Oh, if only we could dance until dawn, Cole thought, awestruck at his own frailty where this woman was concerned. She belonged to another man. She was not free to be his or anyone else’s. Her bodyguard was too formidable to attempt a clandestine meeting, even if she would agree. As the night wore on, however, and their bodies moved in synchrony on the dance floor, he felt quite sure that she would. The thought that he had won her, that she would come to him and let his body make hers scream with delight, gave him a heady sensation that no libation could equal. He felt invincible and happier than he had felt in his entire life. But why?
Darcy could not fight what her body was feeling. She was falling, falling, falling into an abyss of wanting this man she barely knew. He was masterful, powerful, handsome, and confident; everything her titmouse husband was not. Her mind pictured what it would be like to lie beneath his undulating body while hers answered with demands of her own. She had never known, nor ever suspected, her body could crave the intimacy her imagination played for her now. Could it be women wanted the same things men did? She had never felt the tiniest smidgeon of desire for a man, thanks to Edgar. During his visits to her bedchamber, she had just fulfilled a duty that left her repulsed. This was all so different. She felt she was floating above all the duty and disgust of the past six years and sensing a desire for something she had submitted to often, yet never experienced.
He held her as if she were a cherished treasure, and the power of his embrace left her feeling safe and warm, and an integral part of him. Confusion, fear, and scintillating anticipation flooded through her. She should make him stop. This has to stop! But as her mind screamed in protest, something churning deep inside her refused to consider it. They remained on the dance floor from the first song to the last.
At last, the orchestra ended the spell it had cast over the couple. Cole ruefully returned her to her table where Sylvester still stood like a granite statue.
“Goodnight, Mrs. Higgins. Thank you for making this evening more enjoyable than words can say. You are as accomplished a dance partner as you are poker player.” He kissed her hand, lingering a bit longer than he should have, and a throat clearing from Sylvester prompted him to reluctantly remove his lips, and release her lacy fingertips. His gaze searched deeply into hers. Did he see yearning in her eyes? Did she see the longing in his?
Chapter Two
With his heart in his heels, he made his way back to his cabin. This was not what he wanted; he did not want to end the night alone with empty arms. He did not want to close his eyes without her there, or open them without seeing her face. What was he to do about it? There was nothing he could do. Nothing! He was not one to readily give up, but this time he seemed outmatched. Oh, well, I can only hope that Fate will somehow intervene and help me attain my desired prize. His goal from this moment on would always be to make Darcy Higgins his.
After several nights of dancing and many more poker games, they were preparing for their arrival in New Orleans. Once they disembarked the ship, they would go their separate ways, probably forever. No! He could not allow that to happen. He must see her again, but how could he accomplish that with her ever-present, massive, bodyguard always on duty? Desperate and despondent, Cole slept fitfully that last night on board.
Once the sun was high in the sky, the temperatures began to soar. On this clear, bright day, one could see the heat shimmering as it rose from the glossy decks of the ship. It would be another scorcher, and Cole sympathized with the men who labored on the pier. What he really cared about, however, was not the weather, but a fiery, redheaded lass who had taken possession of him during this trip. He was intoxicated with her and did not want to sober up—ever! As the passengers crowded the decks in readiness to exit the ship, he saw that amazing hair like a signal flag beckoning to him.
“Excuse me. Pardon me. Excuse me, may I please get through.” Cole tried to remain polite, though as impatient as he was to reach the owner of that mass of coppery curls, he found it quite a strain. He must reach her before she disembarked. Finally, he wove his way successfully through the crowd and felt himself crushed against her. The towering black man was nowhere in sight. What good fortune for me! Once he bumped into her side, she turned to face him. Her eyes registered a welcome greeting for the first time since they had met.
“Why, hello Mr. Evans.” Her greeting was cordial, distinctly cooler than the message the windows to her soul were sending, apparently intended for the ears of those nearby.
