Once Upon a Masquerade (7 page)

She reveled in the passion surging through her as his hand massaged the nape of her neck, his mouth growing more insistent, his kisses hungry. He smelled like a heady mixture of sea and open air. She reached around him, her arms circling his narrow hips, her fingers smoothing over the solid muscle of his back hidden beneath his fashionable suit coat. His tongue grazed her lips. She opened to him, welcoming his exploration, and joining in one of her own.

A strong arm slid around her waist, clasping her to him, and she shuddered at the feel of his hard body pressed so intimately against her. The delicious sensations inside only intensified when his hands dropped to cup her bottom and pulled her closer still. Linking her arms behind his neck, she held on, never wanting to let go.

Muffled voices rose up from the direction of the door.

Christopher rested his forehead on hers. “I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he said, releasing her just as an older couple strolled onto the rooftop. He ignored them, his eyes never leaving her, his breaths still ragged and deep. “I wish I could make tonight up to you. Maybe we could try again.” He lifted his hand as if to touch her, then glanced at the elderly couple and took a step back. “My parents are hosting an oyster party on Friday. My mother would be thrilled if I brought someone along.”

Yes. She almost spoke the word. Almost. Until reality seeped into her mind once again. She had to do what was best for her father, and herself. If she chose Christopher…Mr. Black, as her suitor, could she count on him to help her? Would he provide the funds she needed? She’d best find out, and soon. The thought made her sick inside, but she had to know. Mary had insisted rich gentlemen were free with their money. They spent their coin on the silliest things, so this should be no trouble, no inconvenience to him.
Please let that be the case.

On a trembling exhale, she stepped forward and leaned in close, setting her hand on his chest, his heartbeat thudding beneath her palm. She closed her eyes and forced the words from her mouth. “I’d love to attend your mother’s party, but I’m afraid I might need a fine bauble for my hair.” There. It was done. She’d even managed a seductive note to her voice.

She opened her eyes, relieved it was over, to find an irritated scowl on Mr. Black’s face. His gaze lowered to the elaborate gown she wore with all the trimmings. “Is this the way you were with Nathan?”

“Nathan? I told you, Mr. Gebhardt and I barely knew one another.” Disappointment weighing as heavy as a brick in her chest, she backed away. Christopher Black wasn’t going to gift her with anything, and as much as it hurt, she had to think of her father. Blast it. Tears prickled behind her eyes, but she blinked the sensation away. “I’m afraid I can’t attend your event anyway. I already have plans.”

“I see. Is that the only reason?” he asked, his tone cold and harsh.

To say yes would be a mistake. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t invite his attentions. She swallowed hard, the ache in her chest almost unbearable. “I don’t think we should see each other again.”

His teeth clenched so tight an angry tick appeared along his jaw. His frustration was clear. She could see the question in his eyes, but he refused to ask why. Instead, he nodded curtly and offered his arm.

As she slid her hand into the crook of his arm, a lump constricted her throat, and she wondered bleakly if she might die of suffocation. She’d made the right decision. It would be better this way. At the moment she just couldn’t remember why.

Chapter Six

HIS PARENTS’ OYSTER PARTY should have been an enjoyable affair, a time to mingle with old friends, but no matter where the conversation led, Christopher’s thoughts returned to Rebecca Bailey, and his anger ignited anew. Right now, she was most likely finding another poor sap to leech upon. No wonder Nathan had asked for money on so many occasions…to appease his greedy lover. No, Nathan had been so desperate the last time he’d asked. He’d had bigger problems than the whims of a woman. The amount of money he’d requested had been almost as much as he already owed. To leave the city he’d said. But why?

Dear God, if only he’d given Nathan the money, instead of insisting on an explanation Nathan didn’t want to divulge. By the time Nathan had agreed to talk, sending a message for Christopher to come, it had been too late. Guilt burned like a cinder in his stomach. He was partly to blame for Nathan’s death.

