They climbed a cantilevered staircase to the third floor and passed a dizzying variety of rooms. There was a Japanese bedroom with ebonized woodwork and a Moorish one with patterned wallpaper, colorful cushions, and a silver and gilt chandelier. Her parents would have considered the rooms decadent. She did as well, but she was also fascinated. “You designed these yourself?”
He was walking slightly ahead of her. “No, I have no time for such things. One of my friends is a decorator. I told her not to bore me and gave her free rein. The rooms which pleased me most inspired some of my theaters.”
The furnishings in her parents’ house were worn-out and old-fashioned but comforting in their sameness. Leo’s house, on the other hand, overwhelmed her with its intricate details, variations, and patterns. It was lovely, but she wondered how one could ever be at peace here. “You must be pleased with her work. You could never be bored in this house.”
He stopped suddenly and turned toward her with a seductive grin. “Not now, anyway.” Then he seized her, lifting her from the floor and spinning her in a half-circle before setting her down again. “Now I have everything I need.”
Happiness swelled inside her chest, erupting in laughter. He kissed her tenderly, and for a few moments she basked in the belief that he loved her as she loved him.
Then he released her abruptly as if surprised, perhaps even embarrassed, by his exuberance. “Do try to control yourself, Mademoiselle Lavoie.”
Though his tone was playful, his use of her assumed name sobered her immediately. How could she possibly envision a happy future with him when so many secrets and outright lies stood between them? Her feet stood firmly on the carpet once again, but she felt evermore insecure.
Leo strode further down the corridor and stopped before a paneled door. “I thought this room might suit you best. The color scheme will set off your eyes.”
No one had ever tried to match her to the décor of a room before. Tentatively, she peered inside. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through two floor-to-ceiling windows, accentuating the blues and greens in the Persian rug. A Venetian chandelier hung from a cove ceiling. Exotically patterned pillows in shades of turquoise and blue were piled upon a high Jacobean mahogany tester bed. A midnight blue velvet settee faced a marble fireplace with a surround of blue mosaic tiles. The only plain aspects of the room were the cream colored walls, and even those looked uniquely textured.
He misinterpreted her silent astonishment. “You don’t like it. Why don’t you investigate the other guest rooms this evening and decide which you like best? You can have a whole floor to yourself if you like… I’m sure you’re tired after so much travel. I’ll send Nellie up to assist you.”
She welcomed the solitude that followed. Her emotions conflicted so badly in his presence she felt all twisted up inside. Alone, she might be able to think clearly instead of allowing him to make every decision for her.
She wandered to the adjoining bathing room, tiled in gray and white marble mosaic and lit by a crystal chandelier. A bath would be just the thing to settle her mind.
* * *
Jamming a batik cushion behind his head, Leo sprawled on his favorite piece of furniture, the worn chesterfield couch, in the library. Of all the rooms in his house, he felt most at home in this one, relaxing among the souvenirs of his travels and his books. The musty scent of his vast collection from around the world brought him a sense of comfort and peace. He prized each and every one of his books, as he’d never owned any as a child.
When his father had extra money from the occasional sale of one of his avant-garde works, he celebrated with the purchase of extravagantly expensive paints and brushes or went out at night to the cabarets and dance halls and spent the money on strangers.
It seemed so unfair that his mother never had extra money to spend because she modeled for his father for free, but she was always patient and understanding. “It makes him feel important to buy drinks for all his friends,” she’d explained. “Every man needs to feel important for something.”
Even at that young age, Leo knew his father’s priorities were misplaced. It was the first time, but not the last, that he vowed to be different.
The sound of water ebbing and flowing against a cast iron tub three floors above captured Leo’s attention. He tilted his head back to stare at the coffered ceiling as he pictured Madeleine’s naked body undulating in his tub.
They needed to come to a new understanding, and that worried him because he could see how she might assume he’d deceived her from the beginning.
He hadn’t. He had every intention of making her his star act at his newest theater when he first met her. But the situation changed. Fortune had rewarded him with a rare treasure, and he wasn’t of a mind to share.
He would not have his woman subjected to the demeaning remarks of certain men who felt the price of a ticket gave them the right to say or do anything they pleased to a performer. She’d suffered enough abuse.
A surge of anger shot through his chest as he thought about the man who forced himself on her, but he banished the thought and the man as unworthy of his time. Whatever had been done to her to make her so fearful of her sexuality, he would undo. He was the just the man to heal her.
Perhaps he already had. Their encounter in the carriage was destined to become one of his favorite memories. He grew uncomfortably hard at the thought and forced himself to think of something else. He’d never be able to sit through dinner if he continued this way.
A sultry voice interrupted his reverie. “Please do not think I’m not grateful for all you’ve done for me, but it occurred to me while I was upstairs that I’ve been remiss in inquiring about all the terms of my employment. We should correct that going forward, don’t you think, to prevent misunderstandings?”
