“I cook for the staff and for Jared when he’s here,” she said. “It’s been over five years now.”
Then she blushed, leaving Grace to guess what their arrangement must have been. The boy was about five years old, and most servants didn’t call an employer by his first name. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” Grace sat on a stone bench near the path.
Mary sat back on her heels and looked up. “I don’t want to leave you with the wrong impression, Miss Hathaway.” The woman shifted uncomfortably. “Jared gave me a chance to earn my keep. Actually, I owe Jared my life and that of my son.”
“Jared saved your life?” Grace patted the seat next to her. “It seems we have something in common. He’s trying to help me, too. Sit. Please.”
Mary gazed at Grace for a long moment before taking the seat beside her. “I had just graduated high school. I was seventeen and in love with a boy a few years older,” she began. “You know the type—handsome, reckless, selfish. He was a musician, a drummer, going to try his luck in the big city.”
Mary didn’t have to recount the rest of the story, for it was too common a tale. Grace devoted some of her time to a house for unwed mothers in Chicago, Shepherd’s Fold, where girls who had nowhere else to go could get medical help, a place to stay for three months after the birth of their baby, and help with relocation, education, and a job. She had heard the story so many times she could recite it by heart.
“Let me guess. You went with him against your family’s wishes.”
Mary sighed and tucked a lock of golden hair behind her ear. “Less than a year later, I found myself six months pregnant, on the street, hungry, and alone.” She lowered her eyes. “I hid in a church, slept on a pew at night, and wandered the streets by day. Jared and Donagon found me—saved me, really, from three men who were going to...”
She hesitated, her eyes becoming vacant.
Impulsively, Grace reached for Mary’s hand. Perhaps the memories were still too vivid, too painful to recount even after five years. She pulled Mary into a warm embrace and felt her squeeze in return. Mary Francis straightened and gave Grace a direct look. “He never once...I mean, he didn’t expect...” Her voice trailed off, leaving Grace to fill in the blanks.
Even at eighteen, Mary would have been exquisite. Jared would have found her incredibly attractive and desirable, yet it seemed he had not taken advantage of Mary’s unfortunate situation.
“If you’ve known Jared long, I guess you’ve noticed a few misfits in his employ.” Mary sniffed the sprig of thyme she held under her nose. “Do you know Albert?”
“Yes, his butler in Chicago.”
“Albert is sixty-eight years old, no family. He worked all his life for a wealthy family in upstate New York who turned him out when he was sixty-five with not so much as a dime in a pension for retirement. Jared gave him a job, secured investments for him that will give him a comfortable return. He should be able to retire in a few years.”
“What about Donagon?” Grace liked the colorful butler, but he too seemed out of his element, as did young Mr. Cobb with his collegiate vocabulary.
“Donagon and Jared worked the coal mines together. When he made his fortune, Jared contacted Donagon and offered him a job. Probably saved his life, too. All that coal dust.”
Grace could see Donagon and Jane together. Jane was going to have a difficult road ahead of her back in Chicago as a single mother of two children. The right man at her side would be a blessing. Maybe she’d try her hand at matchmaking. “Is Donagon married?”
“No. Never been.”
“Tell me about Mr. Cobb,” Grace inquired intuitively.
Mary Francis stopped short, her flawless complexion flushing to a pretty pink. She toyed with an errant blonde curl. “Henry, Mr. Cobb, came to us a few months ago. He’d been employed by a terrible man, an unscrupulous and devious accountant, who framed him for embezzlement.”
Mary’s voice took on a decidedly sharp-edged tone as she related the tale. “Jared heard of the case from a friend who assured him of Mr. Cobb’s innocence. Jared secured a good lawyer for him, and he was found innocent. The real crook went to jail.”
“Mr. Cobb is quite handsome, don’t you think?” Grace asked coyly.
Mary turned her pretty face away and the blush deepened. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Grace started to giggle. Mary’s smile widened to a grin.
