed at him, quite unnecessarily. “You’re the one! It was your face I saw!”

  Completely at ease, Leo sauntered to the stage. “Then I fear your vision has misled you for I abhor deceptiveness and pretense of any kind. I’m honest to a fault, sometimes sharing aspects of my life best left unmentioned. In point of fact, I was just telling my sister that I used to know you.”

  Mr. Santiago’s hostile gaze flickered over Leo’s fine dinner jacket, and his thin lips compressed into an expression of disbelief. “I’m certain we are all amused by your attempt to avoid the real issue.”

  Leo bounded up a few stairs and strode across the gaslit stage as though it belonged to him. “I’m surprised you don’t recognize me. I used to be a circus entertainer, like you but not nearly as famous.”

  Chuckles and murmurs of doubt resounded.

  He faced the audience. “Now you understand why I usually don’t bring up the subject. No one ever believes me. I think I still recall a few of my illusions. Would you like to see how well my memory serves?”

  Many of the ladies clapped, no doubt intrigued at the prospect of watching a rich man make a fool of himself.

  “I think maybe you’ve had too much to drink, sir, and you should kindly take your seat before you embarrass yourself further,” the mind reader sneered.

  Leo ignored him and flashed an irresistible smile at the group assembled before him. “You’re probably right, but I’m rather enjoying myself, and I think these fine people deserve some real entertainment… I’ll need a sewing needle and thread.”

  “Do you hope to entertain us with your needlework?” Mr. Santiago quipped, plainly miffed.

  Only a few passengers laughed. Far more of them seemed concerned with fulfilling Leo’s odd request. Heads bent as some of the women searched through their reticules.

  “Precisely.”

  The captain rose from his chair in the first row and motioned to a steward. After a brief conversation, he announced, “We’ll have those for you in just a moment, monsieur. I adore magic tricks.”

  “How kind,” Leo replied. Then he cocked his head at Mr. Santiago. “Would you mind stepping back a tad?” My act is not nearly as well-practiced as yours. I wouldn’t want any bystanders to be injured.”

  The mind reader took one step back and folded his arms with obvious resentment.

  No longer the focus of attention, Claudine found it easy to walk away unnoticed. Fixated upon Leo, Mr. Santiago had lost interest in her. Uneasy but fascinated, she watched from the entryway.

  The requested items were soon delivered. Leo thanked the steward and held them up, one in each hand. “I’ll need a witness to verify that the needle is unthreaded.”

  A huge red-bearded gentleman in the first row approached and gave a somber affirmation.

  Uncertainty flashed across Leo’s face as he studied the needle. “That’s certainly a long one… Oh, well. I’ve kept you all waiting long enough.” He opened his mouth and place the needle upon his tongue.

  Finally comprehending what he planned to do, Claudine cried out, “Don’t!”

  But it was too late. He’d already swallowed it.

  She gasped along with the audience as his Adam’s apple undulated inside his strong, tanned throat.

  He waited for several seconds, allowing the noise level to abate somewhat. Then he swallowed the thread. Again, the working of his throat drew murmurs of shock and concern.

  Claudine watched with damp palms and a throat that ached so badly she might have been the one to swallow a sharp object. He’d obviously done this to deflect attention away from her. The fool! Who could possibly save him now? He might soon die an agonizing death, and it would be entirely her fault.

  But he showed little sign of pain or strain. In fact, he seemed lost in concentration for a minute or two. Then he opened his mouth and removed the needle, which was resting upon his tongue.

  Exclamations of astonishment and relief echoed about the room along with a few skeptical mumblings.

  Light glinted off the pointy object as he raised it for inspection. “May I have a
witness to confirm that the needle is now threaded?”

  A regal blond woman in a flowing amethyst gown with off-shoulder sleeves rushed forward to verify the feat. The audience clapped their gloved hands together with enthusiasm. Evidently, they preferred this sort of unthreatening family entertainment to that earlier unpleasant spectacle.

