by Laura Parker
Seeing the bellboy, he stopped short. “You!” he cried accusingly. “Why are you still spying on me?”
The boy swallowed hard. “I ain’t spying, sir. I was waiting in case you wanted something. Anything you need, the Grand Union Hotel can supply.”
“Peace!” the enraged man shot back. “How much will that cost me?”
“Compliments of the house,” the boy said quickly, realizing that the tip he had been waiting for was irretrievably lost. He bowed jerkily and started to back out.
“Stop!” The man held up a hand while delving into his pocket with the other. He came forward and thrust cash into the bellboy’s hand. “My wife needs a lemonade to revive her. I will make it myself. We must have fresh lemons, water, sugar, and ice. Send them at once.” He looked down at the money he’d given the boy. “That is for you. This other, put it on my bill.”
The bellboy looked at the dollar bill lying on his palm and a grin split his freckled face. “Thank you, sir! I’ll get what you need lickety-split!”
When the door closed behind the bellboy, the man went over and turned the key in the lock, then leaned his shoulders against the door for a moment.
“Vittorio?”
“We’re alone,” he answered, and began to laugh as he saw a blond head poke through the bedroom doorway.
Philadelphia looked questioningly at Eduardo, and when he opened his arms to her, she flew across the room into them. Feeling them close warmly about her was the best feeling in the world, she decided as she nuzzled his shirtfront. This whole consuming desire to be with him was different from any need she’d ever known. “I thought surely we’d be thrown out just now!”
“You poor innocent!” He kissed the top of her hair, still amazed by the golden luster of it. “Do you think a quarrel between a man and his wife is grounds for an ouster from this hotel? In a place such as this, marital quarrels must be as common as leaves on trees.”
Philadelphia slipped her arms under his coat and about his waist. “I was so embarrassed! I nearly ran out on you.”
“Instead you cried, which was so much better.” He propped his chin on the top of her head. “A nice touch. I wish I had thought of it when we rehearsed.”
Philadelphia jerked up her head, clipping him on the chin as she did so. “Give me some credit for imagination.”
“Oi g’ve ’oo kra’dit!”
“What did you say?”
Eduardo grimaced. “‘Oo made me bihe my ’ongue.”
“Oh! I’m so sorry.”
He grinned down at her. “‘Hen kiss ih an’ make ih behher.”
Smiling, Philadelphia reached up and very carefully brought his head down to within an inch of hers. With her fingers she parted his lips and said, “Open wide,” giggling at her own temerity. He obeyed and stuck out his tongue but his eyes were wickedly amused.
Three short weeks ago, she would never have dared to tease him so but after spending twenty-one wondrous nights by his side, she was no longer afraid of the passion he roused so quickly in her. She parted her lips, moistened them, and then very gently closed them over the pink tip of his tongue and delicately sucked it.
She felt the jolt of pleasure that went through him with a surge of triumph. Most often she was lost in the sensual world of desire that they created together but this moment gave her a new knowledge of relationships between men and women. In controlling her actions she could give him pleasure rather than simply return it. As she continued to suck the sweet tip, she added the soft abrasion of her own tongue, running it along the sensitive edge of his. She heard him moan softly in answer and his arms tightened suddenly on her.
When at last she released him from her torment, desire had misted her eyes and quickened her breath. “Better?”
Eduardo grinned down at her. “No. I need more kisses.”
She pressed both hands to his chest. “Well, you won’t get them! You’ve been an unkind husband, and you must now run along and play errant spouse to some other audience. Besides, it’s the middle of the afternoon.”
He caught a fingerful of blond hair which lay scattered across her brow and twined it about his finger. “I haven’t yet shown you the absolutely wicked delight of making love in the middle of the afternoon. It is most pleasant, under the shade of a tree or with the warm sunshine on your skin.”
Her arms fell away from his chest. “You sound as though you’ve much enjoyed the activity.”
