Rags to Rubies

by Annalisa Russo

  “My father was considered an expert in Renaissance jewelry, and that’s where my reputation also lies. He left a small estate that helps pay the bills and allows me to care for Zia Bruna.”

  “So you don’t need anything? You are content?”

  The question seemed to catch her off guard. She blinked twice at him then looked down.

  “Yes, I’m content.”

  Jared wondered briefly if maybe she had simply convinced herself so.

  “Actually, my favorite place in the whole world is a tiny town called Allens Grove, population two hundred thirty-eight, in Wisconsin,” Grace said. “My parents owned a cabin on a pond there, surrounded by twenty acres of woods. It’s beautiful in the winter, like a picture postcard.”

  Jared watched as her face became animated. She smiled often, a crooked little smile, and spoke with enthusiasm, using her graceful hands to paint invisible pictures of words and objects.

  At one point she looked away wistfully. “I always wished I had a brother or sister to romp in the snow with—you know, snowmen, snow angels, ice skating…”

  Jared chuckled. “Not really.”

  Had he ever been that young? His only childhood memories seemed to be of survival. He’d left Chicago at fourteen and moved so many times he lost count. He had no roots, no affinity for any one place, a fact that never bothered him until recently.

  “Tell me about your parents.”

  Somberness flitted across her features. “I was ten when my mother died of influenza. Zia Bruna, my mother’s older sister, was widowed by then, so she came from Toscana, in the old country, to help raise me. Papa died in an accident, so Zia and I have been on our own now for over two years.”

  “What kind of accident?” Jared inquired. Maybe there was a connection to Grace’s shadowy stranger.

  “He...Papa didn’t deal well with my mother’s death. He always told me they fell in love at first sight.” She smiled at the memory. She ran a finger up and down the folds of the pristine white napkin. “He drank,” she finally said. “He fell, coming home one night. The police said he must have hit his head on the pilaster of the bridge and fallen into the water.”

  “I’m sorry, Grace.”

  “Thank you.” Her bright smile returned. “Bruna and I manage to stay out of trouble...usually. So far we’ve been able to resist the modern pursuits of smoking, swearing, petting, and disturbing the general peace of the community. Bruna, however, does like a little cicchétto once in a while.”

  “Cicchétto?”

  Grace held two fingers apart to measure the size of a shot glass. “A nip of whiskey, for medicinal purposes.” Grace chuckled.

  Jared hesitated to bring up the subject of last night, but Grace seemed relaxed and amicable. “The city’s not exactly a safe place for a single woman.”

  “Applesauce,” Grace said, squaring her shoulders. “If you respect the nuances of the city and use common sense, there’s no need to be afraid. And, besides, I can take care of myself. I assure you, last night was unusual.”

  “Dash it, Grace! You were foolish to take chances with your safety,” he said, impatient with her blasé attitude. He knew the fetid side of life and how easily it could swallow a person. People like the little man last night were lurking around every corner, waiting for an opportunity to relieve their prey of their money or their life. And possibly, in her case, her virtue.

  “Ah, but you came to my rescue, didn’t you?”

  “And if I hadn’t opened my door?” he asked.

  “Let’s change the subject, shall we? Were you born here, Jared?”

  “I don’t know where I was born,” he answered simply, glancing up as Sallie arrived at the table with a flask of red wine, two glasses, and two dishes piled high with spaghetti in a red sauce. Pulling out a wicked-looking knife, he reached up and cut off several hunks of the assorted sausages that hung from the ceiling beams and added them to an overflowing antipasto basket of olives, cheeses, and crusty bread.

  “Enjoy, my friend,” Sal said. “You know the routine.” He drew a wooden pocket door shut across the alcove and a lock clicked.

  Grace’s eyes grew round as she found herself locked in the tiny space with Jared.

  “So you see, Miss Hathaway, sometimes things aren’t always as they seem,” Jared said gauging her response. The dim candlelight danced across the soft features of Grace’s face. “Do you feel safe now?”