With a long exhale, he directed his attention back to the discussion at hand, his Uncle Edward’s rendition of a fishing trip gone awry.

“I was crouched half out of the boat, the fish almost in my net, with my son’s hook caught in my shirt, when he decides now would be the proper time to stand for a stretch…” His uncle bent low to demonstrate the awkward position he’d held in his story, and Christopher smiled. Edward’s coarse voice and words brought back memories of his youth.

In fact, as he looked around the rose-colored parlor, nearly all the faces here were of family and long-standing friends. Regular folks whose work-worn bodies now suffered aches and pains from a life hard lived. They didn’t own the most fashionable clothes or employ schooled manners. He wondered what Miss Bailey would think of them. Were they beneath her? God forbid she ever be reduced to actual work to earn an income.

“Don’t look, but the woman behind you is wearing a diamond and emerald comb in her hair.” Christopher didn’t have to turn around to see the devilish grin on Spence’s face.

“I said don’t look,” Spence joked once Christopher faced him. “Never mind, the gems aren’t arranged as butterflies. They look more like creamed peas and onions. I’m famished. Will dinner be served soon?”

He spied the comb Spence spoke of on Aunt Beatrice. No doubt a gift from his mother. “You’re particularly annoying this evening.”

Spence’s lips twitched with a mischievous smile. “Hmm. I was hoping for devilishly handsome.”

Christopher quirked a brow. “We’re in a room full of mature couples.”

“I don’t know what you speak of. Your mother is a model of youthful allure.”

Studying his mother as she chatted with a handful of guests, he had to admit her beauty had barely dimmed over the years. The spark of mischief that brightened her brown eyes lent her a youthful glow.

“She’s taken.” As if his father heard Christopher’s words, he stepped to his mother’s side and encircled an arm about her waist.

“So it seems,” Spence agreed. “A pity.”

Christopher studied his father, the man who had taught him the important lessons in life—the value of hard work and judging a man by his character. Although his tall, lanky frame drooped a bit and his gray hair had thinned, his fondness for jokes and finding the ironies in life never changed.

“I wish your father could talk some sense into you.” Spence took a sip from the drink in his hand. “You’ve done your best by Gebhardt. Now, let it rest.” He gave a grunt. “It’s probably good that your ship will be ready soon. Then you can sail away and forget about this nonsense.”

As much as he enjoyed the sea, he wasn’t ready to go. Not yet. “Actually, I found Nathan’s mystery woman.” After days of hearing Spence spout advice about letting his promise die, it felt damn good to say the words.

Spence raised his glass. “Bravo. Who is she?”

Miss Bailey’s impish smile came to mind, her face vibrant with passion and life. Blasted woman. He shook the image from his head. “It’s irrelevant. I don’t think she was the victim Nathan believed her to be.”

“Tell me anyway.”

He hesitated, listening to the hum of voices around him, frustration eating at him. Finally, he’d found a woman who held his interest, one who made him forget Adele, and all she cared about was what he could buy her. “Her name is Rebecca Bailey.”

“Go on.”

“You danced with her at the Vanderbilt ball. She was dressed as a maid.”

A glimmer of recognition registered in Spence’s eyes. “Mmm, yes. She’s lovely.”

Miss Bailey’s image bloomed in Christopher’s thoughts again—the red hues that flamed her hair, the snap of her sparkling green eyes. “Beautiful,” he agreed.

Spence clamped a hand on Christopher’s shoulder. “I remember her well, and she most certainly has an interest in you, my friend. As we danced, she watched your every move.”

“Did she now?” He huffed out a harsh laugh. “It seems her interest in me has everything to do with my money.”

“You don’t say.” Disbelief crossed Spence’s face. “She didn’t seem like the type.”

“I can assure you, she’s exactly the type. I invited her here tonight, and she would only accept if I bought her something pretty.” For some, her greed wouldn’t matter. Many would use her, making her their mistress, and then casting her aside when they tired of her. For others…he let out a soft laugh. “Poor girl set her sights on Philip Westerly.”

