by Laura Parker
He snatched up his discarded whiskers, pressing them into place with the hope that there was enough plaster still remaining on his cheeks to hold them for the time it took for him to deliver her to the door.
It was only after he’d helped her down and escorted her to safety inside the front door that it dawned on Eduardo that he’d scarcely touched her at all. He’d not brushed a single caress over the fullness of her breasts or sought to learn the shape of her hips. The sweet hot scalding passage of desire through his veins fired the conviction that she regretted the oversight as much as he. Was that part of the reason for the accusation he saw in her wide eyes before she turned and fled up the stairs? Did she feel as he did, that they’d only begun what must now, somehow, be finished?
Half an hour later, Eduardo left the Ormstead mansion by the back entrance and hailed a cab. The cabby saw nothing remarkable about his elegantly dressed fare, but was surprised when the man called out the name of a hotel on Twenty-sixth Street before climbing in.
Eduardo was not surprised to find that the marquis’s lodgings were in one of the more modest hotels of the city. Emigres were welcomed into American society not for their wealth but for the one thing money couldn’t buy the New Rich: a proud lineage and title.
He smiled as he entered the hotel lobby and adjusted his evening coat. It had been weeks since he’d worn any of his own clothing. In purely sensuous pleasure, he admired the tight but elegant fit of the fine fabric as he flexed his shoulders. A warm bath and close shave had rid him of the vestiges of sticking plaster and face paint. He’d traded the scent of sandalwood for ambergris. All in all, he was quite pleased with his transformation from Akbar to Senhor Tavares.
When he reached the third floor, Eduardo strode confidently down the dimly lit hall to number 305 and knocked. After a second rap roused no answer, he withdrew a long thin piece of metal from his pocket, jiggled it in the keyhole until the lock turned, opened the door, and stepped inside.
He’d barely finished his brief but enlightening search of the room when the first reedy notes of whistling preceded the sound of footsteps moving along the hall. Quickly and silently, he moved behind the door and waited, more anxious than he’d been upon entering the room for the confrontation which was about to take place.
The marquis was more than a little drunk, which more than a little pleased him. He preferred drunkenness from good brandy to any other form of intoxication. Its attendant warmth, rushing in his veins, reminded him of the liquid gem fire of fine rubies. As he inserted his key in his door, he picked up the thread of the tune he’d been whistling, enjoying the exhaled heat of his breath which brushed like dragon’s fire against his face. Sacrebleu! He was pleased with himself.
With exaggerated care, he walked over to the table where a lamp burned low and emptied his pockets. Two rings, his wallet, a jeweled cigarette case, and last of all, a three-strand necklace of pearls. He picked it up and held it in an unsteady grasp before the light.
It was a good catch but not the prize he’d sought. If not for the amorous demands of the Oliphant bitch, he might have collected the prize of his career this night. Still, when she flung her arm about his neck, he could not resist slipping off her pearls while in her ardent embrace.
He smirked and laid the pearls carefully on the table. It was due payment for having had to suffer her embraces these last weeks. He would have preferred the de Ronsard girl’s embrace. To have successfully removed that heavy collar of diamonds from her neck while she lifted her beautiful face for his kiss would have been the crowning achievement of his life. Just thinking about it made him run his hand strongly over the placket of his trousers. He’d have been set for life with that one theft.
“Forgive me if I interrupt this—intimacy.”
Eduardo almost felt sorry for the man who whipped around so quickly he nearly fell.
The marquis’s eyes widened as he saw the immaculately dressed stranger who stood in the shadowy corner beside his door. “Who are you? What do you want?” A quick flicker of his pale gaze toward the pearls lying nearby betrayed his first suspicion.
“I didn’t come for the pearls, marquis, but I’ll take them all the same,” the stranger said in a pleasant lightly accented voice. “But first you will chat with me, I think.”
The marquis squinted, his hand moving casually toward his jacket pocket. “Do I know you?”
“No, you don’t.” The stranger revealed the derringer he palmed. “And, if you so much as reach for whatever it is in your pocket, you never will.”
