Baron

by Joanna Shupe

  “Miss Jones is my fiancée, Murphy. You are insulting my future wife.”

  Ava’s shoulders stiffened, her mind stumbling over those tersely said words. Fiancée? Had he lost his ever-loving mind? Were the social repercussions of an affair with her so abhorrent that he needed to tell such a gross lie about their association? “Mr. Sloane,” she said, weakly. “You—”

  “No, Ava. I know you preferred to keep the news between us a little longer, but I need for them to hear it.”

  Murphy chuckled, his tone laced with disbelief. “Wait, you’re marrying her? You cannot be serious. Whether she’s a medium or a reporter, she’s a nobody. Your father would roll over in his grave, not to mention what society will say.”

  “Still, I believe the decision is mine.”

  Will stood tall and proud, a dynamic force of nature that drew every eye in the room. Ava’s heart hurt just looking at him. It was clear he’d summoned Cabot to concoct the story about an investigation, preventing her professional reputation from being shredded, and she’d always be grateful for his intervention. But the lie about the betrothal bothered her. She was tired of the lies, tired of feeling inferior because of where she lived and her background.

  Her career as a medium may now be over, but that did not mean she and Will had a chance at a future together. They both knew otherwise—as did everyone else in the room, apparently.

  Regardless, she was done. They could discuss whatever they wanted, but Ava would not stick around and listen to them snicker. Heartsick and exhausted, she rose and slipped off her blond wig. A few guests tittered, but she ignored them and crossed the room to collect her carpetbag.

  “If you will all excuse me,” she said, and walked straight out the door.

  * * *

  The next morning, Ava shoved her blond wigs into a bag. Strange to put the Madam Zolikoff persona away, when it had been such a staple of her daily life for two years, but perhaps another medium could put the things to use. A knock sounded on the door, interrupting.

  She stretched her back and debated not answering. Her three siblings had left for work already, all of them blissfully unaware of what had transpired at the Ashgate house last night. She had no idea how she would supplement their income after Madam Zolikoff’s demise, but she’d figure something out. Better not to worry the siblings until she’d lined up another position.

  Another knock rang out. Sighing, she went to the door and pulled it open. A large man in a tweed morning suit faced her, one she had met before. He appeared more disheveled than she recalled, a strange light shining in his eyes.

  “Mr. Tompkins.”

  “Miss Jones. May I come in?”

  Ava stepped back and pulled the door wide. Once he was inside, she shut the door, leaving it cracked a tiny bit. “How may I help you?”

  “Do you have any idea,” he started, strolling around the room as if he owned it, “of what you’ve done?”

  Her head jerked. She hadn’t seen the accusation coming. “Of what I’ve done?”

  “Yes, you ridiculous charlatan.” He faced her squarely, his arms crossing his chest. “Of what you’ve done. You have ruined everything.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I’d like you to leave.” She started for the door, but he snatched her arm, gripping tight.

  “No, I won’t be leaving, Ava,” he snarled, leaning in. “Not until we understand each other.”

  She recoiled from breath that smelled of spirits and onion. “Let me go and get out of my rooms.”

  He thrust her away from him and she stumbled. “They’ll never win the election now. Hell, they won’t even win the nomination. They’re done. Finished in politics. All thanks to you.”

  “I didn’t ask him to attend last night. I have no idea how he even learned—”

  “Cabot learned of it. I had the entire thing so carefully orchestrated and Cabot intervened, goddamn it.” He weaved in place, unsteady. “And it all went to hell.”

  “Wait . . . you orchestrated it? You brought the SMR to New York?”

  “No, that was your betrothed,” he said, spitting the last word out, and Ava’s spirits sank at the confirmation that Will had contacted the SMR to investigate her. He’d threatened it and had obviously followed through without telling her. Good thing she’d never see him again, or she’d have a few choice words for that man.

  “And because you two couldn’t keep your drawers on,” Tompkins continued, “I now have two candidates who couldn’t get elected if they were the only two running. I’m ruined.”

