by Joanna Shupe
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand. You are always in the papers. In the brief time I’ve been in New York, you’ve been mentioned no less than four dozen times.”
“In the business pages, perhaps—”
“And the gossip pages. Where you went for dinner, who you were with. You and Miss Desmond are practically regular features. Yet since our engagement, nothing. Not even a single mention. What are we doing wrong?”
Julius shifted in his chair and smoothed the fabric of his trousers. “We’re not doing anything wrong. It’s unfair to compare the two situations. Miss Desmond is very popular here. She’s one of the most popular singers and performers in America.”
“And your mistress.”
“No longer, but yes, she was that, too.”
So he’d ended his association with Miss Desmond. This was news. Part of her felt relieved . . . and the other part of her was horrified at said relief. Why should he not have a mistress? He and Nora were business partners, nothing more. Which did not explain why the idea of him with another woman turned her stomach.
Her gaze flicked to his mouth, those full lips that had ravaged hers the night before. You liked kissing him. Admit it.
No. She would admit nothing of the sort and the entire episode needed to be erased from her mind. Enough time had been spent ruminating on that kiss last evening.
“And the places I took Miss Desmond were designed to attract attention,” Julius continued. “Notoriety is what performers crave.”
Places designed to attract attention. Nora paused, her brain absorbing. Yes, that was definitely the difference. She wasn’t thinking broad enough in her plan. Society events were predictable and hardly worth noting in the papers. A whole city existed out there, with seedy and immoral destinations perfect for a scandalous outing. “What were these places?”
“Well, there’s the Haymarket. Delmonico’s and Sherry’s, of course. Bare-knuckle prizefights. Bicycle races. Horse races at Sheepshead Bay. She liked the German beer gardens as well.”
The Haymarket was an outrageous dance hall in the Tenderloin district. An earl’s daughter would never, ever visit there . . . but the new Nora Parker would go in a flash. “Those all sound terribly exciting.”
His handsome face grew wary. “I don’t care for that look. What are you plotting?”
“I think it’s obvious, isn’t it? You and I will visit these places, too. Then the papers will begin mentioning us and word will reach my father’s ears.”
“Now, wait a moment,” he said, rising. “Most of those places are in dangerous neighborhoods hardly suitable for an English lady. Forget scandal—you could be seriously hurt.”
“That’s why you are coming with me. To offer your protection.”
“No, absolutely not.” He put his hands on his hips, his shoulders stiff and unforgiving beneath the fine tailoring. “Even if I could protect you, things occur in those places that no gently bred woman should ever witness.”
“Let me worry about my delicate sensibilities. Do you not see? This is an absolutely perfect plan.”
“You’re asking me to treat you like a mistress, Nora. It’s impossible.” His hand swept the air to indicate the length of her body. “And inappropriate. Look at you.”
“Why?” She glanced down at her perfectly pressed yellow day dress. It molded to her curves without revealing too much and complemented her skin tone. “What is wrong with the way I appear?”
“Nothing, for an earl’s daughter. You’re perfectly put together. A mistress dresses entirely differently.”
“How, exactly?”
His hand flopped ineffectually at his side. “I don’t know. They dress to entice.”
Her feminine pride wilted a bit. He doesn’t find you enticing. Hadn’t he said as much after their kiss last night? “Don’t worry—I have no intention of repeating what happened.”
Well, neither did she. They were partners in this sham engagement. Time to act like it. “Fine. I can do that. What else does a mistress do?”
Julius couldn’t help it. One of his brows shot up as if to say, Really?
A delicate flush swept over her neck, meaning he wouldn’t have to spell it out for her. Again he wondered if she were innocent. He suspected the boy back in England had taken liberties, which was why she was determined to return to him. Women, especially those of Nora’s class, were taught to hold on to their virginity until marriage. Doubtful she’d have given it away without serious emotions involved. Regardless, her past was none of his business.
Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if she kissed the English lad the same way she’d kissed him last night?
“I meant other than that, of course,” she said.
He exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. The day had hardly begun and already he longed for a stiff drink. “This is a ridiculous conversation—”
She clasped her hands together, pleading with him. “Come now, Julius. I need your help. You know these places. Take me to one or two of them so we may cause some gossip.”
“What you’re asking will result in getting me thrown out of society ten seconds after I’ve barely been let in.”
“No, it won’t. Society is very forgiving of men and their escapades—and they’ve already accepted you. I saw you cozying up to the gentlemen last night. They all couldn’t wait to bend your ear.”
“For stock tips, Nora. They aren’t exactly inviting me to dinner.” He closed the distance between them so he could better see her eyes. “Tell me why returning to England is so important. Tell me about the young man waiting for you.”
Her mouth formed a tiny O and he heard her swift intake of breath. Did she think him dense? Though he’d clearly shocked her, he said nothing. In business the most crucial advantage in a negotiation was silence. Relationships were no different in his experience.
“Why do you think there is a man?” she finally asked.
