by Joanna Shupe
Guilt settled between her shoulder blades, the uncomfortable notion that Julius may be right. She hadn’t been much help to him, and the sooner they helped one another, the sooner this charade would end. Besides, the answer seemed so simple, she could hardly believe the intelligent man beside her hadn’t already come up with it.
She looked over. “Have you considered luring your father’s investors out?”
His gaze locked with hers, one blond brow raised. “Luring, how?”
“With some false promise of payment. All you need is for word to get around in society that you’ve found something related to your father’s investment, something that will benefit these mysterious investors. Then they’ll come forward to collect.”
He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, and she could tell he was surprised. “Like stock that has matured, or something along those lines?”
“Yes. If we make it exciting enough, the gossips will take care of the rest. What do you think?”
“I think it could work. From what I’ve seen, most men of New York society are greedy and lazy. This idea appeals to both.” He studied her carefully, intently, with those bright blue eyes, and a familiar heat slid along her spine. “Thank you.”
Swallowing, she angled herself toward the stage. “You are welcome.”
“And I promise I’ll help you return to England as quickly as possible.”
She didn’t respond, uncertain why those words did not give her more comfort.
Chapter Eleven
Julius entered the foyer of the Gotham Club, a large brick and limestone mansion towering at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Twenty-Second Street. Surprising that the club remained downtown, considering most of the millionaires lived above Forty-Second Street nowadays. He could only surmise how the developments in the surrounding neighborhood—the encroachment of the middle class—infuriated the club’s conservative members.
He, on the other hand, relished the upheaval. Perhaps one day soon he’d no longer need to pretend to like these vapid, spoiled men who assumed their last name put them above all others.
The attendant showed him through the marble hallways, past the priceless art, to the dining room. At midday, the airy space bustled with a bevy of New York’s elite taking their luncheon, men with names like Cooper, Bennett, Astor, and Jerome. He recognized two senators and a retired general amongst the crowd as well.
Cortland rose as Julius approached the table. “Hatcher, hello.” The two men shook hands.
Julius sat opposite Nora’s uncle. “Thank you for accepting my invitation.”
“Of course. The other two will be joining us shortly. Incidentally, I was a bit surprised you wanted to include Cross and Underhill. Didn’t think you even knew them.”
“Well, as Nora’s future husband, I do owe it to her to try to acquaint myself with the men of society.” More importantly, Cross and Underhill were two of Manhattan’s worst gossips, according to Nora.
“Happy to hear you say that. I do hope you and my niece plan on staying in New York once you’re married.”
“We haven’t discussed it, but I suspect we’ll travel frequently between London and New York.”
“That would be nice. Her aunt and I have become quite fond of having Nora about. She’s been a breath of fresh air, honestly.”
Two men began weaving through the linen-covered dining tables. One was Cortland’s age, heavy beard and sideburns covering most of his face. The other man was several years younger, a simple mustache gracing his upper lip. The two greeted diners along the way, more concerned with garnering attention than punctuality. Julius was well acquainted with the type: men who never missed a party, abhorred working, and believed money fell from the skies.
“Ah, here they are,” Cortland murmured, standing.
Julius rose as well and waited to be introduced. Then handshakes were traded and the men all sat. Before conversation could start the waitstaff appeared and it was several minutes as orders were placed. When they were relaxing with drinks, Cross said, “Hatcher, I’ve heard a number of men sing your praises lately. Said you gave them some sound financial advice.”
Julius swirled the contents of his glass, a fine twenty-year-old Scotch whisky. “A few correct guesses here and there. It’s nothing.”
“Don’t need the advice myself,” Underhill said with a smug smile. “But some gents ain’t as lucky. Good of you to help out.”
The condescending tone had Julius gritting his teeth. God help these two if another financial panic were to hit. “I’m happy to be of service.”
