by Laura Parker
“I’ve come a long way to help Eduardo see the error of his ways.”
“Meaning me?” she said stiffly. Why was she giving him this chance to maul her? Because, she thought bleakly, she had no choice. He knew who she was. She would be thrown out of the hotel and asked to leave Saratoga if it became public knowledge that she was not Eduardo’s wife but his mistress.
“Meaning that a man sometimes confuses pity with whatever it is he thinks ought to be love.”
“Pity?” The word surprised her into looking up at him. “Why should Ed—Mr. Tavares pity me?”
“What else could he feel for a young pretty lady in your position? Your father is dead. You’ve been turned out of your home. Eduardo fancies himself something of a gallant. He felt honor-bound to save you from your fate.”
Courage jellied in the pit of her stomach. How did he know so much, unless Eduardo had told him? “Is that what he told you?”
“Did you expect different?” he drawled with a smirk, “Like he’d confessed his undying love for you?”
Of course that was what she had hoped. It was like needles edging under her nails to realize that he had not. When had Eduardo said these things, before or after the fight? “I have no idea what Mr. Tavares said to you. Why don’t you enlighten me?”
He looked as pleased as if she had offered him her neck for his guillotine. “He told me he hasn’t asked you to marry him, and considering what I happened onto last night, I’d say that should give a woman in your position something to think about.”
She resisted the shame that ran like stinging nettles over her skin. “I know you think me shameless—”
“Actually, I find you mighty appealing, considering,” he replied but his sensual appraised didn’t thaw his wintery gaze. “Or maybe I’m wrong about you, maybe you have considered your situation and you like it just fine. I saw the emeralds you were sporting last night. That’s not a bad trade for a lady’s virtue, to my way of thinking. Eduardo’s wealthy and generous to a fault. Emeralds and gowns and fine company, you’d be hard-pressed to find a husband to equal him.”
She felt like she had slipped backward into Hell without any possible reprieve. She stood up, her face within inches of his because he did not yield. “Why don’t you make yourself perfectly clear, Mr. Tyrone. What exactly is it you want of me?”
He smiled and she saw with a shock that it was colder than his eyes. “I want you to leave Eduardo. Oh, he wants you but he doesn’t need you, and he certainly doesn’t intend to keep you. If money’s a problem, I’ll make it worth your while.”
The man despised her, loathed her, held her in contempt. Those things she recognized. “Why?”
He gave her another long slow contemptuous look, as though he would as soon strike her as answer her, and Philadelphia trembled though dozens of people strolled past them as they stood in the open. “Do you know what a caboclo is?” At the shake of her head, he said, “It’s a mongrel Brazilian whose ancestors are Indian and Portuguese, or Spanish, with a tarring of African thrown in for good measure. Some women aren’t too particular about what they whelp, but in New Orleans a woman of your obvious quality wouldn’t soil her skirts by walking on the same side of the street as a mulatto buck. Yet you’ve taken one as your lover, Miss Hunt. I’m doing you a favor. Choose as your next lover any man in Saratoga and you’ll be trading up.”
She was too shocked by what he said to be insulted. “You call yourself his friend? What kind of man are you?”
He caught her chin in a brutal pinch and lowered his face to within an inch of hers. “I’m a dangerous man to cross, Miss Hunt. That’s what I am!”
She knocked his hand away and, lifting her skirts, fled down the sidewalk to the accompanying stares of passersby.
Tyrone watched her go, a grudging admiration for her tugging at him despite his anger over her refusal to be browbeaten into submission. He thought he had gotten to her with that last thrust but she had turned it on him so neatly he had not guessed it was coming.
“Peste!” If she told Eduardo what he had said just now, he might be looking down the barrel of his friend’s gun before sunset.
Unease made his stomach jump. Ever since he left Chicago several months ago, he had been troubled by a sense of danger just out of range. Now he knew his mortal enemy, MacCloud, lived. Lancaster and Hunt had meant little to him. But news of MacCloud’s continued existence gave his disquiet a focus. It was no mistake that Eduardo had brought him the news. They were bound by the mystic bond of a blood oath.
