Even now, as he walked with her toward the drawing car, he didn’t want the evening to end until he’d had her, even if it was only a little taste. “Nightcap?” Jared asked as he opened the door of his sleeping compartment and produced a silver flask from the coat pocket of his jacket.
Chapter Fifteen
Grace smiled and stepped into the drawing room compartment. She knew she probably shouldn’t be here with him, but she wanted—no, needed—his presence.
She had been running on adrenaline for a week now, and it had finally taken a toll. Grace glanced at the luxurious surroundings. The Pullman car had thick carpeting, heavy draperies, French plate glass mirrors, black walnut woodwork, and oil chandeliers. A bowl of fresh fruit graced a round table. If not for the lulling sound of traveling over train tracks, one would think they were in a luxurious parlor. She sat in a comfortable overstuffed chair and crossed her legs.
Taking a glass from the small credenza near the door, Jared poured a measure of the liquor from his flask and held it out to her.
She took it and leaned back, expelling a sigh. The Remy Martin Old Pale warmed her, and she closed her eyes for a soothing moment.
Through her lashes she saw Jared watching her. His features were softened by a smile, the dark brows no longer furled in his normal scowl, but the familiar prowling hunger was there in his gaze.
Different from Adam. Handsome, charming Adam and his sweet words had been so convincing, lies she’d been eager to believe. She considered herself an intelligent woman, so why had she overlooked the obvious signs?
The answer formed in her mind. Because she wanted to believe in the kind of love her parents had shared. She wanted to believe that happiness was not found only in fleeting moments. She wanted to believe men were noble and honorable, capable of great depth of feeling and true to the vows they uttered before God and the women they professed to love. Even now, she still wanted to believe.
As the Tuscan-red Pullman car raced toward New York and all the painful memories, she became more determined to put the past behind her. Surely not all men were alike, and Jared was not Adam. Surprisingly, she had put her safety and her faith in him easily. He inspired the sort of confidence that said he would deliver whatever he promised. She raised the glass to her lips, assessing him over the rim.
Why did he have to be so handsome? And what were these crazy, mixed-up feelings about? Feelings so primitive and wanton they frightened her. Jared could make her tingle from across the room, and she didn’t want to be caught in any man’s power ever again. Though she felt a dangerous attraction to him, she was tired of being afraid. Afraid to live fully. Afraid of being hurt again.
Of course, that would only happen if she allowed it, and this time her eyes were open wide.
Jared broke into her musings by speaking ever so softly. “Grace, sometimes when I’m with you, I get the impression you are waiting for me to do something wrong, to make a mistake.” He moved toward her now. She wanted to hear a promise, a promise he wouldn’t ever intentionally hurt her, but instead he said, “Trust me, Grace.”
Pulling her to her feet and into his arms, he kissed her—gently at first, and then his lips became more demanding and intimate. He crushed her against his chest and kissed her deeply and urgently.
“Incomparable,” he whispered before sliding his tongue into her mouth. Shyly, she met his thrusts, touching her tongue to his in a seductive dance.
She knew she shouldn’t encourage this man, knew with this man she was malleable and pliant. Knew in her heart she could care for this man who would never cherish love as she did, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull free from his arms.
A myriad of feelings swelled within her. She was afraid of surrendering. Of being rejected. Afraid he would seduce her. Afraid he wouldn’t. She moaned, unable to put the feelings, the fear, into words and unable to deny the urgings of her own body. She pressed against him, opening herself, offering herself to him.
Her arms stole around his neck, stroking the hair curling softly at his nape. She moaned into his mouth, a breathless little moan that came from the back of her throat.
“Jared.”
“Shh...I won’t hurt you, Grace. I promise.”
“Yes, but I feel strange,” she murmured into his shoulder. She had never been on this particular journey before. She had given herself over to him, to his touch.
Suddenly several sharp raps on the wall between the compartments cut through.
Grace’s eyes fluttered open.
