by Laura Parker
“Besides the fact that you’re staggering about this parlor in inebriation?” she asked sternly, but struggled against a smile.
He shrugged but the elegant gesture went a little lopsided this time. “A man may drink on occasion.”
“You must have found a dozen of them today,” she returned tartly. “I can see I made a mistake in dressing for the opera. You’re good for nothing more than bed.”
His black eyes kindled as he reached out and hooked her about the waist once more. “Yes, I’m good for bed, menina. Come along with me and I’ll show you just how good for bed I am.”
“I didn’t mean that,” she answered, bracing both hands flat against his chest.
“But I did. I want to make you naked, menina, and then I want to kiss every naked inch. It will take me a good long time, I think, to kiss every inch. I am most thorough about many things, as you well know.”
“I’ve changed my mind. I’ll go to the opera alone. You may stay here and reel about for the remainder of the evening.”
She waited until he was steady on his feet and then shoved him. She was amazed that he wasn’t thrown off balance. He caught her by the wrist and smiled cockily at her.
“I’m not that drunk, menina. I am enjoying a certain glow that comes from pouring good liquor into my veins but you’ll not find me so addled that I can’t serve in the capacity which you desire. Shall we retire like civilized people to the bedroom or would you prefer to make love on the carpet? I prefer the carpet. To see you lying there naked and sated, yes, I would like that.”
Annoyance vying with amusement, she took his face in her hands and kissed him hard. “Now,” she said breaking it off before he could pull her in against him. “Pay attention, senhor. We’re invited to the opera tonight. It is a chance for me to be seen in your jewels. That’s what we are here for.”
Eduardo watched her with tender eyes. “Do you want to go so badly? Has it been such a lonely miserable time for you in this room alone?”
“Yes and yes.”
“And later, when we come back, will you lie naked on the rug for me?”
Philadelphia blushed hotly. “I will consider it.”
He smiled and lay his cheek alongside hers. “She will consider it, and I will think of nothing else.”
“Will you dress for dinner? We are late as it is.”
He lifted his head to look at her. “We could be later. I would like that very much.”
“Oh no!” She danced back out of reach. “I spent good money on a maid to help me dress. I will be seen as I am, unruffled and untouched.”
He nodded. “But later, menina, there will be much touching later. And kissing and licking and—”
“Senhor!”
Eduardo shrugged. “Very well, but I am disappointed in you. After all, it is our last night. We are leaving Saratoga tomorrow.”
Philadelphia frowned. “Why? Did you lose sufficient money that we must sell the jewels?”
Eduardo shook his head in annoyance. “I was too drunk. I won! More than the jewels are worth.” He smiled at her in a way that made her skin burn. “Have you no kiss for the victor?”
Philadelphia primly gathered her skirts together closer. “I don’t dare. I should be singed!”
Opera was not Eduardo’s favorite form of entertainment, Philadelphia discovered. By the beginning of the second act, she could hear the gentle soughing of his breath as he dozed quietly in his chair just behind her. She smiled regretfully at the Beechams, whose box they shared, and turned her attention back to the stage. She wasn’t surprised to find that the Saratoga audience treated the opera with no more respect than did New Yorkers. They were continually milling about between the boxes, and a low but steady hum of voices accompanied peoples’ comments to one another.
Nor was she surprised to find that a great deal of attention was being paid to their box. Somehow she knew that whatever Eduardo had been up to these last days was done solely to draw attention to her when she finely appeared. The occasional flash of light reflected on glass alerted her to the fact that lorgnettes and opera glasses were frequently trained on her. The only moment of unease she knew was when the thought crossed her mind that out there in the darkened theater, the man who had accosted her might now be sitting and watching her.
She shivered, thinking of those light, near-colorless eyes observing her when she did not know it. Unconsciously, she put a hand to her throat and touched the heavy collar of emeralds Eduardo had given her to wear. She closed her eyes and willed herself to remember his touch as he’d latched them about her neck. He had laid his fingers along her neck for a moment, just holding her with this most fragile caress. When he touched her she could forget everything else, could will the world far away.