  Chapter Six

  “What’s going on here?” Grace snapped. “I don’t understand.”

  Jared saw an emotion on her face that might have been fear.

  “You’re deliberately trying to frighten me.”

  He hesitated, letting the moment sink in, then moved his plate of spaghetti aside as he leaned across the narrow table. Grace stiffened when the side of his face brushed her hair. He heard her sharp inhale. He fumbled with a latch to Grace’s left, behind the sheer curtain mounted on the back wall of the alcove. The heavy paneled wall slid open and into a pocket.

  Jared pulled the curtain aside and tucked it behind the tie-back holder. “Do the same on your side,” he said pointing to the other side of the curtain.

  The alcove now had a view of a speakeasy in full tilt. Lively syncopated notes of jazz and the smell of strong tobacco filled the air. In spite of the early hour the wooden dance floor teemed with couples dancing the Black Bottom. Jared noticed several men he knew standing by a bar with three women in flapper dress and long pearls. The women laughed as they lifted what looked like champagne in a gay toast. Two men were playing shuffleboard. One patron was sleeping it off, his head on a wooden table.

  Jared reached for one of the wine glasses. Grace’s face was unreadable now. Had she ever been to a speak? He’d just assumed that, like everyone else, she had. Sallie had an agreement with the juice joint’s owner and had several alcoves installed in his restaurant for regular customers. Sallie made hooch and wine in his basement and sold it to the speak’s owner. At least it was top shelf stuff. Most speakeasies in middle class neighborhoods sold rot gut, usually dangerous to drink.

  “If you don’t care to sample Sallie’s homemade red ink, we could always eat on the restaurant side.” Jared poured red wine into the glass. “I, on the other hand, would like to imbibe and enjoy the music.”

  He swirled the wine and inhaled its fragrant bouquet. Sipping, he pronounced, “Excellent, as usual.” Raising his eyebrows in a silent request for consent to pour he asked, “I know you’re not one of the drys. You accepted the brandy last night.”

  Grace’s eyes lit with amusement. “No, I’m not one of the drys, and yes, I believe I will have a glass. Are you always so clandestine?”

  “Only when absolutely necessary.” He poured the crimson liquid and placed the glass in her hand, brushing her fingertips as he did. He felt her flinch. “My point being, Miss Hathaway, that you seem to have very limited experience with the tainted side of life and are quite unaware of the dangers of living alone, virtually defenseless, in a large city.”

  She tilted her chin. “I’m hardly defenseless, and I’ve been taking care of myself a long time now.”

  “If that were true, you would be more wary and cynical.”

  “Like you, I presume?”

  “Yes.” He tilted the wine glass toward the candlelight to admire the rich color.

  She tore off a piece of crusty bread and picked up her fork. “I appreciate your concern, of course, but it’s misplaced.” Her voice had an edge.

  He ran his fingers around the rim of the glass and debated how much he should tell her. “Grace, someone followed you last night. I saw him slink away into the shadows. He waited for a while when you were in my home and then gave up and left.”

  Her fork paused on its way to her mouth. “Don’t be daft! You must be mistaken. I have no enemies.”

  Jared knew about enemies. You didn’t get to his station in life without gaining a few. “I’m not mistaken. I checked the bulb in your porch lamp. It was unscrewed
slightly, on purpose. Now, who would want to harm you or gain entrance to your home, and why?”

  The shock and confusion that played over her face revealed the gravity of last night’s scenario had finally registered. “Oh, my God, the Betrothal Gems! I have them in my safe. But no one would know that. They were delivered to the shop by courier. I wanted to examine the designs at length and make my sketches. I’m very discreet. No one could have...” The words had tumbled out quickly, and then her voice trailed off. He watched her try to make sense of the startling information.

  “Hold on a minute. Back up the trolley. What are the Betrothal Gems?”

  Grace took a deep breath. “I told you I enhance my earnings from the shop by appraising antique Renaissance jewelry like my father did. I worked with Papa from the time I was twelve. He trained me to take over that part of the business. I also have a degree in Renaissance history.”