  Leo bowed deeply and came up grinning. “So now you know what my sister feared. She hates this particular illusion, but she can’t keep me off a stage whenever I’m in sight of one.” The passengers laughed with hearty appreciation.

  “A parlor trick,” mumbled the bitter, overshadowed Santiago. “An amateur could have done that.”

  “Certainly,” Leo replied. “My little illusions are nothing compared to your great talent so I shall now leave the stage to you.”

  Then, without warning, he flipped backward, his back and legs moving in a synchronized arc. He landed on his hands with seemingly no strain. A few coins slipped from his pockets and plinked onto the wooden floor.

  The audience applauded thunderously and cheered. “Or maybe she feared I’d attempt this tired old stunt,” he said upside down and completely in his element. “It embarrasses her for some reason.”

  A few passengers came to their feet, calling, “One hand! One hand only!”

  He did so easily. Then, hand over hand, he walked to the edge of the stage and disappeared behind the blue velvet curtain.

  Claudine watched his performance with amazement. She was beginning to think there was nothing Leo couldn’t do. The audience was still calling for his return when she spotted him striding toward her across the thick carpeting from a door she hadn’t noted before.

  He seized her hand as soon as he reached her. “Let’s make our escape before they get restless again.”

  They hurried through a vast lounge filled with silk upholstered Jacobean furniture, potted palms, and vases of lilies. Some members of the orchestra, tuning their instruments, looked up as they passed by. “Do you really know that man?” she asked when they reached the grand staircase flanked by Grecian statues.

  “Unfortunately, yes. I ran into him often on the circuit. He’s always been a mean-spirited fraud. Try to put him from your thoughts.”

  She already had. All she could think about now was Leo and the strange choices he’d made in life. “So that wasn’t just a story? You really were an illusionist in the circus?”

  The huge candelabra above accentuated his prominent cheekbones and the self-assured set of his mouth. “Did I not prove it sufficiently just now? Must I demonstrate a more dangerous feat to convince you?”

  “Please, no! I believe you. I suppose that explains how you were able to place your ring on my finger without anyone noticing on the night of the raid.”

  “That was easy. It’s all a matter of diverting attention. The gendarme was distracted by the threat to his authority.”

  “I didn’t feel a thing. What was I distracted by?”

  “Fear, I imagine. You were so terrified of those officers, you were trembling when I held you.”

  “Was I?” she asked quietly, looking up at the Aubusson tapestry hanging above the landing.

  At the top of the staircase, they turned and began to walk down the passageway that led to their stateroom, but she slowed. “It’s too early to retire. Let’s stroll outside for a bit.” He was still holding her hand, and she didn’t want him to let go.

  “That’s an excellent idea. I could use some fresh air.”

  They walked for a while on the promenade deck, which was practically deserted. “Are you cold?” he asked as they strolled past the white lifeboats hanging from the davits.

  She should have been, but that mysterious warm glow inside her had returned. “No… Tell me more about your experiences in the circus. What drew you there?”

  His jaw clenched. Then he said, “I’m afraid you wouldn’t find it very entertaining. That was a dark time for me.”

  Of all the scenarios she’d imagined for Leo’s “missing years”, it never occurred to her that he might have suffered. “I’m not asking you to entertain me. I want to know about you life, dark or not.”

  He stared up at the stars. The wind rippled through his thick, wavy hair. “When other opportunities were closed to me, The Randall & Burgess Circus provided me with sustenance, shelter, and a family. The wages were pitiful, but it was better than farm work. I began as an illusionist, with card tricks and sleight of hand, and worked my way up to some dangerous stunts I had no business attempting.”

  In light of his stellar academic record, his explanation didn’t make sense to her. “Surely you had other options.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  She wasn’t supposed to know anything about his education. “It seems to me you possess a great many talents.”