Later in the lobby of the opera house during intermission, she found herself able to smile at her fanciful thoughts.
“What makes you happy, cara minha?” Eduardo asked as he slipped his arm about her shoulders.
She smiled up at him. “Everything. Nothing. It takes so little to make me happy when I’m with you.”
She saw his gaze deepen and the shiny black became as soft as velvet. “Let’s go home.”
“The Beechams,” she said without protest.
“We are newlyweds. Do you think it’s necessary to tell them anything?” He laughed softly at her expression. “I will tell them you are ill, if you prefer.”
“No,” she answered, thinking about the impression the Beechams had of them as distant and unhappy. “We will say nothing. Only hurry, I’m—”
“Cold?” he suggested sweetly.
“No, not cold,” she answered, holding his gaze with a great deal of effort. Flirting in public, she was discovering, was a totally new and exhilarating and somewhat daunting experience.
“I seem to remember a promise involving the parlor rug,” he said softly as he steered her toward the door. “Such things give a man reason to live, menina.”
The Beechams appeared just as the Milazzos exited the lobby.
“Look there,” Oran said in alarm as the handsome young couple disappeared into the night. “They’re leaving. Must have been a bust for them.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Mae Beecham answered, her gaze softening from having seen the tender way the young man had embraced his wife’s shoulders. “I think, perhaps, we’ve done them good after all, Oran.”
The click of the door was nearly silent but Eduardo came alert at once. A dozen different thoughts raced through his mind as the door to their suite swung open, from the possibility that it was thieves who had seen the emeralds Philadelphia had worn earlier, to the chambermaid who’d forgotten the room was occupied, to guests seeking the wrong room.
He reached for his shirt and tossed it over Philadelphia, who lay sleeping naked beside him on the parlor rug. The next instant the light switch was thrown, and the drawing room exploded with light.
The man standing in the doorway smirked in response to the scene before him. “Boa noite, Eduardo. I wagered you’d not make the bed. When you’re dressed, you’ll find me in room 356.”
Eduardo rose to his feet, uncaring that he was naked, but the man shut the door in his face. “Tyrone!”
14
“You bastard!”
Eduardo had dressed and gone to Tyrone’s rooms at the opposite wing of the Grand Union with only one thought in his mind, to shield Philadelphia, whatever the cost.
Tyrone regarded his guest without the least recognition for the seven years of their association or the blood vow that held them bound to one another. His fury matched Eduardo’s. “If you’ve come to try to kill me, I advise you against it.”
The two men stared at one another across the width of the small parlor room, molten black eyes searing the frigid depths of a wintery ice gaze. The air sizzled as emotions sought grounding. One brilliant flash and violence would erupt.
They were well-matched physically. Tyrone had
the advantage of height but Eduardo the heavier cording of muscle. Eduardo knew his only disadvantage came from the fact that incandescent rage scalded him while stone-cold calculation seemed as usual to dictate his adversary’s mood. Then he noticed the faint tic of a muscle work in Tyrone’s lean jaw and the betrayal of emotion, however slight, astonished him. And it settled him. Something significant had brought Tyrone to Saratoga. There would be no fight, at least not until they talked.
Eduardo turned slowly and quietly shut the door he had entered. Patience! Mae de Deus! Give him that! When he turned back, he saw that Tyrone had seated himself but that his right hand lay casually over the sleeve of his left, where he kept a derringer tucked under the cuff.
“You’re surprised to see me,” Tyrone said in a flinty voice that didn’t quite mask his slight New Orleans drawl. “I thought that was the point. For me to find you.”
“You thought wrong,” Eduardo answered without heat as he crossed the room to sit down opposite him. “The letter I sent you from Chicago explained that.”
Tyrone watched him with all the warmth of a cornered rattlesnake. “I don’t like letters. You forgot to mention certain matters.”
“Such as?”