  “Well, you’re not ruined. Perhaps Sloane and Bennett might have a difficult—”

  His hand curled into a fist, which he promptly pounded on her old wooden dining table. “Of course I’m ruined. Who do you think has been pulling the strings on this campaign? Bennett? He’s not capable of foresight, of planning past his next meeting. And Sloane had other things on his mind, his business, his mistress . . .”

  She clenched her teeth, desperate to keep the denial from bursting forth. I was never his mistress. Little good the distinction did her, however, when all of New York society now knew the truth. Mercy, she’d been such a fool.

  “People like them,” she said, remembering the crowds in Albany. They had carried signs and marched in support of the Bennett/Sloane ticket. “This could boost their popularity. You know how the public adores a good scandal.”

  “You haven’t seen today’s paper, have you?” Rocking back on his heels, he reached into his jacket and withdrew a page of newsprint. “Read your handiwork, Madam Zolikoff.”

  Unable to prevent it, she leaned in to see the headline.

  SLOANE’S MEDIUM MISTRESS!

  CANDIDATE’S PARTNER, BENNETT, ALSO A CLIENT!

  REPUBLICAN PARTY DISOWNS BOTH CANDIDATES!

  Oh, no. Poor Will, he’d fancied that nomination so desperately. She swallowed. “I didn’t want this,” she whispered. “Not for either of them.”

  Beefy fingers wrapped around her upper arm and shook her. Hard. “You stupid cunt. How could you not know this would happen?”

  He shoved her away from him and Ava lost her balance. Teetering on her heeled boots, she tried to right herself—only she tripped over a dining chair. With a thump, she crashed to the floor, her skirts astray and her bustle crushed.

  Damn. That hurt.

  Excitement lit Tompkins’s eyes, and fear tore through her veins. They were alone, and, though the door was slightly ajar, Ava couldn’t believe that any of her neighbors would respond to her cries for help.

  “You look good on the ground, like the bitch you are.” He unbuttoned his frock coat and started to shrug it off.

  Her breath coming fast and shallow, she tried to get to her feet, scramble away—anything to put distance between the two of them. “Get out of my house!” she shouted.

  “What the hell?”

  Will Sloane had one hand on the now-open door, his lips white with fury. Ava breathed a sigh of relief. At least she wouldn’t need to worry over Tompkins raping her this morning.

  Tompkins spun toward the sound. “Figured you’d come sniffing around her house,” Tompkins sneered. “Just can’t get enough of this low-class whore—”

  In a blink, Will reached Tompkins, cocked his arm, and plowed his fist right into the man’s nose. Tompkins staggered back, arms flailing, until he fell to the ground with a crash. Will shook out his hand, cursing, and then turned to Ava. “Are you all right?” He extended his other hand, the one that hadn’t flattened Tompkins.

  She gripped his wrist, and he pulled her upright. “I’m fine,” she said quietly, and let go of him.

  Tompkins’s nose gushed blood, soaking the front of his vest. “You bastard! You broke my nose!”

  Will left Ava’s side to stalk over to Tompkins. He leaned down and growled, “If you don’t get the hell out of here, I’m going to break a lot more than just your fucking nose!”

  Instead of waiting for Tompkins’s answer, Will grabbed the
large man’s lapel, jerked him to his feet, and dragged him to the open door. “If you ever, ever, speak to Miss Jones again, I will see you destroyed, Charles. Your money, your standing, your family . . . I will take it all away. I have the means to do it—and you know it. So think very, very carefully before you consider talking to her ever again.”

  Tompkins wrenched free of Will’s grasp and stumbled into the hall. He glanced over his shoulder derisively. “Is this what you’ve given it all up for? Is she really worth it?”

  The next words out of Will’s mouth caught Ava entirely off guard.

  Will grasped the door and said, “Without a doubt,” just before slamming it in Tompkins’s face.

  Chapter Twenty

  Will stood there a moment, trying to catch his breath and regain his control. Goddamn Tompkins. Figured the man would blame Ava for everything. Will should have come to see her first thing, instead of prowling about his house until a reasonable hour.