  She wiped her mouth carefully with the white linen napkin and picked up her wine. “The Betrothal Gems are English, circa 1500. Legend has it that the Earl of Blackmore gave them to his intended bride before he died in a duel with one of her rejected suitors. A valuable set—necklace, earrings, two bracelets, and several rings. Well documented. Several personal letters exist describing the gems in detail, and there is a painted miniature of the betrothed wearing the necklace. The provenance is impeccable.”

  “Clients seek my advice when they purchase gems, to avoid being duped. With the market as volatile as it has been lately, my business has flourished. Many businessmen prefer ‘portable property’ rather than the stock market, if you know what I mean.”

  Indeed, he did. In 1927, Jared had begun to decentralize his fortune. His acute business sense told him not to put all his eggs in one basket. He’d made a killing recently by buying Radio Corporation of America at $84.00 and selling it at $420.00, but now he felt the market was too wild, the attitude too frivolous. It gave way to certain misgivings.

  Yet most of his acquaintances were rushing into the market to take advantage of the vast number of bargains to be had, even if they had to buy on margin. Americans were moving away from traditional inhibitions and restrictions. It was a time of excess. The spending never seemed to stop, as almost anyone could get credit. Jared wondered if he had made wise choices and would, in hindsight, regret missing some lucrative opportunities.

  His jaw tightened. “Let me see if I understand this,” he said evenly. “You have in your possession, at home, a very valuable set of jewelry that should be locked up in the safe at work?”

  “No one knows that I take the pieces home. I’ve done this for years with no problems. I have had no reason to believe anyone would try to steal the gems. To the rest of the world, I’m merely a clerk in a jewelry store, for God’s sake. Mr. Hollister knows, of course, but he would hardly steal from his own business.”

  “And who is Mr. Hollister, again?”

  “My father’s partner, Leo Hollister. When my father died, Leo bought out my father’s share of the business but kept me on as a clerk. He’s going to retire soon, at the end of January, but he has passed along a great deal of business to me in the last two years, enough that I should be able to continue it on my own when he closes the store.” Again, she looked away, brows furrowed, lost in her own thoughts.

  The little twit, so naïve, Jared thought. One moment he wanted to throttle her and the next...

  He proceeded cautiously. “I took the liberty of having your place watched last night. Just a precaution, of course.” He needed to know if this isolated incident was part of something bigger.

  As if reading his mind, Grace stared, wide-eyed. “Surely you don’t think this was anything more than a petty thief looking for a fat pocketbook, some quick cash.”

  “Hopefully, that’s all our mysterious shadow was, and he went on to an easier mark.” He would find out for sure.

  Grace let out a sigh. He watched her struggle with the fear he’d seen on her face. Then she raised her eyes and cleared her throat. “I appreciate your gesture, Jared, but I have difficulty letting anyone take care of me. Papa was not overly protective.”

  Her wistful look when she spoke of her father told Jared how much she had hoped to have from her father and how little she must have received.

  “Loneliness ate at my father. He never really got over my mother’s death. Drank away most of his money and investments except his share of the shop and a few properties. He got into his cups so often that I learned very early to take care of myself.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that some men don’t find stubbornness an attractive quality in a woman?”

  She smiled.

  “So am I to be allowed to watch over you?”

  “Could I stop you?”

  “No.” He always got his way. Always.

  “Then it’s settled. You may spend your hard-earned dollars protecting me if you wish.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not accustomed to being rescued. I don’t know what to say.”

  Jared poured more wine and watched thoughtfully as she brought the glass to her lips. She looked beautiful in the candlelight. Something primal stirred within him. He had wanted her from the first moment. Why was she so appealing? The unfamiliar mix of emotions strangely frustrated him. He told himself he wanted to keep her safe until he could get her into his bed, but it was more than that. He liked her bold eyes that flashed angry blue fire, and her fierce independence. He liked her intelligent mind and quick wit.