A funny unfamiliar feeling shot through his gut. He felt as though he suddenly stood to lose something precious, that this fancy piece of femininity was threatening to take away from him something as important as his life’s breath. But, of course, that could not be true. He had never needed anything or anyone that much. He admired Eduardo, respected him as he did no other man. But need him?
Tyrone turned and walked slowly toward the park. For seven long years he had counted on Eduardo, known he would come to his aid without question, and the reverse was true. But an oath sworn in blood was only as good as the men who’d sworn it. If Eduardo came looking for him, choosing to side with the girl over their friendship, then he would be ready. Nor would he apologize for what he had said. He had not spoken his own prejudice and if Eduardo did not understand that by now, then damn him!
Jesus, but the Hunt bitch was a beauty! He understood why Eduardo could not think of anything else but loving her. He would not mind the opportunity to make love to her himself.
Tyrone paused on the sidewalk as an unholy smile suddenly lifted his features. He had tried using the stick to run her off. Maybe he should have used a carrot. The trouble was, if he succeeded in winning her, even for a night, Eduardo would want his hide. He would just have to make certain Eduardo believed that it was her doing and not his. No one was going to come permanently between them. They had business to finish and he was not about to allow any madonna-faced whore to interfere.
15
Philadelphia stared at the dinner menu of the public dining room at the Grand Union. Reputed to be the largest dining hall in the world, the public room seated twelve hundred diners, served by two hundred and fifty Negro waiters. There were twelve courses, including Consomme Sago Soup, Boiled Keenebee Salmon, Boeuf à la Mode, Calf’s Brains en Cassises Au Gratin, Lobster Mayonnaise, Cold Ham, assorted vegetable dishes, and to finish there were tarts, fresh fruit, vanilla ice cream, and nuts. It was a menu fit for kings served at a table of snowy linen set with burnished silver and crystal goblets. It should have been an impressive dining experience. Instead, she found herself unable to think of food or to enjoy the setting or even to simply read the menu, while Eduardo glared at her across the table.
When she had returned to their rooms after her disastrous outing with the Beecham ladies, she found that he had left her a message asking her to meet him in the dining room at one o’clock. She had dressed very carefully in a high-necked dress of cream India lawn with matching straw bonnet but he had looked at her with such indifference that she was immediately sorry that she had spent a minute’s worry over the matter. He was still angry about the night before and her own guilt made her think she could still detect the faintest impression of her hand on his cheek.
“What will you have?” Eduardo asked impatiently, for she had been hiding behind the menu for a full five minutes.
She lowered the menu. “I told you before, I’m not hungry.”
He muttered an expletive and reached over to snatch the menu from her hands. “Then I’ll order for both of us. The least you could do is look pleased. We are supposed to be on our honeymoon.”
Still smarting from her meeting with Tyrone a few hours earlier, her glance was scorching. “Oh, are we still playing games? I thought we’d abandoned our ruse for the present.”
He glared back at her. “What the devil is the matter with you? Is it last night? I apologized for that. What more do you
want?”
She met his furious black gaze with sudden wariness. “I want the truth. Who are you, really?”
His black brows shot up. “Is this some new game, menina? Because if it is, I don’t like it.”
She changed tactics, sorry she’d even allowed Tyrone’s insinuations to spark her curiosity. “I want to go to New Orleans. Will you take me there?”
He did not even bat a lash. “No.”
“Then I will go without you.”
“So you said last night.” He looked down at the menu. “It’s a mad scheme. You will only needlessly hurt yourself.”
“Why do you object so very much to my pursuit of justice for my father’s memory? I almost believe you hope I will find out something terrible.”
Eduardo looked up slowly until his eyes met hers and made her hold his gaze by sheer force of will. “You are like a spoiled child, menina. You must have what you want, no matter the cost. If you are denied, you throw a tantrum. I’m not a patient man by nature, yet I have given you months of my life in the hope that you would come to realize that what has past is best left alone. I know you loved your father but you cannot bring him back. You should be looking toward the future, but you are willful and stubborn and will not listen to any needs but your own.”
