Rags to Rubies

by Annalisa Russo

  With one arm on the bar, he set his booted foot on the brass foot rail and perused the crowd. Mostly poor, he concluded, though a few looked as though they might hold a regular job. One burly-chested Joe had on a blue shirt with a red nametag over the pocket. Definitely in someone’s employ. All of them were deep in their cups or drinking fast to get there.

  The red-lipped woman made her way to the blue shirt. They spoke a few words to each other. He laughed drunkenly as he tried unsuccessfully to roll a Bull Durham cigarette.

  The woman took the cigarette paper from him and ran her tongue along the edge. She had his attention as she rolled tobacco into a smoke that she lit and put between his lips. She wove her arms around his neck and whispered something in his ear.

  Laughing loudly, he embraced her roughly, crushing the fabric of her skirt in his fist and yanking her pelvis into his groin.

  She shot Jared a toothy grin as she pulled her next victim up the back stairs.

  Jared stayed another hour, nursing his pint and mentioning Quigley’s name occasionally with no results. When he couldn’t stomach another mug of the foul-tasting brew, he left without any answers, even though he really didn’t know what he had expected to find. He would come back on another occasion to search upstairs, with or without the owner’s approval.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jared took the steps of Zia Bruna’s brownstone two at a time and knocked lightly on the front door. He could hear the shuffle of feet, then the tap of a cane as Bruna made her way to answer the door. Not that it would be much of a greeting, he grimaced. The old woman always acted like she would like to rip out his heart and feed it to her cats if she could. Through the glass of the door, he could see her stern, unsmiling demeanor.

  Bruna opened the door and turned, giving Jared her back as she made her way very slowly to her seat at the dining room table, where she had the beginnings of a tarot card reading. The cards were spread in the Celtic Cross pattern across a lace tablecloth. “Sit, if you want,” she said pointing with her cane to the maroon velvet couch.

  Jared noticed finely crocheted lace doilies placed along the back and on the arms of the piece of furniture across the room, far from Bruna’s table.

  “She’sa not ready yet.” Bruna picked up the cards and returned to study them, her brow furrowing in concentration.

  She didn’t like him. That fact didn’t bother Jared. He sensed Bruna knew she had little time left, not enough time to see her charge settled. He felt like a predator set against an old tired lioness protecting her lair. While he found himself wanting to assure her he would not harm her precious cub, he knew he couldn’t give the kind of assurances the old woman needed.

  “So how does your fortune fare tonight, Zia Bruna?” Jared asked, using the familiar Italian title Grace usually used for her aunt.

  Bruna’s eyes never addressed his question or the familiarity of it as she sat stiffly erect. She shifted in her chair. “The fortune is not mine,” she said finally.

  He watched her as she studied the colorful cards, sometimes smiling, sometimes grimacing or mumbling to herself. She would have been formidable in her younger days. Even now, she was a portentous foe.

  “Whose, then?” he asked cautiously after a few minutes.

  “The fortune is yours.”

  “And how do I fare, Zia Bruna?”

  The old woman lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. She shifted to face him. “You will fare as you please, for nothing I can do will change this,” she said as she swept a wrinkled hand over the cards. “I am old and cannot protect her from harm—or from you,” Bruna added. “Graciella is strong, but her weakness is her goodness.”

  At that inopportune moment, Grace stepped into the room, and Jared rose to his feet. “Good evening, Miss Hathaway,” he said politely, tucking Bruna’s cryptic words away in his memory. “You look lovely.” He let his gaze roam over her.

  Smiling faintly, Grace held out her coat, and he helped her into her wrap. Zia Bruna’s face was unreadable; though the skirmish was over, the war had only just begun.

  “Where are we going, Jared?”

  “I thought we would go back to Sallie’s place tonight. Is that all right with you?”

  Grace nodded and gave her aunt a quick kiss and the promise, “I won’t be late.”

  ****

  Jared was fairly certain Quigley hadn’t been after the gems, so during the course of the evening, he’d inquired about Grace’s sketches and her father’s appraisal business. What did she own that was important enough to kill for?