Tyrone smiled, if one could call the sharp unfriendly angle of his mouth a smile. “Your golden-haired bitch. I recognized the handiwork as yours. I suppose you did a thorough job of it? Unfortunately, your shirt spoiled my view. Does she like rutting on the carpet or isn’t she housebroken yet?”
Eduardo slipped off the role of protective lover and lounged back in his chair. “None of your damned business, is it?”
Tyrone’s pale eyes flickered with some unknown interest. “Did she tell you we met earlier today? No? You shouldn’t allow her to stray, amigo. Alley cats aren’t that particular.”
“She’s tame enough.” Eduardo’s expression reflected nothing, but he was puzzled. Had Philadelphia met Tyrone, or was this only a ploy? Tyrone had always known how to find and sink talons into the chinks in his armor-plated life. This time he was pushing, pushing hard, to anger him. Why?
“Who is she?”
Eduardo let several heartbeats pass before he answered. He didn’t know how much Tyrone knew, and decided that the truth was his only recourse. “Philadelphia Hunt.”
Tyrone’s eyes widened significantly and then he threw back his head with a bark of laughter. “You bastard! It’s brilliant. Hunt’s brat is your new whore? This deserves a toast.” He rose and went to pick up the bottle of brandy on his bedside table and poured a generous amount into the glass standing there. “To your whore!” he said as he brought a glass to Eduardo. “May you ride her long and well.”
Tyrone downed his brandy from the bottle. “You aren’t drinking, amigo. Don’t you like the brand?”
“I don’t like the toast.”
Tyrone took another long pull on the bottle as though Eduardo had not spoken and then sighed with deep satisfaction. “The thing about women is,” he said slowly, staring at the bottle in his hand, “once a man’s got one, he tends to getting to feel settled. Now, with a whore a man knows what he’s paying for and how much he’s going get for it. Mistresses are different. A man can get to feeling possessive about a mistress as well, especially one as pretty as the Hunt bitch. It can become as dangerous a liaison as marriage.”
His gaze cut toward Eduardo, the crystal irises forming silver shards as the light passed through them. “You took her for revenge. Don’t forget why.”
Eduardo leaned forward slightly. “When have I ever needed you to remind me of why I do things?”
Tyrone nodded and dropped back into his chair. “So, you wanted a vacation. You’ve had it. I’m thinking of returning to South America. You were planning to return to Brazil once Hunt fell. I’ll go with you.”
“You hunted me down because you wanted a companion for a sea voyage?”
Tyrone shrugged, the gesture restless, as though he needed to throw off some burden. “I need someone I trust at my back.” He looked up, his gaze clear and blinding. “You’re it.”
Eduardo sat back. “I’m flattered.”
“But you aren’t ready to leave?”
Eduardo smiled. “I’m finding certain pleasures to be had among the norteamericanos.”
“Like your whore?”
“I was thinking of Kentucky whiskey. Bourbon.”
“A pleasurable pastime,” Tyrone agreed mildly. “I prefer your whore. I’ll trade you a shipload of bourbon for her.”
Eduardo cocked his head to one side. “What is your interest in her? You don’t even like women.”
“I like women. They’ve got their uses. I just don’t believe in long associations.”
“Is Adelle once again on the street?”
Tyrone’s eyes narrowed but he said evenly, “That’s where I found her. It seemed a fitting end.”
Eduardo murmured a Portuguese curse and picked up his glass and drained it. “Do I know her replacement?”
“I think you’ve found her for me.” As Eduardo’s gaze swung to him, Tyrone nodded. “I’m patient. I’ll wait until you finish with her. She’s young. Looks untouched. You haven’t been particularly unkind to her. In fact, by the way she looked at you as you left the opera tonight I’d say she thinks she’s in love with you. You aren’t hard to look at but I am impressed all the same, considering you ruined her father. Yet she wanted you so bad I half expected you’d bend her over the nearest hitching rail and toss up her fancy skirts to get at her.”
“That’s the longest speech I ever heard you give,” Eduardo said softly. “Why this interest in her?”
Tyrone smiled a genuine smile. “Because, amigo, she interests you, and whatever interests you interests me. That’s the way of blood brothers. We share everything.”