  He felt no small amount of guilt over what had transpired with Ava, from the business with Miss Iselin to the Society for Mediumship Research. Now Tompkins had assaulted her. Would there be no end to this madness?

  Yes, there would, he told himself, drawing in a deep breath. This all stopped today because Will meant to make amends.

  “Are you all right?” he asked her, turning.

  Big brown eyes blinked at him. Disheveled, red-cheeked, and angry, she’d never appeared more beautiful. “Yes. You arrived before things . . . turned ugly. Well, uglier, anyway.”

  “I apologize for that. I didn’t think he’d seek you out.”

  “Hardly surprising after last night. Indeed, any moment now, I expect a long line of society matrons at my door, their claws sharpened for the woman who dared to steal one of their men. After which I’ll have to tell them the betrothal story was naught but a lie.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.”

  Her brows dipped together. “I beg your pardon?”

  “A lie. The betrothal story. No reason it has to be a lie.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “No, I’m not.” He’d blurted the fib at Ashgate’s to protect her reputation, but he’d had all night to think on it. And the more he pondered the idea, the more a marriage made sense. The campaign was no longer a factor, and any other argument no longer deterred him. He wanted her, every day. Every night. Society be damned. “I want to marry you, Ava.”

  “You want to . . . marry me?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Her face gave nothing away as she stared at him. He wished he knew what she was thinking. Did the idea of marrying him appeal to her? No reason it shouldn’t, not after the passionate way she’d responded to him. The two of them were perfectly suited; surely she could see that.

  “I’m sorry, but I cannot.”

  His brain tripped over the words, and it took a few seconds for him to put them together. She said no. “You . . . cannot marry me. Why not?”

  “Will,” she sighed, and smoothed the front of her shirtwaist. “Be reasonable. A marriage is not what you want.”

  “Of course it is. Why wouldn’t I want to marry you?”

  “Because you’re . . .” She gestured to him, as if that were her answer.

  He glanced down at himself, holding out his arms. “I’m, what? I don’t understand, Ava. How are you so clear on my feelings, when I’ve only just figured them out for myself?”

  Her lips formed a flat, tight line. “It’s lust, Will. You merely want to bed me once more. I’m certain the feeling will soon pass.”

  “Doubtful, and you’re telling me how I feel again, Ava. I want to hear how you feel about it.”

  “Fine,” she snapped. “Then I’ll tell you how I feel. Last night, you found yourself humiliated in a room full of your friends and peers, caught in an affair with a woman unworthy of your blue-blooded kisses. So you made up the betrothal story to—”

  “Wait, you think the betrothal was for my benefit?” A reluctant laugh escaped his throat. “Ava, nearly every man I know has a mistress on the side, most actresses or shop-girls. Dancers. I’d be lauded for having Madam Zolikoff as a side piece. The lie was for your benefit. To protect your reputation from scandal.”

  She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Indeed, when scandal is such a large concern for a woman like me. Oh, no!” She put her hands to her cheeks. “Shall I stop receiving invitations to the balls and cotillions?”

  “Hilarious,” Will drawled. “You’d best worry about a scandal, especially when it could appear in the papers. What would your siblings say when their sister is raked through the mud on the front page?”

  “It’s already happened. Haven’t you seen today’s paper?” She gestured to the newsprint on the dining table, and Will cringed at the headline. He’d purposely avoided the rags this morning.

  “And it doesn’t matter,” Ava continued. “That is your world, not mine. My siblings would understand.”

  “Wrong. That may be my world, but it’s also yours by default. If you’re involved with me, you must learn to deal with it.”

  “I’m not involved with you any longer!” she nearly shouted. “Are you listening to yourself? You are arguing in circles.”

  Shoving back the sides of his frock coat, he put his hands on his hips. “If you believe that, then you are not listening to me. We are far from over, Ava.”