  “You’re sweet to say so, but I do not recall any other offers at that time. I was grateful to Randall & Burgess until I realized why they weren’t so selective in their hiring process. Safety was not a priority. They often had to find replacements for injured or deceased performers. When they lost one of their trapeze artists, I was asked to take his place. The pay was slightly better so I agreed. My hands slipped one night, not surprising given my hasty training and several prior close calls. There was no net beneath me when I fell, only hay. I should have died, but I escaped with only a broken arm. I still don’t understand how I managed that. I knew I wouldn’t be that lucky a second time so I asked management to provide a net. They refused. The audience gets a thrill from the risk, they said.”

  “I can’t believe they would be so callous.”

  He made a cynical sound in his throat. “You haven’t been working for very long, I take it.”

  She wasn’t certain his assumption warranted a response. In any case, she was reluctant to give one. “So what do you do then?”

  “I quit, and I convinced a friend of mine to leave with me. We pooled our savings, hired other discontented performers, and organized a travelling vaudeville show. We avoided dangerous acts, focusing instead on lighter entertainment: singers, dancers, jugglers, dog acts, ventriloquists. We found an abundance of raw talent everywhere we went. Word spread of our enlightened employee policies and benefits. Our little troupe grew quickly. We didn’t make much money at first, but I didn’t care. For the first time in my life, I felt I finally controlled my fate. It was exhilarating.”

  That dreamy look had reappeared to his face, the one she’d seen when he’d first spoken of The Elysian. How she longed to know that feeling. “I can imagine it would be.”

  “We had no trouble getting bookings. There was a great demand for family-oriented entertainment in the West. Our audiences grew larger as our reputation spread and so did our profits. Eventually, we were able to open our own music hall in San Francisco.”

  Still, she sensed he’d omitted some crucial element from his story. “You never told me why you ventured west in the first place.”

  The orchestra began its evening set of popular ballads. A sultry voice sang a melody, accompanied by clarinet and piano. “Do you know this one?” he asked.

  She shook her head, instantly remembering their respective roles and his expectations as her employer. “No, but don’t worry. I can learn.”

  His slow grin put her at ease. “I’m not worried. I’m just surprised. For a cabaret singer, you don’t seem very familiar with popular music.”

  “Well, I’ve only been singing publicly for a short while and before that, at home, my father preferred music from the Classical, Baroque, and Romantic eras.”

  “You miss him a lot. I can hear it in your voice every time you speak of him.”

  She missed her entire family terribly.

  “I’m certain he was proud to have a daughter like you.”

  “Like me?”

  He smoothed back a loose curl that had fallen across her cheek. “Beautiful, smart, talented…” His voice had that low, velvety quality she’d heard the night before. His gaze fell to
her mouth. Was he going to kiss her? The warm glow inside her chest expanded and bubbled up like champagne.

  His Adam’s apple swelled. Then he took a deep breath and looked out at the moonlit sea.

  * * *

  “Do they dance differently in America?” she asked, looking up at him with those devastating blue eyes. “I was thinking a popular entertainer should be up to date on everything the fashionable set is doing.”

  Leo was afraid to touch her. His self-control had ebbed. “What would I know about the latest dances or preferences of the fashionable set?”

  “I suspect a lot.”

  “The choreographers can teach you anything you need to know.”

  “There’s no time like the present, and I’m eager to learn.” She touched his shoulder, sending an electric current down his spine. “Show me.”

  Did he imagine a carnal note in her demand? He wanted to show her so many things. Desperation fired his memory, and he launched into a routine of swaying, strutting, and high stepping he’d seen once.

  Spontaneous laughter burst forth. “Is there a fire you’re trying to stomp out?”

  He finished with a low bow. “It’s called the cakewalk.”

  She clapped. “It’s marvelous. Do it again!”

  Her smile sparked something inside him, drew him closer, and before he realized what he was about, he clasped her hand and propelled her in a twirl.

  She laughed again, a magical sound that compelled him to hold her closer. As his hands spanned her waist, she inhaled sharply, then exhaled slowly and melted against him.

  That ticklish, vaguely painful sensation stirred in his chest. No other woman had ever affected him so deeply. Far away applause followed the end of the song, but they kept dancing. A minute or two later an orchestra played something new.

  “I like this even more. What do they call this dance?” she asked, resting her head on his chest.