“You didn’t share Adelle.”
“You didn’t ask.”
Eduardo felt himself tensing in spite of himself, Tyrone wanted something, would push him until he got a reaction. “She’s my exclusive property. I won’t give her up to anyone. Not even you. So don’t wait. You’ll grow old.”
Still smiling, Tyrone drew a deck of cards from his pocket. “You always liked cards, though from what I’ve heard since arriving in town, you’re losing your touch.” He shuffled the deck with quick expert movements, then shoved them before Eduardo. “I’ll cut you for her. High card or low. Your choice.”
Eduardo did not even glance at the deck. “She’s mine. It stays that way.”
“Coward?”
“I have nothing to gain.”
“My respect.”
Eduardo grinned. “I thought I’d done that seven years ago when the two of us stood off a whole garrison of jaguncos on the Argentine border.”
Tyrone nodded. “You were young then, a wild jungle boy of nineteen with mud in your hair and blood on your hands. Then you thought nothing of taking what you wanted. We fought our enemies and became wealthy together. But you’ve changed, amigo. You’ve washed off the mud and the blood. You’ve begun to think as other men. I see in your eyes a yearning for what they have, a home, peace, a family. That woman’s a danger to you.”
“You haven’t changed, though you like to play the gentleman,” Eduardo answered. “What makes you think I’m different?”
“I play the gentleman,” Tyrone answered flatly. “You are a gentle man. Give her to me, amigo. It will do you good to see her in my bed.” He smiled. “I’ll teach her what you’ve neglected to. Then, if you still want her back, it will be like bedding a new woman in a familiar frame.”
“I’m going to marry her.”
Tyrone’s face went blank. “Shackle yourself to your enemy? It would drive you mad. She is yours by right of your victory. Use her as one would the spoils of that victory, but then let her go.”
“I love her.”
“Merde!” The rare passage of surprise crossed Tyrone’s granite features. “You haven’t told her who you are!”
“What happened between her father and me has nothing to do with her.”
“Then why haven’t you told her? Peste! You don’t have to say it. You’re afraid you will lose her.”
The talons of Tyrone’s accusation sunk to the quick, but Eduardo didn’t even blink. Tyrone would not be moved from this issue unless he replaced it with another. “So, now that that’s said, let’s move on to another topic. I have news for you. If you’d waited in New Orleans you’d have my second letter by now.” Eduardo sat forward, understanding the significance his words would have. “The enemy we thought had escaped us through death? He lives.”
Tyrone’s face was usually so void of expression that the sudden violent animation that flushed it now made Eduardo inwardly cringe. “MacCloud!”
Eduardo sat back. He had baited his hook well. “You will enjoy this irony. He’s been living in New Orleans, right under your nose. At least he was a year ago.”
Tyrone leaned forward in his chair. “How do you know this? Tell me!”
“Philadelphia has in her possession a letter MacCloud sent her father a year ago.”
Tyrone rose to his feet. “I must talk to her.”
Eduardo did not move. He hadn’t brought his gun and now he wished he had. “She doesn’t know anything. She’s carrying several of her father’s letters, including the one I wrote him just before the bank failure. I read the others. There’s nothing special in them. She would not understand the significance of MacCloud’s.”
“She knows something. Otherwise she would not carry them.”
Eduardo cursed Tyrone’s sharp mind. He had all the predatory instincts of a leopard, and its ruthlessness. “She once entertained hopes of restoring her father’s good name.”
“Before you distracted her,” Tyrone said unpleasantly. “And they say men keep their brains between their legs! Why should she think her father was innocent? Where’d she get the letters?”
Eduardo felt a faint blush creeping up his neck and reached for the brandy bottle to cover his discomfort. The truth was, he didn’t know Philadelphia’s entire thought on the matter nor why she had the letters with her. He hadn’t known how to bring up the subject without it leading down avenues he wasn’t ready to follow. “We have what we need. We know MacCloud is alive. He may still be in New Orleans. We’ll find him.”