Chapter Twenty-One
The man wept uncontrollably into his hands, his wrenching sobs unheard over the din of the speakeasy beyond the restroom door.
She’d been unfaithful. His beautiful Angela. How could he bear it? He wiped his face on the back of his sleeve and flushed the toilet where he’d thrown up his supper.
Luckily none of his buddies had witnessed the abomination. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He’d get even if it was the last thing he ever did. She’d pay for making a fool of him.
He retched again, the bile burning his throat as the memory of Angela’s unfaithfulness clouded his thinking.
He shook his head, trying to remember. She’d lied to him. Said she was sick and then left him. For a long while all he’d had were the photos, but she came back to him. She’d never been able to stay away. Then he had her again.
When his head cleared, he’d finish this business. He leaned his forehead against the stall’s cool metal door. He loved her. He was rich now. She’d come with him wherever he wanted to go. Oh, she’d come with him. He’d show up that stupid high hat. He’d teach him to put his hands on his Angie.
He stepped to the sink and rinsed his mouth, spitting into the bowl. He took out his handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his face. Raucous music blared in the background. He thought of the blonde he’d been buying drinks for all night long. She’d been all over him. He’d take her for a fine ride. If she wasn’t game, it was too bad. She’d been quick enough to spend his money.
He staggered toward the door.
Why couldn’t he get his fill of the bitch? Damn her, anyway! Damned slut! She was never satisfied. How many men had she plowed through?
He was sick of it. He hated her. She’d pay for what she put him through. He hated her. He hated her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Monday night arrived, and Jared found himself pacing impatiently at the foot of the foyer staircase, but when he glanced up and saw Grace, he stopped abruptly. Angelic was the word that came to mind. Damned angelic.
She smiled and did a slow twirl for him from the landing before she started down the steps.
Jared hoped his intake of breath had not been audible. She practically floated down the staircase in a shimmering silver evening gown that hugged her curves and trailed seductively along each step. Her skirt separated to show a flash of leg in flesh-colored silk stockings.
The muscles in Jared’s groin tightened.
A low cowl neckline fell in soft folds across her bosom, but the pièce de resistance was the plunging back that ended just above her temptingly rounded derriere and revealed a back so supple and flawless it begged to be caressed. Pearls formed a choker circling her neck in front only to fall long and knotted down the length of her back, ending in a jeweled clasp.
Her rebellious locks had been coaxed into an up-do with the usual stubborn russet wisps escaping to kiss her forehead and nape. A fluffy silver aigrette decorated a satin band circling her hair and matched the feather fan she held.
Jared snapped his mouth shut. Her natural beauty and fine complexion boasted only the blush of youth and vitality.
She used makeup like an artist, to enhance rather than cover. Her brows were not plucked and then painted on, but rather shaped in a gentle curve above clear, sparkling, generously lashed, azure eyes. Her lips were covered with a barely detectable stain reminiscent of mulberries and were parted in a smile to reveal straight white teeth. She smelled of flowers.
“Mainbocher?” Jared murmured into her diamond-studded ear.
“Molyneux,” she said, “my one
big splurge.” She handed him her wrap. “A fashion-minded man? Will wonders never cease? Where are we going?” she asked over her shoulder as Jared helped her on with her capuchin.
Jared inhaled her scent, his hands lingering about her shoulders. “There’s a new show, Pleasure Man, at the Biltmore, with Mae West. Unless the police close it down, as rumored.” He reluctantly released her.
She turned to face him. “Then the night could prove interesting.” Wrapping her arm through his, she flashed him a positively dazzling smile.
****
When Jared’s locomobile approached the Great White Way and its glittering lights, Grace felt as if she’d been given a shot of adrenaline. The theatre district vibrated with life and excitement. She remembered this pulse-quickening feeling as the avenue put on its evening face.
“The watering hole of the rich and famous,” Jared said derisively. “They come to see and be seen.”
Grace laughed. “Aren’t you one of the rich and famous?”
