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Appetites & Vices

Page 26

by Felicia Grossman


  Still, why couldn’t he be at her side? With Jay, she could do anything and better, she could have someone who’d be honest with her as to whether she’d fall on her face or not. She might not take his advice, but at least she’d know it.

  Stabbing pain pounded in her stomach. No, she couldn’t think like that, think about him. He was gone. What they shared, was what it was. He’d promised she’d feel good and she had. The potential she’d seen and that he had—no, she couldn’t think of that.

  She glanced outside the open door towards the circular drive still lined with carriages. Perhaps she could run, hop in, and return to her room. No, she was an adult now and the leader of the Nunes family. Funny what a difference a little bit of knowledge could make. Theoretic control became actual. The purse strings were hers. She might be the daughter of a criminal—she swallowed—but she could still be a queen. After all, this was America and she could insist upon her share of it, for both her and her mother’s sakes. Her mother’d never get her due, but she was owed at least that.

  She brushed her skirt and sucked in a deep breath. Hugo ducked into the next room and returned with a glass of champagne. She downed the liquid and thrust the glass back at him.

  “Are you ready for this?”

  “Ursula, this isn’t fair to you. Come on, we’ll go somewhere, have some sweets and I’ll find a way to survive. You don’t have to do this.”

  She whirled around and stared at Hugo. He gulped.

  “Yes, Hugo, yes, I do, we do. Trust me. We can, and we will do this. You shouldn’t just have to survive. No one should. After tonight, you’ll be free.”

  And I’ll be ready to become what I was supposed to be, alone or not.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Jay pushed through the crowds milling around the first floor of the Centerville house. Why were there so many people at this party, but not the right person?

  He waved off calls of his name as he scanned the dance floor and the refreshment area—no sign of Ursula, her father, his parents, or Hugo. Purple, lilac, mauve, not a shade was in view. Who could help, who could help, who could help?

  He tapped the butler on the shoulder. “Has Miss Ursula come in or perhaps her father, Mr. Nunes? They’re from Wilmington proper. She was probably wearing some shade of violet?”

  “Yes, sir.” The man nodded, pushing out his lips. “She came in an hour ago in the carriage with Mr. Hugo Middleton. Mr. Nunes came with a Bernard Levy about a half an hour later.”

  They were all here, good or perhaps terrible.

  Blast.

  How could he ever mend things, ever make anything right? He raced around the corner and ran smack into Judah Nunes. Double blast, the man’s chest was solid.

  “Mr. Nunes, sir, I’m so sorry.”

  The man folded his arms and took a step back. “I thought you were on a boat to France.”

  Jay resisted the urge to slink. No one in the Nunes family slunk. If he wanted what he wanted, he was going to have to win back more than one person. Unfortunately, the one before him not only didn’t trust him, but probably wanted him tarred and feathered—after being boiled in oil.

  “We both know I’m not going to France.” He matched the man’s stance.

  “That’s a rather recent and late choice.” Judah eyed him. “Though I suppose that’s not my concern. Nevertheless, I wouldn’t try my patience, Mr. Truitt. I have a good mind to ask you to step outside.”

  An image of Judah Nunes’ fist connecting with his chin floated in his mind. Painful, very painful. There was muscle beneath the man’s jacket and he wasn’t as old as he seemed. Truth be told, he deserved more than a few bruises.

  “I recognize that, and it’d be justified too.” He forced himself to maintain eye contact. He would not be cowed. Urs deserved strong, someone who could battle beside her, a second. “Where’s your daughter?”

  “Why does it matter to you?” Judah’s voice was flat, but clear even through the party chatter surrounding them.

  Bernard was right, Urs and Judah were exactly alike. He wasn’t going to make this easy. Jay wrung the fabric on the inside of his pockets. Second, her second. He’d prove worthy of that title, he would. He gulped down air.

  “I care about her. I care what happens to her. You and I both know that she shouldn’t marry Hugo, I mean—”

  “You’re saying you know better for my daughter than she knows for herself?” Judah’s voice took on a dangerous note. He stepped closer to Jay, fists clenched.