He sounded hurt, and she was incredulous. Something important was being said but she couldn’t quite grasp the full meaning of it. “What do you need of me?” she asked softly.
“Well now, if it isn’t the Milazzos. Mind if I join you?”
Philadelphia looked up into the translucent gaze of Tyrone, who had walked up behind her. Too furious by his intrusion to be frightened this once, she whispered, “Go away!”
“Your lady friend doesn’t seem to like me much, Eduardo,” Tyrone said, his New Orleans drawl more pronounced than usual. Eduardo shot him a warning glance. “Oh that’s right, it’s ‘Vittorio’ and ‘wife,’” he amended with a smirk and pulled out an empty chair and sat down. “Tell me, how’s married life treating you?”
Eduardo shrugged, annoyed also by the interruption but glad that Tyrone was openly acknowledging them. It was when Tyrone disappeared that his prey had need to worry. “For myself, well enough. You should ask my wife if you want her opinion.”
Tyrone shifted his gaze to Philadelphia. “We’ve already talked.” At Eduardo’s expression of surprise he said, “Didn’t she tell you?”
Eduardo frowned as he looked at Philadelphia. “No, she didn’t tell me.” In fact, she had not said two unprovoked sentences to him since he’d left her bed at three o’clock in the morning.
“We met at the Congress Spring pavilion this morning,” Philadelphia supplied with a hostile glance at Tyrone.
“I didn’t know that you were taking the waters.” Eduardo watched a telltale blush infuse her complexion and knew that it had not been a pleasant meeting, but she had not confided in him so his sympathy was muted by that fact.
“The Beechams invited me,” she answered stiffly, wishing that she were anywhere but here, sharing a table with these two men.
“It would appear that there are many things you don’t know about one another.” Tyrone’s crystal gaze ranged back and forth between them. “Yet you have so much in common. For instance, signora, did you know that your husband and I have been searching for years for a man by the name of MacCloud?”
“He—what?” Startled, Philadelphia looked at Eduardo but he did not even spare her a glance. He was staring at Tyrone.
“Don’t.”
“Then you tell her,” Tyrone answered, making no effort to conceal his malicious glee.
“Yes, tell me.” Philadelphia reached out to touch Eduardo’s sleeve. “What does he mean?”
“He means to make trouble for you, menina. And if you don’t shut your beautiful mouth you will get it.”
She snatched back her hand. “I don’t like this new attitude of yours. You needn’t address me like I’m some sort of—”
“Bought goods?” Tyrone suggested with knife-edge humor. “But we were discussing MacCloud. I understand that you, too, have an interest in this man.”
“Yes, I—”
“Don’t be a fool!” Eduardo hissed. He turned to Tyrone, his expression deepening into a rage hot enough to provoke his friend into something that only one of them might live to regret. “Even you can push me too far.”
Tyrone nodded, his eyes silvering behind lowered lids. “Anytime, amigo. You’ll find me most accommodating.” He deliberately slanted his gaze toward Philadelphia. “I can help you find MacCloud. Eduardo’s told me that you know he’s living in New Orleans. I’ll even take you there, if you like.”
Eduardo stood up, nearly knocking over his chair, and took Philadelphia by the arm. “Come with me. Now.”
Willfully, Philadelphia resisted the insistent pressure of his touch. The expression she turned on him was defiant. “Will you take me to New Orleans?”
He shook his head sharply. “No.”
She looked again at Tyrone, seeing that he was enjoying every moment of Eduardo’s discomfort but feeling impelled by a vow that she had made over a not-yet cold grave. “Will you take me to New Orleans? Will you swear it?”
Tyrone nodded.
“I’ll be ready by nightfall.”