  Grace turned the key in the lock and opened the front door of her brownstone. She hadn’t been home recently, other than to get a few articles of clothing, so she hesitated, poised in the doorway, her eyes glancing about the room. Then she shivered, clutching her arms over her chest.

  “What is it?” Jared’s asked, looking over her shoulder into the room.

  Grace’s gaze rotated slowly around the room, flicking about. “I...I don’t know,” she said. “Everything seems to be in place.” She shivered again and let out the breath she was holding. When the grandfather clock began to strike nine, Grace whirled around, stopping just in time to avoid mowing him down. Jared grabbed her shoulders to steady her. Against his better judgment, he pulled her slowly against him and kissed the top of her head. He held her for a long moment, the thudding beat of her heart against his chest, and then he lowered his hands and stepped away. He knew she had to be confused by his mixed signals, but she had no idea of the effect she had on him.

  She walked toward a small bureau that held several crystal decanters on a silver tray. “Would you like a brandy?” Grace inquired over her shoulder.

  “Yes, please, but first I’m going to check the back door and the rest of the house.” Jared walked through the remaining rooms downstairs, checking windows and doors. No evidence of an intruder. Everything locked up tight.

  He returned to the front room and watched as Grace poured the translucent liquid into two glasses. Tonight she wore a dress of pale blue silk that fought for attention with her azure eyes. During the evening the top button had come undone, and the dress plunged just low enough for him to see the top of her lace slip. And knowing that the soft silk was the only barrier keeping her beautifully curved breasts from his touch had kept him semi-aroused all evening.

  So when she had touched him, it was all he could do to keep from crushing her sweet mouth with his. Fierce rushes of passion were coming upon him with more frequency, each time with more intensity.

  Erotic dreams invaded his nights and left him exhausted and hard as stone by dawn. His only recourse would be to withdraw completely or seduce her. As soon as possible.

  He didn’t remember any other time when he couldn’t keep his feelings under a tight rein. But, he reminded himself, he hadn’t been the only one affected. Grace’s response to him had been unmistakable, but he had frightened her and she withdrew. She’d pulled away when he blurted out his desire in the greenhouse that day. Perhaps she didn’t understand her own passion, or was afraid of it.

  He knew he wanted to be the one to make her tremble and call out his name as she reached her climax. He’d discovered that day in the greenhouse he wanted her to be a virgin, untouched. He wanted to lead her from virginity to erotic awareness. However, he realized, should that occur, he wouldn’t be able to take it back, so he tried to keep an emotional distance.

  “Please sit down, Jared. I’ll only be a moment.” Grace handed him the brandy. “I’ll get those sketches you wanted to see.”

  In a side room, once a porch, now converted to a small study, she set her glass on the desk and began fingering through a desktop file. Suddenly she backed up a few steps and clutched her hands to her mouth to stifle a small gasp.

  “Oh, my God! Jared, someone has been in the house!”

  ****

  Bruna was dozing on the sofa when Grace turned the key in the lock. As usual, she woke up frowning, ready to check her charge for any dishevel
ed appearance.

  Grace was ashen, trembling. Bruna met Jared’s grim visage with rage.

  Jared ignored the obvious challenge. “You need to help Grace pack, Bruna. For both of you,” he ordered. “Clothes for at least two weeks. And hurry. Someone broke into Grace’s house again, and your house will be next. We leave on the midnight train to New York.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Maple Shade Midnight Express required sixteen hours to travel from Chicago to New York’s Central Station. Jared purchased three rail tickets for carriage on the Twentieth Century Limited line and Pullman accommodations for two first class sleeping compartments. There would be little chance of being with Grace on the train under Bruna’s ever-vigilant eye, so Grace and Bruna would share a compartment. They were due to arrive in New York about 4:00 in the afternoon, then travel on to his home, Ravenhall.