Talk turned to horses and jockeys for a brief bit. Cross was apparently a connoisseur of New York’s racetracks and spent ten minutes comparing Saratoga Springs to Sheepshead Bay. Julius had been to both once or twice but had no insight to contribute. As they ate, his mind instead wandered to Nora. He’d not seen or heard from her since he’d delivered her home after their outing to the Casino Theater. In his daydreams, however, he had relived that kiss a fair number of times.
He hadn’t believed she’d actually kiss him. He’d goaded her, fully expecting her to laugh at him or push away with a firm rebuke. Yet she hadn’t, and that kiss had exceeded every prurient memory of the first one. In that instant, seducing her away from Robert had become less of a game and more of an obsession.
He no longer merely wanted her. He craved her.
And that was dangerous. She loved another man and Julius had no intention of pledging his troth for a lifetime of responsibility and failure. Even if Nora weren’t attached, pursuing her would be a terrible idea. His affairs, while public, were with ambitious women no more looking for a husband than a trip to the moon. He had no desire to change that.
And still . . .
He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her.
She kissed with every bit of passion in her soul, more depth of feeling than he’d experienced from another woman before. Something about the two of them was explosive. Mind-bending. He hadn’t lost himself so completely in a kiss, well, ever.
“Hatcher,” Cortland said sharply. “Are you still with us?”
Julius shook himself and gave the older man his attention. “I apologize. You were saying?”
“I understand your mother and sister are visiting from Albany. Perhaps we should host a dinner for the two families to become better acquainted.”
A dinner. With his mother, Nora, and the Cortlands? Dear God, no. The idea spelled disaster. He hoped his mother would soon tire of waiting and return home.
When Julius remained silent, Cortland said, “I’ll have Mrs. Cortland arrange it with your assistant.”
That prompted him to say, “Oh, I’m certain you and Mrs. Cortland are extremely busy. I wouldn’t care to impose. My family can be overwhelming.” More like unforgiving.
“Nonsense. We’d love to have them to our home for dinner.”
His mother would never agree to a dinner at the Cortlands’, as she loathed New York society types. She much preferred that Julius host, which he’d flat-out refused to do. But how much longer could he refuse? Agatha and his mother showed no signs of giving up and Julius was running out of excuses. “I’ll speak with her,” he lied.
“Good. Nothing more important than family.”
Julius wasn’t so sure about that, but now that the topic of family had been raised . . . “She has come down to oversee a number of my late father’s interests, actually. Some very interesting business developments have transpired over the last two months.”
“Is that so?” Cortland asked politely.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to bore you gentlemen with the tawdry details. Something out of a Poe novel, really.” Now that the carrot had been dangled in front of the horses, he focused on his food.
“Poe, you say?” Cross leaned in, eyes gleaming. “I do love a good tawdry story.”
“Me as well,” Underhill concurred.
Julius carefully placed his knife and fork on his plate. “Well, as long as you keep this betw
een us.” Underhill and Cross nodded eagerly, while Cortland seemed quite uncomfortable. Probably because he knew Underhill and Cross were incapable of keeping secrets.
Undaunted, Julius continued. “My father was coordinating a number of investments at the time of his death. One investment had a number of partners but the particulars of the deal were never disseminated before he died. However, it appears my father wrote it all down and buried the details under the floorboards in his study. My mother recently found the paperwork and each investor stands to inherit an obscene fortune. Some stock that has split several times. I’ve been poring through the legalese to ensure it’s legit.”
“And is it?” Underhill asked.
“Yes, it appears so. The only problem is we don’t know the identities of these investors.” He lifted a shoulder. “If I cannot find them, I guess I’ll keep the money myself.”
Cross’s eyes were huge. “That’s quite a tale. Are you saying you don’t have the names of the other investors?”
“No. They’re not in any of the papers I could find. I do know there were four altogether, including my father. So you can understand why I want to keep this between us. If word gets out I’ll have every Tom, Dick, and Harry at my door.”
“I imagine so,” Cortland said. “But how will you recognize the true investors from frauds when they appear?”