Jared took a deep, calming breath then emitted a small chuckle. He leaned his forehead against hers.
Grace grinned. “Sorry,” she said using the untimely interruption to bring her breathing back to normal.
Leaning a broad shoulder against the wall, he reached over and opened the door. When she touched his cheek, he put his hand atop hers and drew her fingers to his lips, gently kissing her palm. Then, with a slight bow and a wave of his hand, he released her to return to Zia Bruna.
****
The cabin door closed behind Grace. Jared took a liberal sip of the Old Pale. The liquor wound a warm path to his stomach. Leaning back against the door, he closed his eyes and rolled the cool glass over his forehead.
He’d felt her quiet surrender, the very moment she had come willingly to his embrace. Out of nowhere, a feeling of contentment had eased over him, a quiet warmth he relished after he recognized it. Had it not been so pleasurable, it would have been unnerving. Instead, he was bewitched.
As he undressed, he leaned back on the sleeping berth, staring blindly at the darkened window, only to see his grim reflection. The rhythmic clatter of the train combined with the potent brandy had the welcome effect of rendering his recent insomnia cured.
He yawned, contemplating the dilemma he faced. Another day had passed, and he was no closer to solving this mystery. Perhaps he wouldn’t be able to unravel it.
He rubbed his eyes, yawned again, and scratched the stubble on his chin.
Sallie had checked out a few leads for him. While he had faith in his friend, there wasn’t much to go on. So few clues. The jewels Grace appraised had not been stolen. The only lead had been Quigley, and he was dead. A camera, a matchbook, and a dead thief who hadn’t stolen anything. It didn’t add up to much.
Sallie had also checked the local hardware stores where keys could be made. The person who had broken in to Grace’s home had been in and out fast. No time to pick an old lock. Even a professional would have been spotted by Sallie’s men if he’d taken any time at all to pick the lock. Either the man was a ghost, or he’d had a key.
He took Grace’s sketches out of the manila envelope. He’d only given them a cursory look before, but now he studied them. The sketches were intricately detailed, almost photographic. No, better than a photograph would have been. The black and white of a photograph would never bring the exquisite gems to life the way Grace’s drawings did. The works were vibrant and painstakingly detailed, handcrafted with a steadfast eye for accuracy.
Each beautiful facet of the gemstones and setting sparkled. Around the border of the sketch were insets of each stone with degreed measurements of the individual facet cut. The quality of colour, freedom from internal flaws, and carat weight determined the commercial value.
Grace’s detailed report discussed gem density, rarity, crystal structure, light dispersion, and several other gem qualities Jared didn’t recognize. The center gem, an exquisite ruby, was cut into a cabochon—one of the oldest, simplest cuts, used to enhance the color of the stone.
The sketches were pen-and-ink, colored to mimic the depth of each gem’s hue. The drawings were works of art in themselves, he thought, much like the botanicals of Fitch or Thornton.
Jared put the silver flask to his lips, draining the last of the brandy and inhaling the subtle scent of Grace’s perfume that still lingered in the compartment.
Would she regret the loss of her virginity—taken by the likes of him? Instinctively, he knew sh
e would. Contentment for Grace could only come from giving her precious gift to a husband who understood its meaning. He suspected anything short of that would level her.
He thought of other women who would be more than willing to please him without any demands. But Grace didn’t demand anything of him, so why did he always feel like a heel? The rags called him a sheik, though he didn’t see himself that way. But neither was he an innocent. An innocent like Grace.
He scowled, jammed the sketches back into the envelope, and tossed it along with the empty flask onto the dresser.
It had been a long time since he’d been this intrigued by a woman, and he didn’t want to let the delicious sensations disappear, but he was getting too close.
Over the past few weeks, he had gotten to know her, and she was transforming from a sensual woman into a real person. He didn’t want the burden of that knowledge. He thought of his feelings as simple lust. Feeling anything else would complicate—no, compromise—his life.