Leo had long ago learned the trick of erasing any sign of emotion from his face, and he did so now as he looked up. Madeleine stood before the arched French doors, wearing a lilac dress he’d never seen before. The embroidered bodice narrowed to a point at her small waist. Her breasts strained against the low square neckline, and her hair was arranged in a way that drew his eye to the long slender column of her neck.
He had to remind himself to breathe normally, but he forced his most charming smile. “Certainly. We’ll discuss everything over dinner.”
Chapter Twelve
Claudine’s stomach ached from nervousness, and dinner wasn’t helping. She forced herself to take another bite of the sauce covered… something.
From the opposite end of the dining table, Leo watched her with a rueful expression. “It’s not good, is it?”
“It’s just new to me, this American food. What do you call it?”
Leo frowned at his gilt-edged plate before casting an inquisitive look at Guillory, standing by the travertine fireplace with a blank expression as if he weren’t actually there.
“Sea bass with rémoulade,” the footman reported enthusiastically without making eye contact.
Leo studied the fish from an angle. “My cook, Mrs. Watkins, is fond of experimentation with new recipes. She rarely makes the same thing twice. Some of her meals succeed better than others.”
The table setting, in any case, was lovely: white linen, crystal, Limoges china. The centerpiece, lavender and white orchids, suffused the air with a sweet fragrance. “Do you always dine so formally?”
“No. I rarely dine at home.”
Did he intend to change his habits now that she was living here? She pictured herself dining alone night after night in this elegant room with its coffered ceiling and walnut marquetry floor. Then she realized she wouldn’t be here either. She’d be on stage. “We have yet to discuss the matter I mentioned earlier.”
His prolonged silence didn’t bode well. She took a sip of water, and set her glass down too abruptly. Crystal chimed against china. “I’ll begin. What will my salary be?”
Leo nodded at the footman, who departed at once. Her heart began to race with panic. Had he change
d his mind about employing her? What had she done wrong? “I’ve come to realize you don’t belong on the stage,” he finally said.
The grandfather clock tick-tocked through her stunned silence. She couldn’t catch her breath. “You’ve come to realize? At what point? And why did you not think to inform me of your change of heart?”
“I just came to the decision. You must believe I was sincere in my offer at the time I made it, but now that I’ve come to know you better I cannot in all good conscience subject you to a situation that might be degrading for you. Even in the best of music halls, one can expect to find a certain degree of boorishness.”
“I can endure boorishness but not a lack of income. How am I to earn a living?”
“You won’t have to. I’ll take care of you. I thought that was all settled.”
She surged to her feet. “No. It wasn’t. Nothing was settled. Nothing was discussed, and I didn’t press you for answers because I was afraid I might offend you in some way. And then you made this decision on your own without even considering how I might feel about it.”
He rubbed his chin as if mulling over new and surprising information. “You don’t want to be with me?”
“You know that I do, but I don’t want to be dependent upon you, subject to your whims. I’ve just come to realize you have an infuriating side to your personality.”
His sensual mouth set in a brooding line. “Well, the decision is mine to make. The thought of you displaying yourself to legions of men night after night sickens me.”
“What a sordid picture you paint! I’m a singer, not a prostitute.”
“Some men don’t comprehend a difference, and you have no concept of the schemes they’ll employ to achieve their aim.”
“Surely, you exaggerate.”
“Don’t forget I lived in that world. A showgirl is fair game for anything. I won’t have you exposed to that danger. I would never have any peace. The matter is closed.”
She’d been given adult responsibilities from a very young age. Who was he to tell her what she could and could not do? “I can’t believe this. I trusted you. I left my country on the basis of your promises.”
He stood up and came toward her. She knew what he would do next and steeled herself against him. When he pulled her into his embrace, she remained rigid in his arms.
“I’m trying to protect you because you are precious to me,” he spoke low, his lips practically touching her ear. His warm breath sent a hot shiver down her neck. Then he stroked her hair. This made it hard to think, and she strongly suspected that was his intention.
This demonstration of his power over her warned her how very dangerous and foolish it would be to put herself completely under his control. No matter how he phrased it, he would be the one with all the power in their relationship. He would be the one making up all the rules while she tried to please him in the hope that he would come to love her as she loved him. Pathetic.
She pushed against his shoulders to put some distance between them. “For how long?”
“For how long what?”
“For how long will I remain precious to you?”
He took a long time to answer. “I cannot predict such a thing.”
She pulled farther away. “That is not something I can build my future upon. Perhaps the clock is already ticking. Perhaps I have only weeks. I must make an alternative plan for my survival. How am I to do that without a career, without money?”
He stared at the rug. Then he said, “I would provide for you in any event. I always do.”
His last statement echoed through her brain, growing louder with each repetition. How many had there been before her? All her doubts and insecurities rushed to the fore. Foremost among them was her certainty that once he’d bedded her, his interest would wane. “That is very generous of you, but I’d rather not leave my future dependent upon a man who sees his affection for me as fleeting.”
His expression remained passive, but his hazel eyes smoldered. “I didn’t say that. I’m only being realistic. Attraction is mysterious and unpredictable, but it’s always finite. If it lasted forever, it would be commonplace, and I don’t think we’d appreciate it as much.”