“The men who know the details of the deal are the true investors—and I’m guarding those closely. Anyway, what are the odds these men will actually surface after all this time?” Pretty high, if his plan came to fruition.
“Are you actively searching for them?”
“Not really. If they don’t show up, then it’s more for me, right?” He forced a chuckle that sounded cynical and greedy to his own ears.
“Smart thinking,” Underhill said with a wink, though Julius could tell the wheels were turning in the other man’s brain.
“I never discuss money—it’s so vulgar, you know—but this must be quite a large amount if Julius Hatcher himself is hoping to keep it,” Cross said.
Julius merely smiled and lifted his cut-crystal tumbler in a toast.
By the time the luncheon ended, Cross and Underhill could hardly sit still. They all said their good-byes and Cortland walked out with Julius. Before Julius left the dining room he glanced over his shoulder and saw Cross and Underhill leaning over, whispering in ears, gesturing in Julius’s direction.
Excellent. Perhaps Nora’s idea would work after all. Which meant all that remained was to help her return to London, an obligation about as appealing as turning off his stock ticker for a few days.
However, he’d made a promise and he had every intention of standing by his word—no matter how much he hated the prospect of never seeing her again.
“I am quite looking forward to meeting Mr. Hatcher’s mother,” Aunt Bea said, breaking the silence as the large Cortland carriage arrived at the Hatcher mansion. “Do you know much about her, Nora?”
“No, not really. She and Julius are not close, from what I understand. I was surprised to get the invitation, really.” Stunned, more like it. Julius had been adamant against this happening and she had no idea what had changed his mind. All she knew was that her aunt had arranged the entire thing with Julius’s secretary at Mrs. Hatcher’s request.
Icy wind and sharp rain pelted the sides of the Cortland carriage. Shivering, Nora drew the sides of her heavy cape more tightly about her and longed for the vehicle to turn around and take her back to her uncle’s. How on earth could she play the loving, cheerful fiancée when her mind was such a scattered mess?
You are turning my life upside down—all to return to a craven fortune hunter who doesn’t deserve you.
The past few days had been spent trying to sort through her feelings for both Robert and Julius, while examining herself in the process. Nora didn’t care for what she had discovered: a woman who could feel such intense attraction—and yes, interest—for Julius when she had promised her loyalty and soul to someone else. A month ago she wouldn’t have believed it possible. Yet here they were, posing as an engaged couple while stealing very real kisses in secluded spots.
Kisses her brain hadn’t been able to erase, no matter how many times she reread Robert’s letters.
Briefly, she’d considered confessing all to Robert but couldn’t bring herself to put pen to paper. Julius was a scoundrel, a charming rogue who attracted women like flies. Nora could hardly be faulted for succumbing to his easy smile and handsome face, could she? Years from now, when she and Robert were far from New York and secure in their marriage, she would tell him of her brief fling here and how little it had meant.
Only . . . the burst of happiness she experienced each time she thought of Julius did not feel little. It felt huge and all-encompassing. Distracting. To dismiss it seemed like the worst kind of lie, even to herself. Whatever was happening between her and Julius, though inconvenient, was genuine. Perhaps more genuine than anything Nora had ever experienced before . . . and that scared her to her toes.
The wisest course of action was to avoid Julius. To admit he was a temptation she couldn’t resist and never allow herself to be alone with him. Remain in public and forgo sneaking off with him down secluded paths. Stop daydreaming about the desperate, determined way he’d kissed her, as if he’d been afraid she’d vanish at any moment. Cease imagining what it would be like if their kisses went further and he satisfied this terrible ache inside her.
I would never allow the woman I love to be taken away from me.
His honesty and recklessness made him dangerous, if only because she found those qualities so disarming and dashed appealing.
But Julius was not the man of her future, a man who wanted a wife and children. He’d said as much himself. So what, then? She would become his mistress? Another in a long line of women he enjoyed and then left?