  “You don’t get to decide that! You cannot decree we are to be married and expect that I’ll bow down to your wishes. That I’ll be grateful you are bestowing this honor on me, the important honor of becoming your wife. Me, the poor little struggling waif, just waiting for a strong, rich man to make all my problems go away. Go to hell, Will!” She spun away to face the window, presenting him with her back.

  He blinked. Her anger surprised him. Not that he’d expected gratitude, but he’d expected . . . something favorable. Excitement? Relief? Affection? Ava never failed to confuse and bedevil him. Would he ever understand her?

  “You’re wrong,” he said gently. “I do not see you that way, Ava. You’re strong, possibly the strongest woman I’ve ever met. The honor would be mine.”

  “Is that so?” Her gaze found his, and he did not like the pain reflected there. “Is this how you would have proposed to Miss Iselin, Miss Baldwin, or any of the other debutantes you were considering? Where is the ring? Where are the tender words?” She swallowed and folded her hands. “You don’t have them, do you? Because it never occurred to you that you would need them. You expected me to fall over myself in agreeing to marry you—which proves you don’t really know me at all.”

  His chest tightened, regret and self-recrimination weighting him down. “Ava, give me some latitude. The idea only occurred to me last night. I’ll buy you a ring—”

  “I don’t want you to buy me a ring. And I don’t want a marriage in which I’m forever made to feel inferior. I need equal footing, Will. I need a partner, not an overlord.”

  “I want to be a partner to you. I want you by my side, sleeping with me and giving me children. You, no one else.”

  She was shaking her head before he even finished. “No, you don’t. You want a woman such as yourself, a woman from one of the very best families who can move about in your world with ease. One you can show off at the opera or take sailing in Newport. One who can act as a politician’s wife.”

  “This is ridiculous! You act as if you’re a leper. You can be all those things, Ava. You pretended to be a Russian medium, for God’s sake.”

  “I won’t pretend to be someone I’m not, not even to be your wife. It would kill me, a little bit at a time, every day, until there was nothing left. Whoever marries me will need to take me as I am, for better or worse.”

  “Christ,” he exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “You are the most difficult woman I’ve ever met.”

  “Because you’re unaccustomed to being refused. Another reason we would not suit.” She turned away from him to stare out the window, the outline of her form
an unmoving silhouette in the sparse morning light.

  Grasping the back of an old wooden chair, he leaned over and bowed his head. The morning’s headline glared up at him. SLOANE’S MEDIUM MISTRESS! Will could only hope Cabot’s papers had a more favorable retelling of last night’s events.

  How had this gone so terribly wrong? All he wanted was this woman. The end. The last two weeks had been miserable. He could give her tender words, of course, but would it help? She was stubborn, his Ava, but he was not ready to give her up. Not by a mile.

  “I care about you,” he said quietly. “I want this to work. You and me. Married.”

  “When did you summon the Society for Mediumship Research to New York?”

  He blinked at the change in topic. They were discussing this now, after he’d begged her to marry him? Still, he owed her an honest answer. “When you first refused to attend the rally in Albany. And then I forgot . . . With everything that happened, I never contacted them again to revoke the invitation. I apologize, Ava.”

  She nodded and kept her gaze trained on the window, not saying a word.

  “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” he told her.

  “I don’t doubt it, but this was inevitable. There are times we must accept whatever obstacles life throws in our way.”

  “No, I don’t believe that—and neither do you. Both of our lives have been full of obstacles and they haven’t stopped us yet. Don’t give up on me, Ava.”

  “I’m done fighting, Will.” She sounded tired, and he hated the defeat he heard in her voice.

  “Well, I’m not finished fighting yet. So brace yourself—I’ve only just begun.”

  * * *

  Standing up from his desk, Mr. Cabot extended his hand, which Ava readily shook. “I am glad you’ve taken me up on my offer, Miss Jones.”

  A newspaper reporter. Ava could hardly believe it, but the idea thrilled her. Exposing corruption, righting wrongs, and giving a voice to those who went unheard—Cabot had promised her all of those things. Her career as Madam Zolikoff had ended almost a week ago, and she couldn’t wait to get started in this next phase of her life.