Placing his mouth against her ear and speaking softly, he breathed the words into her ear, “Enough of your games, mon cherie. I must see you again. I will be staying at the Montrose Hotel. Contact me there.” His hand rested at the small of her back, and it took all his restraint not to pull her to him and kiss her with all the passion her sensuality aroused in him.
She turned quickly to face him, her eyes flashing with fury. Any tongue-lashing she had in mind for Cole was cut off at the sound of a porter bellowing her name.
“Mrs. Edgar Higgins. Is there a Mrs. Edgar Higgins here? Important message for Mrs. Higgins.”
Being taller than most of the people surrounding him, Cole called out and waved to the courier.
“Mrs. Higgins is right here. I will take it for her.” He reached up and grabbed the sealed envelope from the other man’s hand. What was so important that it could not wait until she arrived home? “Here, this is for you, my dear. It is apparently of great urgency. I hope it is not bad news.”
She smiled, seemingly unconcerned, and leisurely tore open the parchment. All color drained from her face as she read the note.
Cole’s smile vanished, replaced immediately by concern for Darcy. Suddenly she looked very weak, tired, confused, and more alone than he had ever seen anyone look before.
“What is it Darcy?” It was the first time he had addressed her by her Christian name.
Speechless, she handed him the note to read the shocking news for himself.
Dear Darcy,
Edgar is dead. Found shot in the head at the warehouse. Hurry home.
Love,
Eva
“I am so sorry, my dear. This has to be a horrible shock. Is there anything I can do?” He hoped she would accept that his words were sincere, his concern genuine. “I would do anything in the world for you, just ask.”
She smiled up weakly at him, and her face was still a tumult of emotions. “Thank you, Cole,” she managed to squeak out. “I don’t have any idea what I need. I am either a very wealthy widow, or penniless and homeless. I…I…I don’t…” She collapsed into his arms, the heat and shock being more than her conscious mind could handle.
He scooped her up in his arms and barged across the gangplank with his precious cargo.
“Excuse me, pardon me, I have a sick woman here. She needs some air, please step aside,” he repeated as he plowed through the crowd, which parted like the Red Sea for Moses. Taking her to a shaded area against one of the tall buildings on the wharf, he set her on a wooden crate, frantically fanning her as he opened the buttons on her high-necked blouse. Out of nowhere, Sylvester appeared. Cole told him sharply, “Go inside and get her some water and a cold cloth for her head. Quickly!”
She had returned to consciousness, but as he bent over her, he rested a hand on her shoulder in case she fainted again.
Silently and suddenly, Sylvester appeared with a tin cup of cold water and a questionable looking wet rag for her forehead. There was no mistaking the concern on the black man’s face for his mistress or his disgust to see this relative stranger ministering to her in such a solicitous way.
Cole had assumed the role of her stalwart savior in this time of disaster. He sent Sylvester to hail a cab for Darcy. Scowling, the black man complied with Cole’s commands without question.
Cole lifted the young lady who had appeared tough and callus until she wilted into his arms moments before, and placed her into the carriage. Climbing in beside her, he insisted on seeing her safely home. Arriving at th
e mansion, Sylvester, burdened down with baggage, had hurried on ahead, opening the front door to admit Cole, who insisted Darcy could not walk on her own power, and himself.
She had apparently resigned herself to the status of helpless damsel and accepted his presence as her valiant knight, since she did not protest to his command of the situation. Once inside, a lovely mulatto girl squealed when she saw Darcy in the arms of a strange man.
“She fainted when she read her message, and I was just making sure she made it back home without any further misfortune,” he explained to the questioning look and gaping mouth of the beautiful face of the awaiting woman. He slowly and gently placed Darcy on her feet but kept his hand possessively and protectively at her waist.
After the two women fell into each other’s arms for a brief embrace, Darcy at last found her voice.
“What happened Eva? Who would have killed Edgar? Do you know any of the details? Thank you, Cole,” she tossed her comment offhandedly in his general direction, as if suddenly remembering his presence.