The change in her expression made him ridiculously pleased, and he hugged her tight. “You’re jealous! Of me? Menina, there’s no cause.”
She turned within his embrace, giving him her back to hold to his chest. “Why should I believe you? You are handsome. You are wealthy. You need not work for a living. You have no callouses on your hands, even if you did scar your poor wrists.” Distracted by the thought of those scars, she added, “You never said who hurt you so badly.”
“Didn’t I?” he answered faintly. “But don’t change the subject, menina. You were blackening my character. Continue.”
She shrugged within his embrace. “I’m not completely ignorant of life. I know wealthy young unmarried men like you have mistresses, many mistresses because you can afford them.”
“Many?” he asked in amusement. “Would your jealousy cede me a harem, menina?”
“No,” she answered in a voice constricted by the sudden realization of what she was thinking. “For the moment it appears that you have only one.” The moment the words were out she could have strangled herself. She hadn’t meant to think that, let alone say it. Her need for him ran far deeper than carnal desire, it was an ever-present and exhausting yearning to be wanted and protected and loved by him always, yet they hadn’t spoken of the future beyond this summer of loving.
Eduardo quickly turned her about and forced her to look up at him. “You are not my mistress! You are my love.”
Wanting to go back three steps to when she had been kissing him, yet knowing she couldn’t, she said, “What’s the difference?”
The knock at his back made Eduardo bite out a curse but he kissed her, quickly, roughly, and thoroughly, before letting her go. “Later, menina, we will finish this discussion. For now you are Signora Milazzo.”
Philadelphia went and seated herself on one of the two yellow-and-cream roman-stripe settees that framed a lovely maple wood fireplace while he let in the bellboy with the makings for lemonade.
“Just as you ordered,” the bellboy announced as he carried in the tray.
Being a third year veteran of the summer trade at the Grand Union Hotel, the boy had seen many pretty and wealthy young women within these walls, but the sight of Mrs. Milazzo, a vision of golden curls in a white summer lawn dress seated on a yellow-and-white settee, was one he would carry with him for years.
When he had placed the tray on the table beside her, he snatched his cap from his head and bowed respectfully. “I hope you get to feeling better real soon, ma’am.” Encouraged by her dazzling smile, he went on. “Saratoga’s climate is known to do wonders for those of delicate health. And your presence sure perks up the scenery. If there’s anything, anything at all you need, you just ring for me.”
Philadelphia lifted a hand to her mouth to hide her laughter. “You are much too kind, sir. I hope the hotel appreciates the sensibilities of a man of your charm.”
Eduardo leaned against the door, watching this interplay with wry amusement. Few men were immune to Philadelphia’s beauty. He would have to keep a close eye on her or she would be inundated by admirers. The thought seared his humor, shriveling in an instant. As the bellboy approached the door with a silly grin on his face, Eduardo subjected him to a glance so blighting he turned bright red as he quickened his step out the door.
“That was not every kind of you,” Philadelphia said when the door closed behind the bellboy. “You frightened him.”
“Did I? Good. He should know better than to stare at another man’s wife.”
“He meant no harm. He’s only a boy.”
“There are whiskers on his chin,” Eduardo said darkly as he came toward her. “He’s old enough.”
Philadelphia looked at him in surprise. “Why, you sound jealous.”
Eduardo shrugged. Did she not yet understand how deep his feelings were for her? Perhaps he should remind her that he was born and bred of the jungle, that his air of sophistication was a mere veneer for the primitive feelings that ran hotly in his blood. He did not want any man to look at her with admiration and lust. Part of him, the savage possessive side, wanted to shut her away from their lewd glances and lascivious thoughts.
Philadelphia watched the play of strong emotions in his face, marveling at how open he had become since their stay on the Hudson. Before that, she would have sworn she could not discern a single emotion in his expression that he did not wish her to read. But jealousy? He did not seem the kind of man to be concerned about losing anything that belonged to him.