No need to tell her Beatrice Cortland had confirmed his suspicion last evening. For whatever reason, the older woman had kept the knowledge from her niece and Julius saw no reason to intervene. “Because I like puzzles and I’m fairly good at putting the pieces together.” He tapped his temple with one finger. “Things have to add up in here or else I’m not satisfied. And it’s obvious that’s why you’re so anxious to return home, not to mention horrified by what happened last evening.”
Frowning, she shifted a few steps away, trailing her fingers along the wooden chair back. “Fine. There is a man. My father disapproves of him, which is why I’ve been sent here.”
Knowing for certain that another man held her affections bothered Julius. He told himself it was because he liked Nora, found her courageous and entertaining. She deserved to be happy with a man deserving of her spirit, not some sniveling coward who allowed her father to keep them apart.
But he suspected his annoyance might stem from another reason altogether.
“Who is he?”
She avoided his gaze. “His name is Robert and he’s an artist.”
Julius bit his lip to keep from snorting with laughter. Of course her father disapproved. Julius could picture the lad: a brooding, dark-haired sensitive type who wrote sonnets to the curve of her ear while dreaming about her dowry. Jesus. Did she honestly believe a happily ever after awaited herself and this boy?
“Allow me to guess,” he drawled. “A struggling artist.”
Nora lifted her chin, her spine as straight as a tailor’s pin, and Julius knew he’d struck a nerve. The woman was no fool; she had to know her family’s fortune and status would attract all kinds of rogues and ne’er-do-wells. “Robert has been studying his craft. He’s a painter and has been searching for an apprenticeship over the last year.”
He didn’t have the heart to tell her, “searching for an apprenticeship” was a polite way of saying “searching for a wealthy patroness.” The sun had certainly smiled on dear old Robert the day he met Lady Nora. Was she really this naïve?
None of this was Julius’s concern, per se, except the flagrant disregard she showed for her reputation. She had no desire to stay in society’s good graces; her only motive was returning to London.
If she develops feelings for you she’ll want to remain in New York . . .
His mind turned over this devious thought. At least then all this nonsense about visiting the Haymarket and the Tenderloin would be put to rest. Julius would remain in polite society to discover clues about his father’s business partners, an agreeable Nora by his side. The nine remaining weeks would then expire and he’d be free from the engagement.
At which point Nora would either return to her artist or find a new husband, one she truly loved.
Engage in harmless flirting, he told himself. That was all. Just enough to hopefully spark an attraction that would have her questioning her attachment to the budding Michelangelo. Lord knew kissing her would certainly not be a hardship. “You want to visit those places, where I took Miss Desmond?”
“Yes, I do. Have you agreed to take me?”
He moved in closer. Shades of green and gold flickered in her brown eyes in the overhead light. “Not quite. I want to see if you can pull it off.”
She cleared her throat but didn’t move. Two spots of color appeared on her cheeks. “Pull what off?”
Lifting his hand, he traced the smooth edge of her jaw with a blunt fingertip. Damn, her skin was soft, as soft as her lips from last night. Warmth slid along his veins and through his groin. “If I agree to take you to those places, are you able to blend in with the other loose women? This isn’t London, sweetheart. This is New York City and we can spot a fraud from a mile away.”
She stared at him boldly, their gazes locked, and her lips parted as the rate of her breathing increased. The clock on the mantel kept a steady pace, though he could hardly hear the ticking over the pounding in his chest. Thump, thump, thump.
Then her eyes slid to his mouth and the tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. The air in the room disappeared, his lungs filling with heat and longing instead. God, he wanted to kiss her right now, to feel their bodies pressed together. Was she thinking the same?
Suddenly, she pushed his hand away and stepped back. “I needn’t prove a thing to you. If you refuse to take me, I’ll merely go by myself. Or I’ll find someone else to escort me.”
A dark, unfamiliar pressure in his chest quickly replaced the lust. “No, absolutely not. You cannot gad about with another man. And furthermore, going there alone would put you in incredible danger.”
She marched to the sofa and retrieved the bonnet she’d placed there earlier. “Julius, you are neither my husband nor my father. You are not even a true fiancé. I can hardly foresee any circumstance where I must follow your instructions.”
His jaw clenched. Were all daughters of earls so willful and stubborn? So utterly unreasonable and maddening? She could not wade through the city’s underbelly alone, nor did he want her traipsing about with some other escort in such a seedy, disreputable place. Damn and hell.
One outing will not hurt. You can prevent her from doing something outrageous. Flirt with her. Cause her to forget Robert the artist.
She’d almost reached the door when he’d finished arguing with himself. “Wait,” he called, and she froze, her hand poised on the latch. “I’ll take you. One time, to the Haymarket.” He better knew the staff there and could minimize the risk more adeptly.
When she turned, the strength of her smile nearly knocked him off his feet. “Thank you, Julius. I knew you’d be reasonable.”
Reason hardly factored into what he experienced at the moment. No, he was completely untethered, slipping down the side of an icy mountain while grasping at branches to try and save himself. He only hoped he didn’t come to regret this decision. “You are welcome.”
“I do have one request.”