Cole stood aside with arms folded, leaning against the wall. He did not offer to leave.
“Oh, ma’chere, I am so glad you are home.” Kisses on both of Darcy’s cheeks preceded Eva’s explanation. Then in her strong Creole accent Eva told her calmly,
“Well, the police come here saying they found Edgar with a bullet hole to the brain, and he was dead. Somebody murdered him, but don’t nobody know who or why. The police say they be back today to ask you some questions.” Eva took Darcy’s hand and gently led her to a large comfortable overstuffed chair, propping her feet up on the small footstool. All the while shouting orders to the other servants to bring their mistress something cold to drink and to draw her a warm bath.
“Well, Eva. This is quite a shock, but what it will mean for us remains as much a mystery as Edgar’s murder. I have no idea who would want Edgar dead, or what will happen to his fortune, this house, his business, or all of us now that he is gone.” Darcy talked matter-of-factly rather than as a grieving young widow.
Cole, hat in hand, took in everything: the actions, the attitudes, what was spoken and what was left unspoken by the two women. With one ankle crossed over the other, the toe of his immaculate, shiny boot resting on the slate floor, he patiently waited to be dismissed. The servants cast furtive glances his way, and it amused him to think how their thoughts were racing to discern exactly what his relationship was to Mrs. Higgins.
Darcy did not seem aware of his presence, or if she was, she did not seem to mind in the least. She did not dismiss him, but she did not address him further. As Darcy gathered her skirts to climb the stairs, Cole roused up like a big cat after a nap on a sunny windowsill.
“I will check on you tomorrow, Mrs. Higgins. Good afternoon. I hope you feel much better soon.” Darcy turned to face him. Could that actually be a smile for me?
“All right, Cole,” Darcy answered in a very tired voice. “Thank you for your help today. I really don’t know what I would have done without you.”
Her gratitude was real, and it was enough to lead Cole to believe the icy wall between them was possibly giving way to a civil relationship. Fate had smiled upon him. With no husband between them, he now had his longed-for golden opportunity to further his relationship with Darcy.
Doffing his hat to both of the young women, he turned to go. “I’ll let myself out, thank you. It was nice meeting you, Eva.”
Eva gave him a terse nod in response.
Cole noted the close relationship between the two women, so to ensure future success with the lovely Darcy, he would need the approval of her personal maid who appeared to be much more than just a servant to Darcy. Cole was somewhat puzzled at the considerable influence Eva seemed to have over her mistress.
Outside, a cab waited at the curb, so he took it to his hotel where he continued to ponder Darcy’s situation. Perhaps he could do some snooping as a curious stranger interested in the hullabaloo regarding the murder of one of the city’s most prominent citizens. The more he learned about the intriguing Mrs. Higgins, the more interesting she became. There was obviously so much more than meets the eye regarding this beautiful, young widow. Dusk was falling, so he meandered into the dining room of the hotel for his evening meal. He had much to think about, and to learn.
Just as he had hoped, the buzz in the dining room was about the murder of Mr. Edgar Higgins. There was much speculation as to the reason an upstanding citizen with so much influence and former wealth was murdered. As Cole dined alone, he listened intently, albeit discreetly, to the scraps of conversation all around him.
“He had not been robbed according to rumors.”
“Whoever shot him, did not intend to miss. He was shot at pointblank range.”
“What will happen to his beautiful young widow? I wonder if we will see more of her now that he is dead, or if she will even stay here now that he is gone.”
“You know he kept her practically under lock and key.”
“I wonder if he left his fortune to her?”
On and on it went as Cole leisurely dined, lingering longer than necessary over an extra cup of coffee, picking up snatches of conversation like puzzle pieces. Mr. and Mrs. Higgins had apparently been the topic of public interest prior to his untimely death as well. Hmm. Practically kept her under lock and key… Although some parts of the puzzle were coming together for Cole, a large part of the picture was still missing.