She did not belong to him. Philadelphia’s spirits sank at the thought. She was his mistress, a less than permanent arrangement. He often said he loved her. Yet, moments before, he had not had a ready answer to the question about the difference between being a lover and a mistress.
She looked at him, her heart in her eyes. “I suppose real husbands are less jealous because they are pledged to their wives.”
“Exactly.” Eduardo turned abruptly away from her on the pretext of retrieving his hat and cane, but the arrow of her accusation quivered in the wood of his soul.
He knew the idea of being his mistress distressed her. She must wonder why, if he said he loved her, he did not mention marriage. Yet, how could he explain to her his convoluted sense of honor which allowed him to keep her with him but did not allow him to deceive her into marriage with the man who had ruined her father? His dilemma had become acute those last days on the Hudson as he wrestled with the knowledge that one of his enemies remained alive. Just when his life was beginning to move forward the past had risen as if from the grave, and with it the blood oath he had sworn to Tyrone.
He had written Tyrone. His sense of honor would allow him to do nothing less. But he had decided to let Tyrone fight this last battle alone. He had at last found peace after years of turmoil. He would not jeopardize Philadelphia, not after all he had learned from her in the last weeks about the quality of love.
That is why they were in Saratoga. He could not have cared less about selling jewelry, yet in suggesting that they resume the scheme he found an excuse to leave the Hudson. Tyrone might come after him, and he did not want to be found.
He straightened abruptly. “Well, if you have everything you need, cara minha, I will take the air. A stroll of an hour or two should set up my appetite for lunch.”
“Very well,” Philadelphia answered, longing to say more but aware of the strain between them which she had caused. “Until lunch.”
When he was gone, she went back into her bedroom and opened the first closet door to hang up her shawl. The sight that met her eyes brought her up short. The closet was crammed with clothing, dresses of every kind and description, enough to fill an enormous cabin trunk. Where had they all come from? She lifted out one of the dresses with a billowy skirt of a white lawn and held it up to herself. It seemed it would be a perfect fit.
Eduardo! She knew instantly that he had once again outfitted her for their scheme but this time he had spent far more than was necessary. There were easily two dozen outfits in the closet.
“Do they fit?”
She spun about. “Eduardo! I thought you’d gone.”
He smiled as he came into the room. “I forgot to tell you about the clothes. If anything isn’t to your taste, I’ll send it back.”
“They’re beautiful but you spent far too much. And how did you know what size to order?”
He stopped before her and took the dress from her hands and threw it on the nearby chair. “I ordered dresses made for you in Chicago, remember? I kept your measurements. These were ordered before we left New York.”
“But how did you know I’d be coming with you to Saratoga? We hadn’t even discussed it then.”
He brushed her cheek with his palm. “I had decided, even then, that I would find a way to persuade you.”
Philadelphia felt the familiar thudding of her heart. It took so little, merely his touch to awaken the wanting. “You make me begin to think I came too easily into your trap at Belle Mont.”
“Was it a trap?” He trailed the back of his fingers down the side of her neck to tuck them into the collar of her traveling dress. When he had ordered the clothes, he had only hoped to seduce a beautiful woman, but he had done much much more. He had fallen in love. “It is I who feel enslaved.”
She stood her ground but it was hard when his other hand came up to cup her breast and pressed so very insistently. “Why are you back? You were going to take the air.”
His smiled then and the thudding of her heart rose to a brisk trot. “I prefer to take you, menina.”
13
Eduardo lifted his eyes from the cards in his hands and surveyed the ring of faces around the table. He’d been playing poker every afternoon for nearly a week, and losing regularly, but he had yet to make an acquaintance who could introduce him to the upstairs salon of Morrissey’s Club House, the most fashionable gambling establishment in Saratoga. But today, it seemed his luck might have changed.