She felt Eduardo’s grip fall away, but when she looked up into his face she was not prepared for his expression. There was anger, hurt pride, and pity in his face, but there was also something completely new. Fear, startling and stark, was etched on his handsome face. For an instant he allowed her a glimpse of himself that she had never before seen. She drank in the moment, memorizing without understanding every line of his face, his graceful powerful body, and the arrogant lift of his head. And then it was gone, replaced by hard cold contempt. “Not all men are the fool I am!”
He turned and walked away, and she knew then what she did not understand the instant before. He had said good-bye.
She started to rise but Tyrone’s hard fingers gripped her wrist, preventing her from moving. “I wouldn’t do that. I’ve seen him in that mood before. You’d do well to leave him to his own thoughts awhile.”
He was mildly amazed by the intensity of the hatred in the look she turned on him, but he was learning quickly about the passionate nature she hid so well under that veneer of propriety. In fact, the more he looked the more intrigued he became, and the better he understood Tavares’s beguilement. She was no momentary diversion for him. She had sunk her claws into the Brazilian for good and all. It was just his luck that she was too naive to realize the full extent of her advantage. And so, that gave him the advantage.
He released her wrist slowly, his lean fingers staying to tease the back of her hand. “I meant what I said about taking you to New Orleans. I’ll match whatever Tavares has offered you.”
Philadelphia removed her hand from his touch and placed it in her lap. “I can pay my own way. I require your protection, Mr. Tyrone. That is all.”
“There’s just one tiny problem.” He leaned back and smiled. “Sounds like you’re hiring me. You haven’t asked my price.”
She knew better now than to ask him to name one. Thinking more quickly than she ever had in her life, she said recklessly, “You said you are looking for MacCloud, yet you didn’t know that he was living in New Orleans until Eduardo told you. That makes no sense, unless he has changed his name and you don’t know what he looks like. I think you will take me to New Orleans because I have something you want.”
“What would you have that I want?”
“An identification. I know what MacCloud looks like!”
Her words so astonished him that he allowed her to rise and leave without even moving a muscle in protest. He stared transfixed as she crossed the enormous dining room, her bustle moving in a graceful tantalizing sway that made him turgid with pure lust. While he had been taking her measure he had not realized that she might be sizing him up as well. There was only one
thing she had missed, and that was that he intended to separate her from his friend permanently. She had agreed to go with him to New Orleans. Eduardo had heard her say so of her own free will. Once he had seduced her—and Eduardo had time to cool off—he was certain that Eduardo would come to realize what he already knew about women; the worst of them were less faithful than alley cats and the rest were too fickle to be trusted with a man’s heart.
He threw back his head in laughter that startled the nearby tables and sent the head waiter scurrying across the room to find out the cause of the commotion.
New Orleans, August 1875
“Allez-vous-en! Allez-vous-en!”
Philadelphia awakened instantly at the cry, her heart thumping uncertainly inside her chest. Had someone called her? Was it Eduardo? For a moment she didn’t know where she was. She lay in a four-poster canopied bed that was draped in mosquito netting that obscured her vision. Then she remembered, and a familiar pang of regret began to pulse through her. This wasn’t Saratoga or Belle Mont. Eduardo’s black head didn’t lie on the pillow beside her. She was in New Orleans, with Tyrone.
They had arrived in the city the night before, having traveled in the last week by train from New York to St. Louis and then down the Mississippi river by paddleboat. Without asking her permission, he had brought her here to his home. Too weary to protest, she had come straight to this room and gone to bed.
It had been more than a week since Eduardo had packed and left the Grand Union during the night, without so much as a word or note to her. Caught between fury and anguish, she had simply sat and stared at the four walls of her bedroom until midday when Tyrone had come to find her. He had taken the news of Eduardo’s departure calmly, but she had suspected from the questions he had asked that he, too, wondered where Eduardo had gone and what he planned to do next.
“Allez-vous-en! Ventre a terre!”
She sat up with a jerk, realizing that the shrill cry came from just outside her room, and drew back the netting. The simplicity of the room was in stark contrast to the rich polished-wood furnishings. In the morning light, the whitewashed walls were as spotless as the crisply starched sheets on which she’d slept. The cry came again.