The marquis dropped his hand to his side and straightened up, remembering suddenly who he was. “I am the Marquis d’Edas, and I demand to know who you are and what you’re doing here!”
“Who I am is of no value to you. Why I am here is.” He reached into his pocket and took out a coin and tossed it to the Frenchman.
Despite his drunken state, the marquis recognized the glimmer of gold as the metal disk arced toward him and with surprising agility snatched it from the air. But when he looked down at the Spanish doubloon with the bullet hole in its center, his expression fell. “Where did you get this?”
“From the same source as you, unless the one in your bureau drawer is stolen.”
“No!” He shook his head violently. “I would not dare steal such a thing.”
“Then explain to me why you are so highly valued by the man who gave you his token.”
The marquis licked his lips several times as if fear were being spoon-fed to him. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“It seems that you are at a disadvantage.”
“How so?”
“You give me no reason not to simply kill you.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” he cried, dropping all attempts to maintain his dignity. “If Tyrone learned of it—”
“Tyrone,” the stranger repeated thoughtfully. “Now you begin to interest me. Are you on such terms with Tyrone that you feel free to use his name as talisman against your enemies? I think not. In any case, a coward of your stripe must have many enemies. Who’s to say which one found you first?”
“But I’ve done nothing!”
“To begin with, you are a liar. Your French accent belongs on a bayou back of New Orleans, not the lie de la Cite. Second, you are a thief. Third, you have distressed a lady of my acquaintance. That reason alone would suffice for me to murder.”
“What lady? Some mistress of yours?”
“The lady to whom I refer is a Mademoiselle de Ronsard. Ah, I see you do know her. Why does that frighten you?”
“I haven’t so much as danced with her!” the man flung at him.
“No, but you would like to do so much more than dance with her, yes? She responds to the threat she feels whenever you are near. So, I must kill you—or remove you from the city.”
Now that an alternative to murder had been introduced into the conversation, the marquis felt certain that the man didn’t intend to carry out his threat, and the knowledge emboldened him. “I swear never to approach the lady again.”
“Yet, you were inordinately interested in her. Why?”
Before he could stop himself, the marquis’s eyes shifted again to the pearls.
“Ah, I see. The diamonds. You are a fool. You’d never have lived to enjoy the theft. You may return my property.” He beckoned with his hand for the coin the man clutched. Without hesitation, the marquis tossed it to him. “I’ll take your coin as well.”
The marquis paled. “You can’t have it. It’s my protection.”
“Which I am withdrawing. The coin. Now.”
For the space of a few heartbeats, the marquis silently debated what he should do. He feared many things but he dreaded the man called Tyrone. He had never met Tyrone, but the name was potent enough to strike disquiet in every port from New Orleans to St. Louis. Years earlier, when New Orleans had been his milieu, he’d been offered a job, a minor bit of thievery. When the job was done, the coin had
been placed in his hand by a man who had said it was good for one favor from Tyrone. It was priceless. “Who sent you to do this?”
“No man gives me orders,” he answered.
“Tyrone?” the marquis breathed incredulously.
There was no reply. The marquis suddenly felt as sober as a judge. “I had no idea, about the lady, I mean. Didn’t intend her any harm.” He spread his arms wide in a Gallic shrug. “It was the diamonds, mon ami. They are worth a king’s fortune. But, of course, they are safe from me now.”
“Yes, they are. Now the coin.”
The marquis went and fished it reluctantly from the drawer. When he turned back he saw that the man had moved from the door over to the table and was scooping up the pearls. An instant before the lamp was snuffed, its light illuminated the stranger and the marquis glimpsed the man’s profile and realized that there was something familiar about his black hair and bronze skin. As the dark descended, the marquis tensed with the impulse to flee but then the stranger’s voice, sounding deeper and more weighty in the darkness said, “It is well known that Tyrone can see in the dark like a cat. One step, marquis, and I will kill you.”