The smile reached his eyes. “Only three-hundred and ninety-nine lucky people ahead of me,” he answered glibly.
“Not according to the New York Times,” she countered. He topped Mrs. Astor’s Four Hundred List.
Not that she was on anyone’s list anymore. She’d lost contact with most of her New York friends after the incident with Adam; she’d been too embarrassed, too humiliated to stay in touch. But Adam’s natural charm and social position had allowed him to maintain his status in the right circles, and he had simply moved on, she knew.
That knowledge soured any desire to keep the lines of communication open. Any news of Adam resulted in a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that she avoided at all costs. She declined invitations to visit, and other than the occasional greeting card had severed all ties with the friends they’d had in common.
But tonight she would not let the past control her. She scanned the glittering lights, coming alive to the invigorating effects of the city viewed from the arm of a handsome, attentive man. She began to feel she had merely existed for the past two years.
Mr. Cobb pulled the locomobile up to the theater. As they entered the elegant marble-columned entrance to the Biltmore, Grace glanced up at Jared’s handsome face. She closed her eyes briefly, inhaling his essence, a wonderful musky scent, as he removed the capuchin from her shoulders and gave it to the uniformed coat-check girl. A few days ago she had been content, almost at peace; the only man in her life had finally become a bittersweet memory. Now, she shuddered and grew weak-kneed at the mere touch of a virtual stranger.
Dressed in formal eveningwear with a black tailcoat and white waistcoat, Jared looked both stylish and completely comfortable in his elegance. His tanned skin made a striking contrast to the starched white dinner shirt and white tie. When he donned his velvet-collared black Chesterfield and put on a silk top hat, he could have given the Prince of Wales sartorial competition.
Tonight she wanted to have a good time. She wouldn’t think about the day when he would leave her. The time had come to put the past aside without fearing the future.
By his own admission, he wanted her. Maybe she would not have the chance to feel like this again.
****
As they entered the theater, he knew by the heads that turned he was the envy of every man who laid eyes on her. But Grace seemed unaware of her beauty and appeal. No wonder the little fool got herself into trouble.
Jared remembered his one-sided conversation with Zia Bruna as he waited for Grace this evening, her broken English hard to follow but her message crystal clear.
I speak because she has no one else, no Padre, no Nonno. Graciella is a good girl. Innocente. I see in your eyes what you want, but I see too your heart from when you were a boy. Innocente. Rispetto—for your own sake.
A prophecy or a warning? He’d been forced to admit, at least to himself, that he felt more than protectiveness, more than simple lust. The feeling had no name. He only knew he wanted to be with her. He bent to kiss her lightly, a male’s stamp of possession. He would go where the night led them.
Jared bought two ginger ales and, after they were seated, reached into his jacket’s pocket for a flask and poured some gin into each cup.
He held one out to her. She hesitated.
“It’s not a crime to drink liquor, Grace,” he reminded her, “only to sell, make, or transport the stuff. Hell, most people who could afford it stocked up long before the law took place.”
“I know. It’s rumored the University Club has a fifteen-year supply of good wine put up in its cellar,” she admitted. “Even Aunt Bruna thinks the drys are over the top. Of course, Aunt Bruna enjoys a glass of wine with her pasta. Maybe two,” she chuckled.
She took a generous sip of the liquor, and they both settled in to await the rise of the red velvet curtain. Soon, the costumed trumpeters announced the five-minute curtain call, the lights dimmed, and the show began.
During the show Jared glanced at her occasionally, gauging if she found the bawdy Miss West offensive, but Grace seemed to be enjoying the show immensely. At one point she leaned toward him and whispered, “I think Miss West is going to cross the line soon. It should be interesting.”
So it was no surprise when the wicked Miss West adlibbed a truly shocking double entendre that had half the audience gasping in horror and the other half laughing uproariously. Unfortunately, the curtain fell after that scene and never rose again. The authorities closed the show as predicted, giving it all the notoriety the actress had worked so hard to achieve.