To his right sat Mr. Oran Beecham, a broad-chested ruddy-faced horse dealer from Kentucky. They’d met on the block-long veranda of the Grand Union Hotel where half the summer’s population sat and watched the other half parade along the avenue in their finest clothing and latest rigs.
A gregarious man with a ready laugh and silver flask in his pocket, Beecham had been the one to invite Eduardo upstairs to his room for a “friendly game” when he learned that the young foreigner was looking for a little diversion. The game, it seemed, was a regular afternoon activity of these men and so he had been pleased to join them. Mr. Beecham’s hospitality was as gregarious as his character, and soon the Kentuckian’s excellent bourbon, smooth as liquid sunshine, burned brightly in Eduardo’s veins.
To Beecham’s right sat a college-aged young man named Tom Howells. He had a mop of red curls that he’d tried without much success to tame by parting them in the middle and applying a great deal of hair tonic. Despite this, he looked like an overgrown toddler. Eduardo discounted him immediately as being too naive to indulge in serious excess or, if he did, likely to suffer too greatly from his conscience after the fact.
The third member of the group was Hugh Webster, a dentist from Cleveland. Middle-aged, balding, with a thin face so deeply pockmarked that his skin resembled a nutmeg grater, he seldom spoke but played each hand as though he were transacting business. Nothing reckless in this man.
The fourth man, the newest member of the game, called himself Reginald Spaulding. He was dressed in the latest style, wore a diamond stickpin, and even waxed his mustache with scented oil. Handsome in a brittle sort of way with crisp brown hair, slate-gray eyes, and hands as smooth as a lady’s, he wore a continual smirk. Eduardo recognized the pearly lustre of his skin and indolent air as the trademarks of the professional gambler. This was a man who might help him gain entry into Morrissey’s casino.
Eduardo scotched a twinge of conscience where Philadelphia was concerned. He had left her almost completely alone every day since they had arrived in Saratoga while he set about creating rumors about himself. He had even spent the last three evenings in the company of men of wealth and women who were fond of that wealth. He had drunk more than was wise and gambled at faro, giving the impression to casual observers that he lost more than he actually had. Free with his money and his charm, he had quickly become a favorite among the women. He had even discovered within himself the capacity to be as coquettish as any woman, promising much and delivering less. Philadelphia’s was the only bed he soug
ht. Still he should have expected the inevitable result.
He and Philadelphia had quarreled the evening before. What he did, he did for them, he had told her. But he did not blame her for being angered by the scent of another woman’s perfume on his clothing. Only after she’d ordered him out of her bedroom did he realize the full extent of his mistake. It was time for them to move on. His heart wasn’t in the game. He was stalling for time, and he knew it.
“Phew!” Mr. Beecham swabbed his moist brow with his handkerchief. “The wife keeps these rooms too close for a man’s comfort. I’ll just throw open the shutters. Man’s gotta breathe.”
“An excellent idea,” Eduardo seconded. “Women are forever closing in about a man, curbing his least inclination toward masculine pleasure.”
Mr. Beecham guffawed. “Steady on, son. You’ve just shackled yourself. Your criticism should be tempered by the pleasures of your new bride.”
Eduardo shrugged. “In my country men marry for alliance, position, prospect. The rest is of no moment, providing there’s eventually an heir.”
“Come, son,” Beecham answered with a wise wiggling of his brows. “I met your bride once, at luncheon. She’s very lovely, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“Lovely like a hothouse flower,” Eduardo said with just a touch of impatience. “Her health is delicate. She suffers from the heat and the cold and the damp. Traveling destroys her nerves. It is most regrettable.”
Beecham surveyed the other men about the table and when it seemed apparent that they had nothing to contribute to the conversation, he plowed in once again. “My Mae was delicate as a girl. But after the eldest, Joshua, was born, she perked right up. We have five children now, and Mae’s never been more sound. Give your bride time, son. You may find Saratoga is just what she needs. I’ll speak to Mae and have her invite your wife to take the waters with her. Mae swears by their restorative powers.”