“I’ll also put us down for a waltz, as I am confident by that point you’ll be close to falling in love with me.” He signed his name twice with a flourish. “Enjoy the champagne, Miss Clark.” He kissed her hand and disappeared back into the crowd.
“Applesauce,” Beatrice muttered, and hurried to find Benedick.
CHAPTER 28
DONE TO DEATH BY SLANDEROUS TONGUES
Benedick finally managed to snatch one of the flutes off a passing waiter. One sip confirmed that not only was it not ginger ale, it had possibly arrived straight from Paris. “Prince, the drinks—” Benedick turned.
But Prince was slumped against the wall, like a wounded gazelle in a herd of wealthy lions. Most of these people had been invited by Claude, and it showed. He kept his eyes on Hero from across the vast hall, as she mingled like a hummingbird; the only sign of any distress on her part was an occasionally sagging smile, which she immediately pulled upright again.
“I don’t belong here,” Prince murmured.
“No, you don’t want to be here,” said Benedick. “There’s a difference. Why don’t you just talk to her? Tell her the business with John bothers you, and she’ll put a stop to it.”
“I’m not jealous, Ben,” Prince growled. “Do you know what he said to me? In the hall? He said: ‘Don’t worry about the speakeasy.’ He knew exactly what we’d seen, even without our saying anything. And it’s just—that’s my point, Ben. Money. It’s always money. Claude’s or John’s, it doesn’t matter.”
“But you’ve never cared before,” Benedick pointed out. “Only when it was John.”
“You don’t get it. You’ve never taken the silver spoon out of your mouth.” Prince sighed. “You can just go home if everything falls apart.”
The champagne blurred the retort; Benedick nearly heard his father’s voice saying it and had to work not to look like it hadn’t been a cool slap in the face.
“Having a good time?” Claude approached them, his balance ever so slightly off center, a swallow of liquor left in the lowball glass he held. His accent was heavier, the words slurred. “You look like you could use a drink, both of you.”
“You look like you’ve drunk enough for all three of us,” Benedick said. Poor sentimental Claude. Forget the spoon. He was made of silver.
Claude laughed away Benedick’s comment, though it sounded more like a sob. He turned, his unfocused eyes quickly locating Hero. “She is remarkable, isn’t she?” He smiled at Prince. “She never broke any of your hearts. What is your secret to remain so immune? You—” He poked a finger into Benedick’s chest. “I hate you, I think. You’re the reason I got dragged into Hey Nonny Nonny, and you don’t love your own mother. Hero’s little trick with Beatrice didn’t work. I said, ‘There’s an effort in futility, my dear,’ not that she listened. Or ever listens.”
“You’re talking utter nonsense,” said Benedick. “And more than a little sauced, I’d wager.” Wait, what trick? What didn’t work?
“True,” Claude said. “And you could be, too.”
“Don’t tell Hero I’m crossing enemy lines.” Beatrice appeared, looking, as she so often did, like a girl on a mission. Seeing her, Benedick recalled her apology in the orchard, the timing of it just after he’d overheard that she loved him, every smile since, that kiss on the porch—all on the basis of her affection—and wanted to sink into the floor. Claude could be wrong; Claude was also drunk.
Beatrice pointed at Prince. “You, mister. You’ve got a lot of nerve, leaving me alone with all these dandies. You’re going to dance with me right now.” Surprised, Prince relinquished his spot against the wall to follow her.
Benedick’s shoulders slumped. He turned back to Claude. “I see you changed your mind about Rhode Island.”
“I did. I was at the train station, and I met that fellow Minsky, you know, the one at Roosevelt Field. I told him what had happened, and he said—rightly so, at that—‘Old sport, you can’t run off like a dog with its tail between its legs! You must confront her. Gain back the dignity you lost. At the very least,’ he said, ‘a man deserves a nice stiff drink after being bludgeoned by a girl,’ to which I told him, naturally, that I’d better go someplace else then since this party would be dry as a cactus.”
Benedick stared at him. “What did you say?”