  Wrong tack, very wrong tack. This wasn’t about Hugo. This was about him and Urs and the life they could make—the life he’d work every day to give her.

  “No.” Jay shook his head, over and over. “No. No one’s smarter than Urs. No matter what she does, she’ll be successful but—” He swallowed.

  How could he explain? How could he convince this man or more, Urs, that they should be together, that he deserved her when he certainly did not?

  Jay tugged at his collar. This was useless. The pain in her eyes when she realized he was leaving. He’d promised to help her and when he was given an out, a way to get around doing something difficult, he abandoned her.

  A coward—worse than Hugo.

  Judah sniffed and brushed past, up the stairs.

  Jay stared after him. Why had he left his room? Why was he even trying? It was too little too late or worse he was never enough in the first place.

  Judah’s back retreated and—no. He and Urs belonged together. They could survive apart, but they were so much better together.

  He may not deserve her, but he loved her, more than anyone he’d ever loved, and he would spend every day, every bloody day he had left, showing her. And joy. He’d bring her joy. If there was anything he could bring to the table, it was that. Joy was easy because when he was with Urs, that’s all there was.

  “Sir,” Jay called before he could think.

  When Judah didn’t halt he repeated the word, louder. Jay raced after the man, taking full advantage of his long legs and stature. He scampered in front and held his arms at the top of the staircase, resting his hands on both bannisters, blocking Judah’s path.

  “Sir, where is your daughter?”

  “None of your concern. Let me through, Jay.”

  No.

  Disrespectful or not, this would be about him and Urs. He’d get to Urs.

  “Not until you answer my question and with all due respect, it is my business, sir.”

  Judah’s mouth was a hard line. A shadow crossed his face. Mercy, he looked like Urs. Sired or not, no one could ever question whether he was her father. Instead of fear, a warmth spread through his body. Urs. There was only one Urs.

  “How is it your business, Mr. Truitt?” Judah managed to make the question sound like a threat.

  “It’s my business because I intend to marry your daughter, if she’ll have me.”

  “Do you now?” Judah sniffed again. “First, I thought we dealt with that? You’re released from that promise and she’s of no use to you anyway. Your parents are resigned to permit you to leave, your way. Why are you still bothering us? You fled. You chose, when matters became difficult for her, when she, not you, was the one with the reputation to mend, to abandon her.”

  Jay’s knees buckled.

  Bloody Hell.

  People were probably saying—no, no, no, why hadn’t his parents—he was a dullard. He never even thought—that was the problem, wasn’t it? He’d been so wrapped in his own head, his own world, his own problems—he should’ve purchased two rings—and a tiara.

  “Sir, you have to know, I left because of what I did, not anything about her. If I could go back, I’d not only do it differently, but I’d grovel and beg at Urs’ feet to permit me to stay.”

  He didn’t hesitate, he could no longer think, no longer plot, no longer charm, no longer pl
an. He clutched the wood and spoke words he never expected or knew he had inside.

  “I love her. I know I don’t deserve her and lord knows she’d probably be better off without me. I can’t offer her anything, but an undying need to make her smile and when I succeed, that’s everything to me. If I can do that every day for the rest of my life that will be enough success for me.”

  Judah’s eyes widened. He stared at Jay for a long moment before throwing back his head and laughing, wild, full whoops. He raced up the additional stairs and slapped Jay on the back.

  “You’re really going to have to start pretending you like cats.” He pushed on Jay’s arm. “I’ll take you to her, but you should know, if you ever, ever, ever do anything to her, and I don’t mean making a mistake with business or yourself, but if you ever make her feel unworthy, or like she’s not enough—”

  “I’ll give you the pistol myself.” That was it, wasn’t it? The promise he could keep, would keep.

  Jay raced backwards and permitted Judah to pass. He followed the man down to his own father’s office, his heart pounding. What in the world was she doing? She should be by a buffet table stuffing herself with chocolate and fruit. The only thing that happened in his father’s office during parties was...