No, absolutely not. Even if she cared little for the conventions of her class, had always done the opposite of what was expected of her, she still had her pride. She’d been raised to settle her heart on one man—and that had already happened. Julius Hatcher had arrived in her life too late.
“Well, I may have pushed it a bit at lunch with Hatcher,” Uncle James said.
That got Nora’s attention. “Lunch? You had lunch with Julius?”
“Yes.” He peered through the window. “Saw him at the Gotham Club yesterday. Are those ducks?”
“Oh, isn’t that clever,” Aunt Bea said, peering out at the moat. “Don’t ducks fly away for the winter? I must ask Mr. Hatcher how he manages to keep his here.”
Nora would much rather discuss yesterday’s lunch than the ducks. Before she could press her uncle, the footman opened the door. Uncle James descended and helped Aunt Bea to the walk, then assisted Nora. As she stepped to the ground, Nora said, “I am so happy you and Julius are getting along. Was this lunch to discuss wedding plans?”
The edges of his mouth turned down slightly. “Goodness, no. We’ll leave all that wedding planning to you and your aunt. We had lunch with a few other men. Nothing to be concerned about.”
Ah. Could it be that Julius had taken her advice and started a rumor regarding his father’s lost investors? That was good news. At least one of them was close to achieving success in this bargain.
“It’s like a fairy tale castle,” Aunt Bea whispered, now on the walk at Nora’s side and craning her neck to take in the mansion. “All we need is a witch and a curse.”
Nora sincerely hoped they found neither of those two things inside.
The front door swung in and Brandywine emerged. When Aunt Bea heard his British accent, she beamed as if the butler was a long-lost cousin, and soon the two were chattering like old friends. He took their things and showed them to a small family salon near the formal dining room.
Julius was already there, his back to the room, leaning on the mantel and staring into the fireplace. His shoulders were bunched tight, unhappiness etched in the lines of his profile. Nora had th
e ridiculous urge to run a comforting hand down his broad back.
Stop it. He is not really your fiancé.
An older woman rose from the sofa. Her black dress was entirely free of embellishments or adornments and she wore no jewelry. Blond hair was pulled into a simple twist at her nape, smoothed off her face with not a strand escaping. Piercing blue eyes swept Nora quickly and the lines around her mouth deepened. Was that disapproval?
Next to Mrs. Hatcher stood a younger woman who bore a strong family resemblance to Julius. This must be Agatha, the sister who lived with his mother in Albany.
“Good evening,” Aunt Bea said, entirely undeterred by the awkwardness in the room. “How nice to meet you both. I am Mrs. Beatrice Cortland.”
All the appropriate introductions were made. Mrs. Hatcher’s handshake was limp and uninspired, Nora noticed, while Julius’s sister had a strong grip, almost as if she had something to prove. “Very nice to meet you, Lady Nora,” Agatha said with a hardy pump of her hand.
“You as well, Miss Hatcher. Julius has told me quite a bit about you.”
“And yet you still came tonight,” her fake fiancé drawled as he snatched her hand away from his sister and kissed the knuckles. “You look lovely, my lady.”
Heat flooded her at the compliment. For some reason, she’d wanted to make a good impression this evening, so she had taken extra time with readying herself. Her ivory silk dress was ornamented with lace, beads, and embroidered flowers, with delicate purple-and-green stitching around the skirt and train. Matching flowers had been woven into the elaborate set of braids close to her head. “Thank you.”
He smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. He appeared tired, subdued. “Would anyone care for a drink?” he asked the room in general. Aunt Bea requested sherry and Uncle James strode to the sideboard with Julius.
“Nora?” Julius called. “Wine, champagne, or sherry?”
“Champagne, please.”
The Hatcher women were not drinking and Nora wondered if she should rescind her request. Julius was drinking, however, as would Aunt Bea and Uncle James. She decided one glass would not hurt. At least then she’d have some liquid courage to get through the evening.