  Jane would feed Zia Bruna’s cats, and Mr. Hollister had been informed she would be on vacation for two weeks. He had Jared’s telephone number if there were any emergencies.

  Zia Bruna had retired to the compartment for the evening. Grace sat across from Jared in the train’s empty club car, her face turned away, absently watching pinpoints of light zip by the darkened window as they passed through a small, rural town in gray predawn hours. She quietly sipped a cup of chamomile tea. Jared waited patiently, adding cream to his coffee.

  Leaning back in her seat, she cupped her hands around the teacup as if savoring its warmth. “Why?” she whispered. “Why is this happening?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Jared answered.

  “I’ve done other appraisals on gems much more valuable than the Betrothal Gems. Why would someone break into my house just to look at my drawings?”

  “You’re sure someone moved the files?”

  “Yes. I kept books for my father from the time I was twelve years old. He was very specific about the way he wanted it done. I file a certain way. All headings to the left. It’s always the same. Someone removed the sketches on the Betrothal Gems and replaced them backward in the file.”

  “We found no forced entry,” Jared said. “Since Sallie’s men didn’t spot him going in, I suspect he acted quickly, in and out within a few minutes. He probably had a key.”

  “How could he?” Grace’s hands twisted around the white cloth napkin. “I just had the locks changed a few days ago. I’m the only one with a key.”

  “Grace,” he said softly, “this will take some time to sort out. Why don’t you just think of this as a little vacation? You and Bruna will be my guests while I make a few inquiries and attend to some business.” He needed to remove her from the imminent threat while he figured out what to do to keep her safe. He didn’t want to frighten her further, but he was secretly relieved that at least she hadn’t been home when the intruder broke in.

  Grace brushed a few crumbs from the crisp white linen tablecloth. “The prospect of visiting New York again after so long is alluring,” she admitted with a weak smile. “And I do love Broadway...” She sighed heavily. “In light of what’s happened, a few days away does sound rather nice.” The blank look in her eyes was beginning to fade.

  “Do you like the theater?” Jared asked, contemplating where he would take her. “Good food, music?”

  Just thinking about the possibilities seemed to elevate her mood. “Yes, I do. I’ve missed the city.” Her mouth curved up shyly. “Shopping, too?” she asked.

  “I think that can be arranged.” Jared grinned. He would give her anything she wanted at this point. Anything that money could buy. “And Aunt Bruna is along to chaperone,” he reminded her.

  Bruna’s apprehension was palatable. Any wrong move on his part would not bode well. And if truth be told, he’d rather face anyone than that crusty, hard-boiled old woman.

  Grace finally relaxed back into the seat, her mood brightened.

  “May I ask a personal question?” Jared reached over the table to tap the ring finger of her left hand with his fingertip. “Just wondering why you never married.” At twenty-eight, she wasn’t old, but most women married right out of high school, even though lately the Bright Young Things were waiting longer than ever to settle down to marriage and a family. They probably thought they were missing something. Actually, in his opinion, it wasn’t so swell on his side of the green grass.

  Grace rubbed the finger with her thumb as if she’d once worn something there. She drew in a deep breath and looked back to the darkened window. “I was engaged for a while, but it didn’t work out.”

  “Why not?”

  “Let’s just say he turned out to be different.”

  “Did you love him?” Jared asked stiffly.

  Grace hesitated. “It seemed so at the time, but now...I don’t know.”

  The answer didn’t convince him, for he heard the strain in her voice. He needed to know more. “Who was he?” Jared tried to shrug off the chill that had passed through him. He topped off his coffee from the silver pot.

  Grace gazed at him thoughtfully for several seconds. “You wouldn’t know him. His name was Adam. We met through friends one summer on Long Island.”

  “A summer romance, then?”

  “No, a while longer.” Her lips thinned. “A year of my life, to be exact.”

  For a fleeting moment, Jared saw a raw flash of emotion on her face. Whatever the relationship had been like, it hadn’t ended pleasantly for her. So someone had gotten beyond the wary exterior to the passionate woman he knew lay beneath. Would she have given herself completely to someone she loved? Had Adam taken her? He thought that whoever this Adam was, he’d been a fool.