Every calm, reasonable word pierced straight into her heart. He’d shown her kindness, generosity, affection, but she doubted he was capable of ever truly loving her. “I don’t think I should stay at your house tonight after all.” She felt like she was crumbling inside.
“What are you saying? Where would you go?” For the first time, there was a note of alarm in his voice.
An excellent question. Leo’s mother lived not far from here. Madame Barnett would help her under any circumstances, but she would also ask unrelenting questions. Then she would relay the whole story to her best friend, who happened to be Claudine’s mother, in a well-meaning, take-charge sort of way, which was the only way Madame Barnett conducted herself. The ramifications were unthinkable.
What was she to do? All she ever wanted was a safe, predictable life, and she kept moving farther and farther from it.
Leo reached for her again, but she stepped back into the table, jarring the candelabra. One of the dripping candles fell from its silver perch, leaving a trail of wax on the polished mahogany as it rolled. “We’ve had a long day.” He sounded exhausted. “You’re tired. I’m tired. You need rest and time to think. If you truly wish to go in the morning, I will help you find an apartment, a safe place to stay. Or I’ll arrange your passage back to France if that’s what you want.”
It wasn’t. There was nothing waiting for her there, not even her job at Le Chien Vif. And she would almost certainly have to face Philippe again if she returned.
“I’ll escort you to your room now.”
For a moment she had the mad urge to cling to him, just to feel his body against hers one last time. Her weakness disgusted her. “I can find it on my own, thank you.”
She fled at once to her bedroom upstairs. The door clicked shut behind her, and she leaned against it until her heart calmed. The sooner she left, the better.
It seemed strange now to recall her sense of excitement upon arriving in America just hours ago. Her fate was once again unknowable and entirely in her hands. Her fear of making her way in the city alone paled in comparison to her heartbreak.
She found her valise on the top shelf of the wardrobe. If she packed tonight, she could leave at sunrise and avoid seeing Leo again. Her empty trunk had been removed, but she didn’t need anything that large. She would only take one of the new gowns with her. Everything he’d bought for her now seemed tainted.
Numbness settled over her as she undressed without assistance and put on a sleeveless nightgown of lace-trimmed sheer cambric. The room was uncomfortably humid so she sat upon the window seat to cool herself in the slight breeze. How did she get to this point? Lately, her life seemed to be hurtling along at a faster and faster rate like a runaway train.
Automatically, her mind flashed back to the episode in the carriage, and even before that, her botched attempt at seduction on the steamer. The memory of her brazenness made her cringe.
She supposed she’d given Leo every reason to expect she would be pleased with this new arrangement he was proposing. She’d acted on instinct with no thought to the impact her actions would have upon their tenuous relationship. If she’d kept matters professional between them, he would have kept his distance.
And she would still have a job. She had only herself to blame for this impossible state of affairs.
Keeping cool was a lost cause and she was exhausted. She went to the large brass bed, lay on top of the covers, and tried to find sleep. More than ever, she longed to see Alex. She doubted he would be able to solve her problems, but he would find a way to make light of them. He was always so good at making her laugh.
“Where are you?” she whispered into the darkness.
He had to be in New York. She needed him. As the minutes stretched into hours, she grew more and more anxious to begin the se
arch. She’d noticed a number of framed maps of the city on the wall of the library downstairs. Orienting herself to the various streets and neighborhoods would be an excellent first step toward finding her cousin. She had an abysmal sense of direction.
She turned the small brass knob on the globe lamp beside her bed. The wick gave forth a flame that bathed the room in golden light. She found her shawl wadded up in a bureau drawer and wrapped the fringed woven silk about her nightgown.
Her bare feet made little sound upon the hallway rug and stairs. The entire house was so quiet she could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock in the vestibule and the occasional rumble and clatter of a carriage on the street outside.
The dark library smelled of old books and exotic places. She set down the small lamp she was carrying on a writing desk and looked around. A Turkish rug covered most of the wood floor. Darkly stained walnut paneled the lower portion of the walls. A rust and forest green Morris print covered the upper portion. Patterned cushions upon a worn tufted leather couch gave the room a warm, inviting ambiance.
The maps, four in all, lined one wall. They exceeded her expectations in terms of detail. Streets, neighborhoods, even the names of the most prominent buildings were clearly marked. She poured over them for a long while, studying the grid pattern of the city and memorizing the names, orientations, and locations of the most prominent streets until her mind could absorb no more.
On her way out, curiosity drew her to Leo’s vast collection of books, lining the entire surface of one wall. She perused the titles on the spines. His taste for philosophy and engineering surprised her. His interests in classical theater, art, and music did not.
There were many travel books. Some were so well used the bindings were disintegrating. She wondered again about Leo’s life, the sights he’d seen, the people he’d befriended. A worn-looking book with gold and maroon binding caught her attention. The pages were gilded on the uppermost edge, and the title, also gilded, was in some foreign language she’d never seen before.
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