“Ha. She has the wrong man there. He’s a miser if I ever saw one.” Spence’s grin nearly cracked his face. “The only time I’ve seen him spend anything is when he’s sure to receive more value in return.”

Christopher sobered. Would Miss Bailey’s services be considered valuable enough to Westerly? The idea rubbed him raw even though it shouldn’t. After all, wouldn’t Miss Bailey be pleased if Westerly agreed to her terms? “Nathan sorely misjudged her,” he muttered, tempted to snatch Spence’s drink and drain it dry. “Save her, he said. From what? Poverty?”

“Gebhardt always believed the good in everyone,” Spence agreed. “Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if the woman right under his nose, the one he wanted saved, had been the one to kill him.”

Miss Bailey. Kill Nathan? “Highly unlikely. What motive could she possibly have?”

Spence shrugged. “You said the police found Gebhardt’s accounts had been drained in the months prior to his death.”

True. With some large expenditures on jewelry. Miss Bailey had likely wrung him dry. Even so, he couldn’t believe… “If she had no more use for him, why kill him?”

“Gebhardt lay dying in your arms, and his sole wish is that you save his lady? Sounds like the words of a man in love.” Spence raised the glass to his lips and sipped slowly, his eyes searching the floor. “Maybe he wouldn’t let her go when she said they were through.” The idea lit a fire in his eyes, and he straightened with a nod. “Possibly she wanted to move on to the next man, and he wouldn’t let her, so she poisoned him.”

Impossible. “Why would Nathan insist I save his killer? He must have thought she was in some kind of danger.”

“Women can weave the most interesting tales, and once a man is in love, he’ll believe them,” Spence insisted. “Does she appear to be in danger?”

“No.” She’d attended the Vanderbilt ball, the theater. Hardly the activities of someone whose life was at risk. Still, he couldn’t believe Miss Bailey was capable. She couldn’t have done it. She wouldn’t. His insides hardened to lead. And yet, when he’d mentioned Nathan’s name, she showed not a glimmer of grief. Instead, she’d denied more than a passing acquaintance with the man who’d cared for her so much his last thoughts were of her. Was she really that cold?

“Everyone, dinner is served,” Christopher’s mother called from the doorway.

Guests filed from the parlor into the dining room as Christopher’s mind churned this new revelation around in his head. Rebecca Bailey, a killer. Could it be possible?

Whether true or not, she was hiding something, of that he was sure. Too much seemed off. Her behavior at society events, so unlike those of her caste. Her clear lack of knowledge pertaining to those things every lady would know. Her stay at the Endicott household despite their absence. And of course, the comb.

Damn. In the short time since he’d met her, somehow she’d ensnared him. He couldn’t sleep without dreaming of her. His waking hours were much the same. It seemed she was always on his mind. And now, she could very well have murdered a good friend.

Self-disgust blazed along his veins like a spark eating up a fuse. He would find out the truth, and soon, no matter how he had to go about getting it.

…

Rebecca released the handle of the servants’ door and crept into the darkness outside the Endicotts’ house. Walking through the city streets at such a late hour unnerved her, and a cold tingle of unease rippled across her skin. She tugged the warm hood of her wool cloak over her hair and tightened the grip on her wicker basket. With purpose in her step, she made her way along the clean, deserted streets, avoiding the glow from the hissing street lamps.

Thank heavens her father had finally contacted her via a note delivered by a scraggly boy. They had two days before those vile men would demand their money, before the last of her family would die at their hands. And when they were done, they would come for her.

Which left only one thing to do. She had to convince her father to leave the city. It wouldn’t be easy. Since her mother’s death he’d lost all ability to think clearly, his need to visit her grave almost an obsessive thing. Still, she’d try. What other option did she have?

Lord knew her escapades as a seductive debutante had been a total waste. Christopher Black’s piercing eyes and protective embrace came to mind. Well, not a total waste. Those stolen moments in his arms had been the most enjoyable of her life.