Claude snapped. Or tried to; his fingers fumbled. “Yes! That was just how he looked. Very interested in that. Felt so sorry for me he offered to bring what God intended every man to have after a girl tosses out what’s left of him.”
“Conrade Minsky brought the champagne?”
“I see that telltale woe on your face, but there’s no reason to get uppity over it. His family bought it—didn’t they?—and packed it over.” He paused, as if he were rallying to meanness but couldn’t quite get there. “What do I care anyhow about Hey Nonny Nonny?”
Indeed. Benedick looked over the dance crowd and found Prince and Beatrice. Beatrice caught his eye so quickly it was like she’d been waiting for him to look over. She jabbed a finger in Hero’s direction.
He grasped her meaning immediately. Whether she loved him or not, he always could. He sighed, then clapped Claude farewell on the shoulder. “Stay here, and try not to do any more damage.”
He sauntered up to Hero and tugged on a piece of her hair. “How about a dance, birthday girl?”
“Took you long enough,” she said with a relieved grin. She abandoned the girls she’d been talking to without so much as a good-bye and took his hand.
“So is this a pity dance?” Hero asked.
“Give me a break; I love you like the sister I never had.”
She bit her lip. “Ben, do you think I’m self-centered?”
“Sometimes, I guess.”
“But do you hate me for it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not so sure it’s ridiculous.” She glanced over to Beatrice and Prince swirling around. They were on beat only every other step but seemed unconcerned about their ineptitude. “So what’s the trouble? I know you didn’t come over here just to get a taste of my fancy feet.”
“The champagne,” Benedick said.
“Yes, that was a surprise.” She knew. Of course she did. She hadn’t stopped paying attention for a moment, and she certainly still gave a damn about the speakeasy. “Is that why you’re worried? Oh, don’t be, sweetie. Nobody’s paying for the drinks, and Claude said he got it as a gift, so they probably came out of someone’s family vault.”
“I suppose.”
But the Minsky vault? Benedick had trouble believing Conrade felt so sympathetic to Claude’s plight that he was willing to shell out a truckload of champagne for nothing. He looked again, and Beatrice caught his eye. She mouthed: Switch. Resigned, he turned Hero on point, their hands connecting again seamlessly, and guided them in a collision course with Prince and Beatrice. For Beatrice’s part, Prince was too much of a gentleman to stop her rather forceful takeover as she led him toward Hero and Benedick.
“Ben,” Hero said, “careful, or we’re going to—”
Benedick twirled her away from him, hard enough that she spun on one foot, her arms flailing. Beatrice was less discreet. She shoved Prince with both hands, and he stumbled directly into Hero.
Prince caught Hero before she fell, as Benedick knew he would. Benedick was already leading Beatrice away, one hand on her waist. He turned them around so they could watch. Hero’s cheeks flushed bright pink, and indecision tightened Prince’s face. Beatrice tensed beneath his hold. Come on, idiot, Benedick thought.
Prince didn’t turn her away. Everyone was looking at them after all. However hurt he might feel, he still couldn’t bring himself to humiliate her in front of so many people. He took her hand, drew her in, and they started to dance without so much as a glance at Benedick or Beatrice. In fact, since they’d touched, they hadn’t looked at anything but each other.
“They don’t exactly look pleased, but he’s the problem, not Claude.�
�� She sighed and looked at Benedick.
He was suddenly very aware of the places they were in contact: their loosely bound hands; his palm settled in the curve of her waist, his fingertips barely against her back, her other hand perched on his shoulder.
“Forgot about where you’d end up, Clark?” he asked, paving the way for her to denounce their closeness and in the process remind him the past few days had been a product of his own skewed perspective.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “I’m exactly where I wanted to be.” And then she got closer, of all things. Her voice dropped. “Do you know Conrade is here?”
His mouth pursed. “Claude might have mentioned it.”
“Yes! He saw Claude when he was leaving. He’s the one who convinced Claude to come back. Why would he do that?”
“To get through the doors, for one.”
“Ah. Then the real question is why he wanted into the party? This doesn’t have to do with the fuss this morning at breakfast, does it?”