His mouth tightened. He was hardly feeling charitable. This conversation had already not gone according to plan—and now she had another demand? “Which is?”
She ticked off on her fingers. “No more kissing. No holding hands. No long, deep gazes. No flirting.”
He smothered a strangled laugh and stared up at the ceiling. Had she read his mind? Because that had been precisely what he’d planned to do. Damn it. “You believe I have designs on seducing you?”
“I’m certain you don’t but I prefer to be perfectly clear as to where things stand between us.”
“And where is that?”
“As friends, of course. That’s all. You know my affections are engaged elsewhere, and you have your . . . ladies. There is no reason for either of us to think otherwise.”
“There isn’t?”
“No, of course not. We’re partners in a mutually beneficial agreement. I see no reason to ruin that with messy emotional entanglements.”
Messy emotional entanglements? Was that what the British aristocrats called kissing? Still, he needed to put her at ease. It wouldn’t do to have her constantly on guard. He forced an easy, friendly smile. “I concur. I’m not particularly fond of emotional entanglements myself.” He stuck out his hand. “Friends.”
She reached out and shook his hand. “Friends.”
My dearest Robert,
Robert, my love,
Sweetest Robert,
Nora scratched out the salutation and then crumpled the piece of paper. She tossed it into the fire burning in the grate to join the others already discarded. Her letters to Robert were normally brimming with emotion, yet each draft since the Billingses’ ball had been a meandering, boring mess of drivel. For some reason she could not seem to muster up the enthusiasm.
It was that damned kiss. The embrace had hung like a black cloud over her head for nearly five days. Part of her wanted to confess the betrayal to Robert, but she dismissed the idea. As Julius had explained, the kiss had been his way of protecting her from discovery. Nothing more. They had become carried away in the moment and both had promised the episode would not be repeated. He’d shaken her hand and everything.
They were friends. And while she found him attractive and interesting, she would retain a respectful distance.
A soft knock on her door was preceded by her aunt’s voice. “My dear, are you busy?”
“No. Please, come in.” She quickly shoved her writing papers under a bolster on the bed.
Her aunt opened the bedchamber door. “There are some letters in the morning post.” She held out a stack of papers. “You must have quite a number of friends in London who miss you.”
Nora merely smiled as she accepted the packets. Since the scandal broke in London, her only letters nowadays were from Robert and Eva. “Thank you.” She set the stack on her bed.
“Incidentally, I heard from your father.”
Nora’s spine straightened as hope rose in her throat. Her father hadn’t written to her since she’d come to New York. Doubtful he’d heard of the engagement this quickly, but perhaps he’d decided to bring her home regardless. “What did he say?”
“Nothing of importance, really. Just updates on Parliament and his schedule.”
Updates on his schedule? Disappointment thickened Nora’s tongue, yet she forced herself to ask, “Any message for me at all?”
“No,” her aunt answered, sympathy brimming in her eyes. “But he isn’t one for idle chitchat, my dear.”
Yes, Nora knew that quite well. How many breakfasts had she tried to engage him in conversation while he pored over the morning papers? How many evenings had she read in his study merely to be in the same room with him, while he scoured paperwork at his desk? How many birthdays had he missed, sending a present with his secretary instead?
So why, then, was she surprised he’d ignored her now?
Because you’re a fool, that’s why.
The only thing that had attracted his attention was discovering his daughter kissing a man on the drawing room sofa during a dinner party. And Nora suspected he would have ignored even that
if he hadn’t been surrounded by a handful of his Parliamentary cronies.
She pushed aside the hurt and asked, “Was he always so closed off, even as a child?”
Her aunt lowered herself onto the edge of Nora’s bed, shifting to get comfortable. “He was never gregarious, if that’s what you mean. Being the earl . . . well, you know the responsibility that goes along with the title. And he inherited quite young, after our father died. I fear poor Bertrand never had a chance of a normal childhood, whatever that was for English boys at the time.”
“I wish I remembered more from when my mother was still alive.”
“She was lovely, like you, and Bertrand loved her madly. I think it broke him when she died, from what I heard. He seemed to withdraw even more. I wish I had offered to bring you to New York then. Perhaps you wouldn’t have been quite so lonely.”
“I wasn’t lonely,” Nora said. “There were the servants. Neighbors. I made a few friends my own age. And I used to volunteer in the foundling hospital.” Which was how she’d met Robert. He’d grown up at the hospital and often returned to teach the young boys to paint. Robert hadn’t been afraid to talk to her, hadn’t been intimidated by her title or her status. He had been interested in her.
Aunt Bea reached over to pat Nora’s arm. “Well, then, I will stop berating myself for leaving you with your father. And you’re here now, which is all that matters.”
Nora smiled and tried not to feel guilty over her desperation to return to England. Her aunt had repeatedly expressed happiness at the chance to spend time with her, and here Nora was busy plotting and scheming to get away from New York. Including tonight’s outing to the Haymarket with Julius, which would require sneaking out of the house once her aunt and uncle retired.
I’ll not feel bad about wanting to choose my own husband. I’ll not feel bad for loving Robert.