Damn it to hell! He hated how he felt. No matter how innocent, she was an adult. He had never forced himself on any woman, but he knew he had the ability to charm his way between a woman’s thighs. And what he felt for Grace was far from honorable. He flicked off the light and rolled onto his side.
Then he remembered Bruna’s words. You will fare how you please. I cannot stop you… Her weakness is her goodness. Damn it all to hell!
****
The compartment was dark when Grace let herself in. She knew Bruna was awake because she had just pounded on the wall of the drawing room with a vengeance, but now her aunt had turned away, giving Grace her back.
Zia Bruna had always acknowledged Grace’s right as a woman to make her own choices. Bruna had lived her life by her own rules and had tried to instill in Grace a sense of self-worth.
Life had been difficult in America for an immigrant widow, but Bruna had never complained. The tender feelings Grace had for her aunt went beyond gratitude, since she had been very young when she lost her mother, yet she and her aunt related as adults rather than mother and daughter. Bruna had meant everything to her in a childhood fraught with uncertainty and loneliness.
By the time Grace had dressed for bed and climbed quietly into the berth, Bruna breathed evenly, asleep. Grace felt a niggling sense of remorse for entangling her aunt and Jared in such a mess. And she had a feeling Jared wasn’t telling her everything. She’d have to do some investigating on her own. Make some calls. Call in a few favors. After all, she was in control of her own destiny, wasn’t she?
Chapter Sixteen
Something was wrong. He squeezed his eyes tight, squinting at the photo, tilting it back and forth, holding it close, then at arm’s length.
A smug, satisfied look settled on his face.
He walked over to the wall and pinned the photograph next to the others already there. He liked Angela’s hair long. Why she’d ever gone and cut it short was a mystery.
She knew how he felt about it. All that beautiful hair cascading through his fingers when he made love to her. Twisting it in his fist, holding her down while she squirmed under him.
Then she’d gone and cut it short.
He lay back against the bed’s headboard and stared at the rows of pictures on the wall. She’d posed real pretty for most of them. And even if she didn’t, he’d had a right to take them. She’d put him through hell with all her other men.
He could picture her in the jewelry. All the sparkling colors on her nude body. Rainbows against her creamy skin.
The last job had been the best. That ruby had to be worth a fortune. Angela would look great in his bed wearing nothing but that big ruby in her belly button.
So he’d had a few problems this time. Nothing he couldn’t handle. Quigley tried to blackmail him. Imagine! The little weasel thought he could push him around. Well, he found out that nobody, nobody took what was his.
He laughed aloud and reached for the bottle of whiskey on his nightstand.
Soon it would be over. He rested his arms behind his head and scanned the pictures again, down the row to the last one. She was just lucky she’d let it grow long again. He liked it long.
Chapter Seventeen
Jared’s locomobile, driven by Mr. Cobb, his chauffeur, approached Ravenhall’s long driveway in late afternoon. The extensive grounds blazed red, yellow, and orange over a blanket of lush green. Jared leaned back into the comfortable leather seat and studied Grace and her aunt as the vehicle turned onto the drive, the sounds and odors of New York City left behind.
Zia Bruna’s thin lips were set in a straight line, her expressionless gaze turned toward the window. Jared knew his wealth didn’t impress her. She wanted security and happiness for her niece; she wanted the kind of assurances that had nothing to do with money.
At his insistence, Grace had slept during the ride from the train station to his home. Exhausted, she dozed peacefully with her head nestled in the corner of the vehicle. Risking Zia Bruna’s censure, Jared couldn’t resist watching her sleep. She sighed softly, and her tiny pink tongue had flickered out to lick her bottom lip.
A shiver ran through his groin. The fact that he liked her both surprised him and made him uncomfortable because he had started this adventure bent on seduction. He would swear to her innocence now. She’d reacted to her own passion with the curiosity and the breathless wonder of a novice. Whoever this Adam was, Jared didn’t think she had given herself to him. Not willingly, at least.