“Conrade can’t have known about that. Whatever he’s up to, it’s not planned.”
“What is the fuss? Why did Claude leave?”
Benedick sighed. “We might have happened upon Hero and John in a rather compromising position last night.”
“You mean?” The dominoes tipped, and Beatrice adopted a look of proper indignation in an instant. “Hero wouldn’t do that!”
“Don’t be so righteous,” said Benedick. “People make their own bargains, and Hero’s no saint.”
Her cheeks puffed. Her eyes narrowed; then she let out the breath in a defeated, unself-conscious raspberry. “But John. I don’t believe it. And didn’t he seem a little attached to Maggie when he was here?”
“I guess so, but he’s the one who got Maggie her wiggle into the Cotton Club.”
“So maybe she was putting him on?” Beatrice’s eyes widened in amazement. “Doesn’t anyone like anyone else honestly in this house?”
That was an excellent question.
Perhaps she thought the same thing because she suddenly got a bit pink around the ears. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I wonder, would you tell someone so honestly if you liked him?”
The blush deepened; that could mean anything, and Benedick wasn’t sure which outcome he preferred at this point.
Eventually she said, “I would. If someone thought I didn’t like him, and there was no hope, he would only need to ask me to be sure.”
Wait a minute, who was the object of affection in this scenario? He wasn’t worried about her rejecting him; he’d only meant to suggest an excuse for her not being honest about her own secret pining.
Unless, of course, Claude had been right and she wasn’t pining.
And had never pined and was probably this minute assuming he was the one in love with her. Benedick laughed; he couldn’t help it. Oh, he was such a fool. They’d nearly had him, the bastards. “I really thought—” Knowing there was no risk of attraction made it easier to tug her in close, so she was nestled against him. “Oh, thank God. That could have ended very ugly for us, sweetheart.”
She tensed in his arms, pulling back to re-create the distance between them. Perhaps it was the angle, but her eyes, with that special blend of ferocious question, seemed larger than ever. The unexpected wave of attraction hit him so hard he nearly fell right into them.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
He searched her face and pinpointed the source of her misunderstanding. “Uh-oh. Looks like they got to you, too. Nobody’s convinced you recently that I might love you, has anyone?”
Her eyes dropped.
“Don’t look like that.” He touched her warm cheek. “I didn’t mean it how it sounds, that it’s laughable you would even consider I might love you. I only mean that I heard the same thing.”
“What?”
“That day in the orchard. I overheard that you were hopelessly in love with me. I’m guessing that didn’t come from you?”
“No.” Her shoulders sagged. With relief? “Oh—oh.” Finally she smiled, too. “I can’t believe I didn’t guess. They sure have a skewed sense of a joke.” She eyed him, as if to double-check that it was indeed a joke.
“Not a very funny one. I even started to fall in love with you, too,” he added with a soft laugh, “against my will. It was awful.” The only trouble, the only teeny-tiny hiccup, was he was still fighting the urge to kiss her. Temporary, he was sure, and certainly not an indication of love, just the natural desire of any man to be congenial with his species.
“Do me a favor?” It was easier to speak into her ear than lean back.
“What?”
He glanced down, studying the slope of her bare neck as it met her equally bare shoulder. “Tell me you don’t love me.”
She was quiet for a moment; then she began to speak, with dramatic fashion: “Benedick Scott—” She halted. He pulled back so he could see her face. She looked horrified. “I don’t,” she said shortly.
“You don’t?”
“Love you,” she whispered.
That didn’t work as well as he’d hoped. He might actually want to kiss her more.
A loud shout carried across the dance floor. “How dare you!”
Benedick turned and saw Prince and Hero at the refreshment table. “Don’t touch me,” Prince snapped, jerking his arm back. He seemed unaware of anything but the girl in front of him. “I saw you.”
Guests had arranged in sporadic fashion around them. The music faded as the band strained their necks to see what the commotion was.
“Hero,” Beatrice murmured, breaking away to get closer.