  He liked her. He wanted her.

  And he knew he would have her eventually. Gaining the attention of women had never been a problem for him. His money and reputation had only titillated the social crowd. He’d taken his share of favors from the softer set. Always the gentleman, he never lied, never promised what he would not, could not, deliver.

  Most of the women he slept with weren’t looking for anything more than a good time anyway. The last couple of years had been nothing but one big party scene. Jazz, all-night parties. The Bright Young Things wanted a good time, and they had one. He partook, but lately the cold encounters had driven him to an uneasy abstinence. He resigned himself to the feeling and never looked for more. But Grace Hathaway was different. Grace Hathaway would want more, and that obvious fact fought with his need to have her.

  Grace rolled spaghetti around her fork. “You said you didn’t know where you were born,” she said tentatively looking up from her plate.

  “Evidently my father died and my mother left me on the doorstep of Angel Guardian Orphanage here in Chicago.” Jared wondered why he offered the information. Very few of his friends knew of his background. Had he not offered to share or had they never cared enough to ask?

  Grace stared at him as though trying to imagine what it had been like. He knew most men who attained his position this early in life were not self-made. They came from money or had the right connections to hurry the process. But he’d had to fight for everything. At one point, a life of crime had seemed like an attractive alternative, but not one he could live with.

  “What do you know of your parents?”

  “Nothing, really. All the information I had came from the back of a photograph of a woman I presumed to be my mother. Hand printed on the back was my name—Jared Dunstan de Warre III, so my father would have been Jared Dunstan de Warre II. I couldn’t find his grave or death certificate. No living relatives. I checked. Here and in England. I don’t know my mother’s name or people. The photograph is of her, but I can’t determine any information from it.”

  “What about records? Didn’t the orphanage give you anything when you turned eighteen?”

  “I ran away at fourteen and went back as an adult. All the records had been lost in a fire by then. No one could tell me anything.”

  He recognized Grace’s expression as one of pity, for he’d seen it before on the faces of people who came to help at the orphanage.

  “There’s no need to feel sorry for me, Miss Hathaway,” he said brusquely. He looked toward the da
nce floor and gazed sightlessly at the dancers. “I like my life. It has all the advantages without the disadvantages of obligation, allegiance, and accountability a family would require.”

  “That’s a very cynical outlook. Not one that would gain you many friends.”

  “I have all the friends I need.”

  Grace picked up her fork without comment. Jared instantly wished he hadn’t been so short with her. He’d ruined the mood, so he kept the ensuing conversation general and, to her credit, she was pleasant and accommodating. He hoped it wasn’t just the effect of the homemade vintage.

  When the meal ended Jared said, “Before we go, I’d like to speak privately with Sallie, if you don’t mind.”

  Grace wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin and set it alongside her plate. “Of course. I’d like to use the ladies’ room.”

  Jared pulled the heavy door to the speakeasy closed, shutting out the lively music and the indulgent crowd. Only the candle on the table now provided illumination in the tiny room. The glow from the flame made Grace’s eyes glisten with subtle lights. She trembled slightly and glanced from his eyes to his lips in what he took as a silent invitation.

  He was afraid to kiss her, for the wine had lessened his control. He prided himself on his self-control, but the stirring in his groin took over. He reached across the narrow table, taking her face in his palm, running a thumb across her cheek. So soft, he thought, as silky as he imagined.

  Then, he made the decision to kiss her. Moving the dishes and wine aside, he gently, slowly, pulled her lips to his. To his great relief, Grace emitted a tiny moan and parted her lips slightly. She tasted of sweet wine and promise.

  He hadn’t expected the heat that flared between them. Since he’d always been able to control his emotions, the passion in the kiss left him shocked at his own need. He wanted her. Not here in Sallie’s back booth but in a comfortable bed where he could explore every part of her, slowly.

  Grace drew back a little. Then she put her fingers in his hair and pulled his lips to hers again, briefly, then sat back in her seat.