The marquis froze, his hand closed painfully over the gold lucky piece in his palm. “I saw nothing, not enough to identify you. I swear it!”
“How can I believe you?”
The marquis felt his knees begin to buckle as a wave of nausea rolled through his middle. He wasn’t a brave man nor was he strong or daring. He had nothing but his life to which he clung with the unreasoned desire of any living speck. “The possessor of a coin is promised a favor,” he whispered.
“You’ve had it. You’re not dead.”
The marquis nodded in understanding though it was now too dark for the other man to see the motion. “I wish to go back to New Orleans.”
“No.”
The marquis caught his breath in an attempt to ride out another tidal wave in his stomach. “Farther? Texas? Colorado? California? Leave the country?”
“The first ship outward-bound,” the stranger suggested. “Now the coin.”
“I can’t see you.”
“Ah, but I can see you.”
The marquis held out his hand, fingers spread, and was unnerved by the rake of fingers lightly over his palm as the coin was removed. The man could see in the dark. It was Tyrone!
“The next ship!” he whispered as the man shoved him aside and went out through the door.
9
“You can’t leave. I won’t have it! And do stop staring at me with those golden eyes awash in limpid tears,” Hedda Ormstead scolded as she reached for another slice of toast to butter. “I’m immune to hysterics but I detest them all the same!”
“I’m not weeping, madame,” Philadelphia answered across the length of the breakfast table. “I’m only sad to be put to the necessity of saying farewell.”
Hedda eyed her young companion of the past month with great disfavor. “Does your leaving have anything to do with Akbar’s return? What, precisely, is the man to you?”
Philadelphia frowned at the invective in Mrs. Ormstead’s tone. She had expected that her hostess would regret losing her, but this scorching anger was not expected. “He is my servant.”
“Hogwash! I heard about your imprudent defense of him at the Doggets.” She lifted a brow. “Is that what has upset you? Put the matter from your mind. I’m certain the Oliphant woman did the moment her pearls were returned. Though the thief wasn’t apprehended, you needn’t play hide and seek with your lives as though you were wanted by the police.”
Philadelphia felt the full power of the woman’s inquisitive gaze on her. “Other circumstances dictate the course of my life.”
“That sounds vaguely distasteful. Am I to suppose, then, that you mean financial circumstances?” Hedda took a bite of her toast and chewed it thoroughly before continuing. “I’ve told you before that I enjoy having you as my guest. If I’ve not provided adequately for you, all you need do is say so. I’ll pay you a salary.” Her gaze swung away from Philadelphia. “I’m a very lonely old woman and can be generous when the need arises.”
Abruptly as a thunderclap, the meaning of Mrs. Ormstead’s offer roared through Philadelphia’s thoughts. She was being offered carte blanche to remain, even if it meant the older woman would have to pay for her continued presence. Hurt and humiliation swept over her, only to be caught in a swift crosscurrent of sympathy. How lonely the woman must be to open herself up willingly to what amounted to little more than blackmail. And how mercenary she must seem for the woman to believe that she would accept.
She rose and rounded the dining table to stand before the older woman. Reaching out, she took one of her parchment-like hands between hers. “I’ve come to care for you very much, madame. If I could, I would remain.”
Hedda tilted her head back to look down the length of her nose at the young lady standing before her and wondered if she’d been half as beautiful at the same age. “If you cared for me, you would remain.”
“I do care, madame, that is why I must go.”
Hedda’s chin trembled a moment before she caught herself. Straightening up, she snatched her hand back. “Willful! Spoiled! Contrary! Ungrateful! Wait, I’ve not finished. Foolish! Reckless! Indiscreet! You might remain with me, or if you prefer you could marry. That twit of a nephew, Horace, would build a castle for you if you directed it.”
“His name is Henry, madame.”
“Hah! You have been paying attention. Poor boy. I don’t suppose he’s much in the way of eliciting flame and fever. You French do place a great deal of emphasis on that sort of thing. Still, if I remember correctly from his diapering days, his parts are in order. Perhaps, you’ll inspire him. In any case, he has other qualities. He’ll be a doting husband and an equally doting father. And there’s money, lots of it. With your elegance and charm, he’ll think himself more lucky than he deserves—and he’ll be right.”