Benedick followed her. Through the crowd, he saw Hero’s fists clench. “You’ve got some nerve acting like you have any right to be angry in the first place when you’ve made no claim—”
“What gossip, Hero?” Claude broke in, his drunkenness blurring him like a poorly taken photo. Prince startled out of the bubble he and Hero created, finally realizing they had an audience.
“That you’re a liar?” Claude asked. His voice was quiet but piercing. “That everyone around you is no more than a pawn to give you what you need?”
Hero’s face went red. Even boiled as an owl, Claude caught her wrist before her hand connected with his cheek. She tugged back, but he tightened his grip. His voice rose. “John’s always been there, hasn’t he, a distributor you keep on a leash? Give a tug when the speakeasy’s in trouble?”
“Let go of me, you unbelievable ass,” she said. “That’s what this is about? You’re jealous because you think someone else manhandled what’s yours?”
Prince moved. “Claude, let her go.”
“Go ahead and have her.” Claude didn’t push her, but he threw her arm back so violently Hero stumbled. She knocked into the table, tripped over the hem of her dress, and fell to the ground, spilled punch dripping down onto her cream dress.
Without preamble, Claude plopped onto the polished wood floor like a child exhausted after throwing a fit. His chin trembled, and he whispered, “I loved you,” and started to cry.
Hero fought her own tears, flushed, her chin wobbling as she attempted to stand up. Beatrice was at her side in a moment, helping her. The crowd came to life, murmuring, forming snowballs of gossip that would soon careen out of control. “How could you?” Hero asked. She didn’t spare Claude another glance; her eyes were for Prince, full of betrayal. “You didn’t even ask me—”
“You didn’t ask me,” Prince shot back, with a small gasp, as if surfacing from some deep ocean. “You just assumed I’d fail, that I wouldn’t be able to save it. And then you went to John, of all people, instead of—”
“That’s enough!” Leo’s voice boomed out. The burnished look of his cheeks meant he wasn’t as stone cold as he ought to be, but he spoke with only the slightest tremor, with devastating effect. Prince shrank. “This is my speakeasy,” Leo continued. “And that is my little girl. It’s clear that one
of them means much more to you than the other. Get out of my house, young man.”
Leo could not have struck Prince harder than if he’d swung the blade of an ax into his chest. Prince staggered back a step.
The party reeked of ruin, Prince pushing his way out of the crowd, Hero at last unable to pinch back the first few tears.
Benedick grabbed Claude under the armpits and hauled him to his feet. Beatrice gathered Hero against her and managed to tug Leo into helping after he slugged back the rest of his champagne. They made their way toward the bar, the wide-eyed crowd parting to let them through. Slowly, awkwardly the music started up again. “I think I may be sick,” Claude groaned, arm around his stomach.
“Serve you right,” said Benedick, but he guided Claude to one of the flower-crested tables and eased him into a chair.
Benedick looked for Prince, but his tall, messy head had disappeared in the sea of coiffed bobs and slick pomade. Benedick strode forward. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do. Maybe find Conrade and strangle him with his own bow tie—who knew?—but if there was a time to harvest one’s murderous tendencies, now seemed like a prime opportunity—
He stopped.
A scrambling, weightless fear swept through him; as if he’d been pushed off a cliff and there was nothing to do now but fall and hope to brace his landing.
Dogberry and Verges were sitting at the bar. Disguised to the teeth in vibrant purple and green suits, bright daisies in their lapels, bowler hats stuck with feathers. Thick blond mustaches. Prince had given Francis their pictures, just in case, but it appeared Francis had been fooled. Benedick only recognized them for the contrast: crane and pigeon. That, and their somber expressions, so different from the aghast tittering of the rest of the guests.
Benedick approached them slowly.
Dogberry glanced over. “There’s sad news here, Mr. Scott.”
“How?” Benedick asked. “We didn’t sell any liquor. We don’t have a still. You have no proof that any of the beverages weren’t privately owned—”
“You know the law pretty well, Mr. Scott. I suppose you also know that the transport of alcohol is illegal as well as the sale and production.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a bottle of champagne. His finger tapped the label, the tiny gold words Produce of France.
Speak Easy, Speak Love Page 25