The locomobile rounded the final bend. Double rows of towering old elms flanked the long drive to the manor house. The grounds at Ravenhall were meticulously manicured, with gentle, grassy slopes and several small ponds, tranquil oases amidst urban surroundings.
They passed the stables and his equestrian training area. Smooth lawns sloped upward to a four-tiered stone terrace and a formal garden carefully cultivated and ablaze with autumn color. The massive house, with turrets and mullioned windows, stood in the shade of giant oaks.
Verdant ivy climbed across high-arched walnut doors gracing a portico supported by fluted columns. Two stone benches lined a walk of flagstone steps. Electricity had been installed, and the house boasted two enormous brass lanterns with leaded glass on either side of the entrance.
Most moneyed men kept townhouses or apartments in the city and retreated to grand country houses in upstate New York or the Hamptons for the summer. Jared’s home rested on a ten-acre plot of lush greenery and rolling hills just a short ride from New York City.
The estate had all the allure and beauty of a countryside manor. An English lord secretly enamored of silent screen actress Clara Bow had once bought the estate to be near her. An ornate black wrought iron fence that enclosed the estate had the initials CB intricately woven into the design.
Jared had purchased the estate when the newly impoverished lord, having gambled away most of his family’s fortune, was ready to sell it for a fraction of its value, a case of being in the right place at the right time.
In five years’ time, Jared managed to pay off the mortgage with dividends from various investments. Unabashedly proud of his home, he had vowed to create a place of solitude and security that could never be taken from him.
After leaving Angel Guardian Orphanage, he had worked at a feverish pitch. Always big for his age, he’d done a man’s job while still a boy, living on near-to-nothing and investing every cent. He went where the wages were high, as was the physical risk. Life had been brutal then, but he’d been lucky, and he had an uncanny ability for choosing the right people to work for him.
Then the war came. While that took two years of his life, it gave him the resources he needed to obtain government contracts for several of his enterprises. With hard work and a bit of luck, he managed to grow financially, doubling and then tripling his net worth in a short time. He diversified, investing money in lucrative but risky real estate deals in southern Florida. Instead of mortgaging, he still lived simply and paid cash for almost everything, creating a v
ery solvent fortune. When he finally arrived financially, he was thirty-two, hardened, and alone.
Yes, he had a house, a grand house, but he had hoped when he bought and furnished Ravenhall he would finally belong somewhere. At long last, he would be content, perhaps even happy. Instinctively he knew that simply to marry and have children would not be the answer. The disturbing hollowness of his life refused to be assuaged by work and a continually changing environment. He knew the hole needed to be filled by the real things in life, but somehow those things always seemed just out of his reach.
Sometimes he wondered what it would be like, after a lifetime of never belonging anywhere to anyone, to have a family of his own. How would it feel after years of unfulfilling sexual encounters to lie each night next to the same woman, to have a mother for his children, to grow old together?
He had never been a part of anything bigger than himself. He had never felt attached, though over the years many an eager female had tried to attach herself to him. A long time ago he had decided he wasn’t meant to have these things. He wondered why he still let the thoughts fester in his mind.
When the locomobile came to a halt at the front entrance of the limestone mansion, Jared gently touched Grace’s hand to wake her.
She woke startled and momentarily confused, but once she took in her surroundings, she smiled up at him and remarked breathlessly, “You have a beautiful home, Jared,” in a way that was oddly satisfying.
A sweet aroma, carried by a soft breeze, wafted across the pond visible at the rear of the property. Jared would show Grace the extensive gardens later. He knew she would appreciate the intricate topiaries and climbing vintage rose trellises, details he had overseen with avid attention.
Looking up at the stone façade, Jared realized that in the five years he had owned Ravenhall he’d never entertained. He wondered why he had so easily made the decision to bring Grace here.
Rags to Rubies Page 9