“I don’t love your nephew, madame.”
Hedda looked at Philadelphia as though she had spilled tea all over the floor. “Of course you don’t! You love that turbaned savage. I have eyes in my head, and the pair of you are as transparent as panes of glass.”
“Madame is mistaken,” Philadelphia said carefully and moved away in order to shield herself from the woman’s too-keen gaze.
“If the man were any less self-contained, I’d have had him thrown out of here the first day,” Hedda retorted. “His feelings were appallingly apparent from the first. I haven’t forgotten the look on his face after you fell before my horse. If he could have, he’d have lifted my carriage, driver, horses and all, and tossed us into the nearest gutter.”
“Surely you are mistaken, madame.” Philadelphia forced a light tone. “I’m convinced Akbar thinks of me as a mere child.”
“Really?” Hedda’s voice tone was icy enough to lower the thermometer several degrees. “That was no peck on the cheek I observed in my conservatory a few weeks ago. Well, you should blush! Osculating in the full light of day like any foolish maid with her randy footman! I should have thrown the pair of you out then and there!”
Philadelphia hung her head in acute embarrassment, thinking that chaste kiss was the least of the indiscretions she’d committed while under this roof. “I’m sorry, madame, for having offended you.”
“Don’t speak to me in that presumptuous manner. I didn’t say I disapprove—but I do! He’s too old for you, and a heathen in the bargain. If you married, you’d be cast out of good society and remain a curiosity to those who would accept you. Think, my girl! What is love compared to comfort and security?”
Philadelphia looked up and smiled. “Since I have neither love nor comfort nor security in any great degree, madame, I’m at a loss to make comparisons.”
“Minx!” Hedda sighed deeply. “I should throw you out, but I won’t. I should throw him out, but I won’t.”
Philadelphia eyed the woman with gr
eat admiration and bemusement. They were engaged in what could certainly be termed the most eccentric conversation of her life. Yet she sensed beneath Mrs. Ormstead’s brusque disapproval genuine feelings of affection. She longed to tell her who she was and why she was in New York. Was Eduardo right to think that Mrs. Ormstead would understand if she explained how she and he were business associates, that in reality Akbar was Senhor Tavares, a handsome and wealthy Brazilian not many years her senior? The urge was strong yet she didn’t say a single word because she wasn’t convinced herself of what was the complete truth.
She reached into her pocket. As doubtful as she was about the necessity of it, she had promised Eduardo that she would go through with their plan. “Madame Ormstead, you have been most kind to me and I do appreciate your advice. That is why, if I may, I would ask one thing more of you.”
“Very well,” Hedda said coolly.
She lifted the diamond collar and earrings from her pocket and laid them on the table. “I must find a buyer for these.”
Hedda gasped in spite of herself. “The de Ronsard diamonds! Sell them? Absolutely not!”
“Yes, I must. I have debts.”
“How many debts? Of what nature? To whom?”
The rapid-fire questions startled Philadelphia though she was quickly coming to the conclusion that nothing she said or did would ever catch Mrs. Ormstead completely off guard. Feeling a chasm of guilt yawn wider at her feet, she looked away. “Debts, madame, are private.”
She was surprised by the strength in the hands that suddenly closed on her arms. The grip tightened until she felt the distinct impression of each and every one of Hedda’s nails through the fabric of her gown.
“What is this mystery?” Hedda demanded in an urgent whisper as she studied the misery in the young face so close to hers. “Whatever it is, I can help you. I’ve influence.”
Philadelphia gazed down upon the elegant elderly face with wonder. “Why are you willing to do this for me? You know nothing about me.”
“Nor do I care to,” Hedda snapped. “I believe I should be greatly put out with you if I knew the entire truth. So allow me to keep my ignorance. Is it Akbar? Is he blackmailing you?”