No one had captured his fancy the way Darcy had, and that was an even bigger puzzle. It was more than just wanting to ravish her beautiful body that kept her on his mind. He sensed a bewildering need to protect and guard her from harm. What harm, he did not know, but he felt compelled to stay near her, to keep her safe, and to one day ultimately make her his own.
****
The next day Cole arrived at the Higgins’ home to a panicky Darcy.
As Eva opened the door to admit him, Darcy rushed to his side, speaking to him in such a rapid barrage of words he had to concentrate to comprehend what she was telling him.
“Oh, Cole. I am so glad you’re here! The police are questioning my whereabouts, and they won’t let Sylvester verify I was on the ship or go to the wharf to look at the manifesto. You are the only one who can vouch for where I was during the days leading up to and following Edgar’s murder.”
Removing his hat and handing it and his cane to Eva, he followed Darcy into the parlor where three police officers awkwardly stood. Cole read their shuffling feet and downcast looks as being very ill at ease with their current whereabouts, as well as their task at hand.
“Yes, well, uh-hum,” the older, taller man in street clothes stuttered and stammered. “I am Detective Gant, and I need to ask you some questions. Your name, sir?”
“I am Cole Evans, Officer Gant.”
“And you can attest to Mrs. Higgins’ whereabouts for the past five days?”
“Yes, sir, I can. She was a passenger on the paddle wheeler Queen Annabelle, travelling down the Mississippi River the same as I was.” Cole paused, waiting for the subsequent questions, which he was sure would come.
“Have you known Mrs. Higgins long, Mr. Evans?”
“Only for the length of our voyage.” Cole wished the man would just spit it out. He hated this dilly-dallying about the subject. There was no way Darcy was a killer even if she had been in New Orleans. Why was she even a suspect? Cole wanted to know what he didn’t know about her that could make the police suspect she had motive to kill her husband, or have him killed. “Officer Gant, I am sure that you have other pressing matters, so can we please move this along. Why don’t you say what you came here to say and be done with it?”
Darcy snapped her head around to look at Cole, dumfounded at his audacity in talking to the police that way. They were alluding to an awful accusation that could mean her life! How could he be so nonchalant and want to rush these men through their process? A part of her, however, found his powerful ability to take charge in any situation rather
awe-inspiring.
“Very well, sir. We have reason to believe Mrs. Higgins may have wanted her husband dead.”
Darcy gasped and sank in the nearest chair.
“And booked passage on the ship to provide an alibi for her whereabouts while her husband was killed. We have no proof as yet regarding our suspicions, but we have to follow through on every lead, you understand. I’m sure you know by now that this is a very high-profile case, and we are under considerable pressure to find the killer. Bringing this case to a successful ending in order to protect the citizens of New Orleans is of utmost importance to our department.” Detective Gant cleared his throat before continuing and looked rather sheepishly at Darcy.
“Mr. Higgins was not exactly a popular man, so there are others who might profit from his death, but none as much as the widow. We will be in touch, so please do not leave town, ma’am, or you either, Mr. Evans.” The detective and his duo of uniformed officers headed for the door which Eva was holding open for them. “Oh, one more thing, Mrs. Higgins. Do you own a handgun of any type?”
“No, sir, I most certainly do not. I despise guns and have never even held one.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Officer Gant tipped his hat to the ladies and left.
Fishing for some more gratitude, maybe even a compliment from this amazing young widow, Cole said in a jaunty tone, “Well, Darcy, it looks like I have been in the right place at the right time on two different occasions. It may be none of my business, but since I have been drawn into it, I feel that entitles me to know a little bit more of what has been going on around here. In my opinion you are incapable of any type of violence, so why on earth would they suspect you of something as despicable as murder?”
Eva blanched and quickly answered for Darcy. “My mistress is not a murderer. These men be fools. They need to look for the killer, not bother the Missus.” Eva’s eyes flamed with rage, and her words sizzled at the injustice.
A Gentleman's Game Page 3