  The last few days in Chicago had been an emotional roller coaster. He knew he wanted Grace with a passion he had once thought dead or at least comatose. His need for a woman had always been one-dimensional. When a female got his attention, his approach was direct, swift, his attention short-lived.

  He wanted to leave Grace alone, but he knew he wouldn’t. He liked how she felt in his arms, liked the taste of her kisses, liked the smell of her hair. He wanted to make love to her and knew he would not have the strength to turn away from her even though his conscience would demand it. He had never felt this way about a woman. A need to possess her and cherish her at the same time.

  Faced with a choice, he knew which way he would go. And he deserved to pay for what he would take from her.

  “And you?” she asked. “Any summer romances?”

  “Are you fishing for a body count?”

  “No. Just the ones that got close.”

  There was no sense fabricating a response. She’d read the society page’s version of his love life and the numerous women who would jump at the chance to pick out a ring and veil if he snapped his fingers.

  “What makes you sure there were any?” he said looking down at fingers that had never worn a gold band.

  “Oh, just speculation on my part.”

  Jared gave her question some thought. “There hasn’t been anyone.”

  “Why not?” she asked boldly.

  He considered the question for the first time. For years he’d enjoyed himself by being involved with the most sought-after, beautiful women, the more unobtainable the better.

  Then he’d been drafted. In the destruction of the battlefield, he learned the value of life. A transient commodity too valuable to waste in meaningless endeavors. After the brutal images faded, he returned to his businesses with a dedicated vengeance. He still found his pleasures, but from behind a wall he’d built carefully to maintain a safe distance. So in answer to her question he gave the standard trite response, “I guess I never met the right woman.” Then he added, “She probably doesn’t exist.”

  “Like the woman in the portrait,” Grace murmured.

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing.” Grace twirled the silver spoon in her tea. “If she did exist, what would she be like?”

  A Pullman porter in his white coat, gloves, and red cap approached and began to clear the table, ref
illing Grace’s teapot with hot water.

  “What’s your name?” Jared asked the man.

  “Ya’ll know dat we all named George, sir.” The old porter’s black eyes twinkled, lighting up skin as smooth as chocolate. “But my mama calls me William, sir.”

  “Thank you, William, for taking such good care of us. I know the hour is late.”

  “Yessum, sir.” The man scraped a few crumbs from the table into a silver salver and snapped the lid shut, bowing as he backed away.

  Jared waited for the porter to leave. Normally, he would have used the interruption to avoid Grace’s question. It was too personal, the answer would be too revealing, but the words tumbled out haltingly as if being summoned from a place so deep in his psyche they were emerging for the first time to paint a picture of a dream.

  “Strong...with a kind heart,” he said. “Someone I can talk to about anything, someone who can laugh.” He shifted in his seat. “Faithful, someone I could count on. Someone who would always be there...who wouldn’t give up on me. On us. And passionate.”

  “About what?”

  “About life. About me.”

  “You forgot beautiful.”

  “If she were all those things, she would be beautiful,” he said softly.

  “That criteria isn’t hard to meet. I know a dozen women who fit.”

  “And I’ve known dozens, and none fit.”

  “You’ll get old waiting.”

  “So will you.”

  They stared at each other. Then she laughed unexpectedly, a tiny laugh that began in the back of her throat and grew until the firm set of Jared’s mouth curved upward into a grin and he joined her with a masculine chuckle.

  Grace sobered and wiped a bit of moisture from her eyes. “Well, there is only one thing left to do. If we’re both still single at sixty, we’ll get married, okay? Tie the knot. Take the plunge. Jump the broomstick.”

  The light moment turned serious as she held out her small hand to him. “Deal?”

  “Deal.” Tugging her fingers to his lips, he kissed her knuckles and felt the shudder that always seemed to accompany their coming together. He was driving himself crazy trying to figure it out.