  Tarnation. That was her plan? She couldn’t, she wouldn’t, would she? Judah threw open the door and the two stepped inside. Jay scanned the room and closed his eyes. She could and she would.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Ursula fingered the edge of her cards, across the table from Middleton, Reed and Morris. Hugo leaned against the wall between Jay’s father and Uncle Bernard, his face alternating between pale and green. He’d need to stop that and keep his nails out of his mouth if he was going to be permitted to stay.

  Her hand was decent, but not good enough. Still, she’d gained quite a bit of information that round and had lost enough money for the next phase of her plan to be reasonable. Time to put on a show.

  She threw her head back and laughed as she folded once more. “I suppose you gentlemen won that hand as well.”

  “Yes, I think you might be out of coins, Miss Nunes. Now, we appreciate lining our pockets, but as I told you at the outset, this game is not for ladies, of any stripe.” Morris was a great deal more of a leader than his daughter.

  Ursula waved a hand and bent forward to give the table a view of everything bouncing below her neckline. Let them compare her to her mother. She’d take it as a compliment. Combined, the three men didn’t possess half the courage her mother had in her smallest toe. They were all dolts and she’d take every advantage she could. “Oh, Mr. Morris, you and your sophisticated Philadelphia ways, you do know best. I should retire. However, one more hand won’t hurt, especially if we make it interesting.”

  “How do you propose making it interesting without any funds? I don’t suppose you’re going to offer to show us any more family secrets?” For a political Kingmaker he wasn’t particularly astute or creative with his insults.

  “I’ll not pretend to comprehend you, sir. I suppose though, I’m just a silly woman. I was referring to other items. I possess two fine breeding stallions and am prepared to offer them up for the right bet.” Ursula flapped her fan over her bosom. Time to sweeten the pot.

  “And what’s the right bet?” Reed had leaned forward.

  “It’s not from you, Mr. Reed, though you’re welcome to continue.” She twisted her cameo. “What I want in the pot is Hugo Middleton’s hand in marriage.”

  A stunned silence lingered for a moment in the room. Score one for her. The fish were sniffing the bait. Wait for it...

  “What?” Hugo’s father squawked.

  Here we go. She resisted rubbing her hands together. Who knew danger was so thrilling?

  “It’s worth the horses, especially, if Mr. Morris places the judgeship you covet in the pot as well.” Ursula tilted her chin in Morris’ direction.

  “And why would I do that?” Morris’ sneer was audible.

  The man was a toad, a pompous toad—the apple didn’t fall far from that tree. Hugo did need rescuing. No wonder he was so green, a salamander ready to be eaten.

  Toads, though, weren’t cleverer than other animals. One just needed the right lure.

  “Because you’ve basically doubled your daughter’s odds. If either you or Mr. Middleton win this hand, you lose nothing. Middleton would’ve received the position anyway, your daughter will receive the husband you want for her, and you’ll be able to give them two horses and the equivalent in coins from Mr. Reed.”

  Morris wet his lips and raised his head. He didn’t meet her eye though. Instead, he met Middleton’s wild stare. Ursula had to grind her back teeth so not to smile. They thought they could join forces against her? Permit them to try.

  “I’m in.” Reed shoved a pile of coins into the center. He flipped his head around. “Certainly, the most interesting party you’ve ever thrown, J.T.”

  “I’m in as well. Does anyone have a note I can write?” Morris asked.

  Jay’s father fetched the items, though Ursula didn’t bother to glance at him nor the others along the wall. All her focus had to be on the three in front of her. Every twitch was meaningful.

  Middleton made quaking sounds.

  “Oh, don’t be a ninny, Silas. You’ve seen her play.” Morris shoved a paper into the man’s hand. “We’ll get them a wedding gift.”

  Middleton turned his head to the side. Probably an appeal to Hugo. Ursula bit the tip of her tongue. If Middleton only knew whose side his son was actually on.