The parade of expensive limousines made their way east after the theater emptied, everyone on their way to any one of the dozens of restaurants and speakeasies in the theater district. Mr. Cobb’s uncanny sense had him waiting nearby with the locomobile as they exited the theater.
“That was wonderful.” Grace sighed contentedly, curling her legs under her on the seat and resting her head on Jared’s shoulder.
“You only saw half the show,” he chuckled. “A woman who is easy to please. You are exceptional, Grace.” Jared checked a gold pocket watch at the end of a fob he pulled from his waistcoat pocket. “What would you like to do now? We have dinner reservations at Sardi’s, but not until eleven o’clock.”
“Do you know where Texas Guinan’s place is?”
“Of course,” Jared answered. The popular speakeasy, run by the notorious Texas Guinan, was one of the most successful operations in the city. An amazing fact, considering there were over thirty-two thousand such establishments, and few were owned and operated by a woman. Jared liked the flamboyant redhead, who usually greeted her customers with a call of, “Hello, suckers! Just leave your wallets on the bar,” after they gained entry past several burly guards stationed at the locked entrance to check for familiar faces.
“Henry, Miss Guinan’s place, if you please.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Oh, yes!” Grace took in the nightclub scene before her. Though most speakeasies had expensive liquor and mediocre food, the atmosphere of forbidden fun drew the crowds. A colorful floorshow topped the bill.
Jared had been greeted very enthusiastically by Texas, who kissed him full on the mouth before she acknowledged Grace’s presence. Grace had the good sense to look tolerant but not acquiescent.
Texas appeared amused by his date’s reaction. Most female patrons were either awed or cowed by Miss Guinan’s forceful personality. He tried to remove himself from the embrace without causing Texas any embarrassment. At the same time he was equally cognizant of Grace’s delicate sensibilities about men who pursued multiple liaisons.
“Is she more than a friend?” Grace asked when they were seated at a table.
“No, but she’s a good friend to have.” He felt a kinship to Texas Guinan that went beyond her nightclub. “You always know where you stand with her. She made a success of her business in a male-dominated occupation. Does things her way. I respect that.”
He glanced around at the smartly appointed ta
bles. “The rich flock to her establishment. She probably has acquired more money than most of them could ever imagine, but she isn’t one of them.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s invited to their homes and parties as a curiosity, an enigma. Society mavens consider it gauche for a person to obtain wealth all in one lifetime rather than over generations.”
And Jared knew, too, that despite all his power and wealth, despite Ravenhall, and despite his many business enterprises worldwide, like Texas he was still an outsider.
“But you are on Mrs. Astor’s Four Hundred List.”
“Yes, but I’ve never felt comfortable with it.” The social demigoddess and her friends would never dare to shun him and his wealth, but he knew the rules: old money trumped new money.
Besides, he was Catholic. The nuns at Angel Guardian had seen to that, and the highest ranks of society looked down on those of Catholic faith. Only a chosen few could still keep their place in society.
It wasn’t unusual for him to feel alone even when surrounded by throngs of people who professed to be his friends at the weeklong parties thrown on country estates where the beautiful people went to be seen.
Grace seemed about to argue the point when Jared looked up and winced. A dapper-looking, slightly inebriated man held out his hand. “Why, Jared, old man, when did you get back to town? Agnes will be furious she missed you.”
He clapped Jared on the back and wavered slightly. “And who is this choice bit of calico with you?” He leaned low to take Grace’s hand, kissing the inside of her wrist above her kid gloves, boldly admiring the décolletage the silver dress allowed.
Jared saw red. The anger came at him like a bolt from the blue, two-fisted and sharp, multiplied by the fact that the man was a friend. Stunned by the power of it, Jared forcibly attempted to tamp down the spiraling gush of possessiveness. Didn’t he owe it to Zia Bruna to protect Grace? After all, he had promised to look after her, so it was perfectly natural that he wanted to punch the man’s face in for having the gall to stare down her dress.
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