With a cringe, she remembered his response to her suggestion of a gift. He’d been upset. He’d questioned her moral standards, and rightly so. How shameless her scheme had been. And for what? She’d come up empty-handed. Although Mary insisted she still had time, she’d lost the will. No, with her father safe away, she’d give up the ruse. Rebecca Bailey of high society would disappear back to Boston with no one the wiser.

In the span of fifteen minutes, sprawling manors with manicured lawns gave way to cramped city streets lined with rundown structures, many with boarded windows and warped wood. Her steps slowed, her body tense, as she headed deeper into the recesses of the Tenderloin District. The tranquility of the upper crust residential streets disappeared, replaced by a cacophony of carriages and men.

A few gentlemen mingled with the unsavory lot, forming an unlikely brotherhood in the pursuit of amusement, be it gambling, drinking, or an evening at the bordello on the corner.

Rebecca slipped into an alley. She’d never traveled this part of the city after dark. An air of aggression permeated the street’s activity that was rarely seen in the light of day.

She followed the web of alleyways with tentative steps, the rank odor of rotting food scraps and sewage assailing her nostrils. Raising a hand to her nose, she took refuge in the faint scent of cloves that still clung to her skin from the soap Hazel made for her.

A window slammed shut with a bang, and she nearly cried out, her nerves stretched taut. Dash. If only Mr. Black were here to allay her fears. After her time spent with him, reality seemed a bitter pill, more distasteful than she remembered. The thought of never seeing him again left an emptiness she hadn’t felt since her mother had passed away.

She crept onto her father’s street, thankful to find no one about. Tinny notes from a piano and raucous laughter greeted her from a saloon nearby.

Praise the heavens, she was almost there. Her relief faded when a shadow moved, and a sense of foreboding slithered down her spine. She continued walking as if she hadn’t noticed the broad-chested man strolling in her direction, his black mustache drooping almost to his chin. Light from the saloon slanted over his face. His emotionless gray eyes assessed her until he turned away and entered the saloon.

Hurrying to the end of the lane, she stared up at the building her father now called home. Although the tall, square structure appeared sturdy enough, pieces of broken brick and dried mortar littered the ground from its cracked walls. At least two of its windows gaped wide despite the chilly air.

The front door groaned as she pulled it open, and slowly swung shut behind her. She wrinkled her nose at the stagnant air inside. A beam of light emanated from a crack where the door hung low, illuminating the first few steps of a steep staircase leading into darkness.

She left the pool of light and felt her way up the flight of stairs, stepping on trash littered along its edges. At the top, dim light seeped out from under a few of the doors lining the hallway.

With considerable relief, she found her father’s room and rapped lightly on the rough door. No one answered. She knocked again, a bit louder this time, and peered about the hallway, half-expecting one of the neighboring doors to open. In the utter silence of the corridor, she jumped at the high-pitched grating of the key turning in the lock. The door opened a crack.

“Father?” she whispered, lowering her hood. “It’s me, Rebecca.”

Her father pulled her into the room then hastily scanned the hallway before shutting the door and securing the lock.

“Becca, what are you doing here?” he demanded in a hushed voice, the pungent scent of alcohol heavy on his breath.

“You sent for me,” she reminded him, her tone incredulous.

“Did I?”

A kerosene lamp hung from a peg on the far wall, its glow touching her father’s tired face, his wrinkles etched deeper into his skin. He’d aged years since she’d seen him last.

Perhaps he’d lost his mind as well. “A lad came to our door with a message from you.”

Her father’s only response was the confusion that creased his brow.

She shook her head and lifted the basket. “I brought you something to eat.”

“Such a good girl, my Becca.” Patting her on the shoulder, he accepted her offering. He leaned against the wall for support as he shuffled to a roughhewn table. The single chair in the room squawked as he sat down and pulled a piece of fried chicken out of the basket, devouring the meat as if he was near starving.