  “Come now, man.” Morris thumped him on the back.

  Middleton acquiesced, and the pot was set. Now all she needed was the cards and hopefully a little bit of luck. She could make do with skill, but if there was ever a time for luck...

  She cleared her throat. “We shall have Mr. Reed deal, as he has the least at stake.”

  Within moments each player had his five cards. Urs glanced at hers and forced her face blank.

  * * *

  Jay opened and closed his mouth, but there was no sound. He turned towards Judah, who shrugged. He was mad, they’d all gone mad. One didn’t make bets like this, over children’s futures. Well, people did, but not Urs, not her future.

  Reed and Morris each exchanged three cards while Middleton took two. Urs kept all but one.

  He eyed her closer. Her cards were down and she was surveying the table, one hand on the spread, the other in her lap. Not a muscle twitched. Her face was neutral and she was absolutely breathtaking. She could be at a tea—well, not Urs at a tea. She could be a woman who was actually good at teas at a tea.

  What had she drawn?

  “I’ll raise.” Morris was the first to speak, shoving quite a few notes, not coins into the pot. Both Middleton and Reed saw the raise.

  Arses, bullying arses, all of them.

  All three men eyed Urs. He wouldn’t have been surprised if their tongues hung out and their fangs glistened like the wolves they were, all ready to pounce on their prey and tear her apart. It was so unfair, so incredibly unfair, why had all of them, her father, her uncle, Hugo, permitted her to do this alone?

  Not that she couldn’t beat back three real wolves, probably break their necks with her bare hands, but she shouldn’t have to. Also, since when had she started wearing gold? Not that it didn’t suit her, but how much had he missed in less than a week?

  “Do you need to fold, Miss Nunes?” Morris was the one to speak, his distaste clear.

  What would it be like to have the man’s neck in his hands? He was at least a head taller, two decades younger, and even sick from his own cravings, he could fell the man with one well-placed punch to the temple. This was Delaware and Morris was from Philadelphia so his connections weren’t as strong. A man had the right to protect his own home, didn’t he?

  As if they could h
ear his thoughts, both Judah and his father grabbed his arms.

  “He’s mine, after the party.” Judah’s words against his ear were welcome, but didn’t return his temperature to its prior state.

  “We shall roll some dice for it,” he whispered back.

  “Concern yourself with Ursula, not him.” His own father’s advice was sound and the images it conjured, if he could only succeed, that might make him forget—at least for an hour or two.

  Urs’ voice, not a note above or below center, almost blank, brought him from his thoughts. “No, I shall see the bet.”

  She didn’t move either. She’d gotten good at hiding her tells. Even he’d have been scratching the back of his neck, tapping his cards or some such nonsense.

  “With what?” Morris, the clear, self-appointed leader, asked the question. Just like a Philadelphian, though to be frank, the question was fair, whether or not he dreaded the answer.

  “Five percent of Nunes’ holdings. As you might have read in the papers, I own almost sixty-seven percent. Five percent certainly covers my share, and who wouldn’t want a portion of a European bank these days?”

  No, no, no, she couldn’t be doing this. They were predators of the highest order—conspiring against her—all three—as a pack. Fighting them alone was insanity. He had to put a stop to it. Isn’t that what a second did anyway? Halt the violence before it began?

  Jay opened his mouth. “Urs. You need to stop this madness. Walk away. Come into the ballroom, dance with me. This isn’t, shouldn’t be your responsibility.”

  She didn’t even lift her head. Instead, she waved a hand at him, her cards still on the table.

  Blast.

  He should’ve found a way to look. Not knowing what she had was torture.

  “Jay, this isn’t your concern. We’re playing a hand. The bets have been made.” She giggled, but a quaver echoed behind the sound.

  She’d be the death of him. Why would she not permit him to assist her? Well, he knew why. Double blast.

  He tugged at his cravat before leaning over the side of her chair, crowding her with his height, his finest weapon. “You’re playing for Hugo’s hand, but I want yours, so it’s very much my concern.”

 

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