A Race to Splendor (48 page)

“Well, now I have some questions for
you
,”
J.D. declared, leaning close enough for his breath to graze her cheek. “And the first one is… may I have this dance?”

He didn’t wait for her answer before drawing her into his arms and gliding smoothly across the floor.

The two of them moved as easily as two riders on a tandem bicycle. “Didn’t we dance together once in Cotillion?” she murmured.

J.D.’s expression reflected his amusement. “Why, I believe we did dance together at the Palace Hotel, wasn’t it? Weren’t you about nine-years-old, and I was fourteen? Our mothers’ scheme, I would imagine.”

The music swelled, and they easily wove their way through the crowded marble floor. Before Amelia realized it, however, J.D. had skillfully guided his partner in time to the music back in the direction of the bank of elevators, first pausing at the potted palm where he had sequestered his bottle of champagne. The next thing she knew, the doors in the middle opened and they glided into the brass car.

“Good evening again, George,” J.D. said pleasantly, as if whisking his architect to his private suite was an everyday occurrence. “The penthouse, please.”

Chapter 37

Once again the three occupants in the Bay View elevator rode in silence, this time to the top of the hotel. Amelia and J.D. stood close to one another, but their arms didn’t touch and it was all she could do to keep from reaching out to take J.D.’s hand.

“Evenin’, sir, Miss Bradshaw,” George said as they exited the car. “May I say congratulations to you both on the opening of the hotel. I know I speak for the entire staff when I say we’re all quite happy the way things turned out.”

Amelia felt her cheeks flood with color, but J.D. smiled broadly and replied, “Why thank you, George. I’m quite happy the way it turned out myself, aren’t you, Amelia?”

But by this time, Amelia had propelled herself down the corridor and then froze in her tracks as she realized how quickly she’d been heading for the entrance to her former employer’s private domain. She heard the elevator doors shut behind her and turned to face J. D., nearly running into his starched while shirtfront.

“Really, J.D.! Now my coming up here with you is going to be babbled about from the laundry room to the rooftop of this hotel! They’ll never respect me now!”

“Of course they will! They already do. But my question to you is this: weren’t we partners building this hotel? Didn’t
I
treat you with respect?”

“On
this
hotel, yes. The building of it at least. But you showed me little respect when you didn’t tell me the truth about what Kemp was up to these last few weeks.”

J.D. pulled out his room key and opened the door to the owner’s suite.

“It may be totally against your principles, but actually, I was being chivalrous,” he replied, leading her by the hand into his inner sanctum where a few lamps around the well-appointed room glowed their welcome.

“I don’t want chivalry,” Amelia protested in exasperation, wondering whether she should sit on the love seat near the marble fireplace or remain standing. “I want always to be told the truth and I want equality.”

J.D. set the champagne bottle on the mantel, shrugged off his dinner jacket, and folded it over a chair near a small desk positioned beneath a window that offered a sweeping view of the bay. Outside, the clear night sky sparkled with stars and moonlight illuminated the water all the way to Angel Island. “As I said before, I am an imperfect man, and perhaps a slow learner. I now stand corrected,” he acknowledged. “Absolute truth and equality you shall have.”

“It’s not a commodity those of your gender find very easy to dispense,” she replied.

“Oh, but I’m getting so much practice.” He turned and pulled her close, smiling against her hair. “I’ll tell you every single detail from now on. I’ll happily marry you or
not
marry you—or be your permanent, adoring fiancé—whatever you like.”

Amelia allowed his words to revolve in her mind. She had half a notion to seize his face in her hands and kiss him, but drew herself up short.

“Ah, so
half
ownership of the Bay View Hotel is better than none, is that it?” she replied, tilting her head back to appraise him closely. “You admitted earlier that you’ve at least
considered
the possibility that my father won the place back, fair and square the morning of the quake. Now that I proved he did, you’re making your best offer, is that it?”

J.D. released her from his embrace, drew a frustrated breath, and gripped the back of the chair where he’d laid his dinner jacket.

“Amelia… that card game was many moons ago. An earthquake and two fires ago. A
lifetime
ago. As I said before, I didn’t even know who you really were until we began to work together. And you have to admit that we’ve
both
worked extraordinarily hard to build this hotel and the one Kemp’s men blew up, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes,” she admitted reluctantly, glad now they were alone where no one could overhear this prickly conversation.

“And I’d also ask you to remember that I borrowed and schemed and cadged the money required to rebuild on this land. I used my last gold bar to buy the lot from the old woman’s estate. Then I spent every penny we found in the trunk on this place—I even agreed to buy those damned concrete cherubs from France you insisted upon! Don’t you think I deserve to own half?”

A long silence grew between them. Finally, Amelia nodded slowly. “Yes. You deserve to own half. You earned it.”

J.D. swiftly closed the gap between them and pulled her close again, a look of triumph gleaming in his dark eyes. “And what else do I deserve, since I love you madly, my dear?” he said with a chuckle.

She gazed up at him, playing for time. “I’m not sure.”

He loves me…

And suddenly she knew now how much she’d grown to love a man capable of change, capable of understanding the struggles that she too had endured in her three decades of life. But still there were questions…

Ignoring the comfort of his arms around her waist, she said, “I believe all the things you told me just now concerning the matters that have disturbed me from the time I’d returned from France, but it took you a very long time to reveal the truth of your side of things, J.D. How do I know you won’t shade unpleasant realities in the future?”

“Because I won’t,” he said shortly, and she could tell he was torn between exasperation and feeling attacked. “Until a few minutes ago, you certainly weren’t in any hurry to reveal to me that you possessed
all
the cards of your father’s royal flush, or that you suspected that I’d abandoned a daughter to the Mission Home and slept with my father’s concubine,” he shot back. “I’d say much of your recent behavior constituted something close to fibbing—which is just what you’re accusing me of doing.”

Amelia had to admit to herself that she
had
fibbed—quite a lot, actually—saying she wouldn’t be coming to the opening of the Bay View.

As if reading her mind, J.D. pressed her further. “And what about your letter summarily informing me that you were fleeing to France without a word to me in person, even when you’d planned to come here all along? Would you call that honest?”

Amelia felt a strong twinge of unadulterated guilt. “Well, it’s not the most aboveboard thing I’ve ever done.”

“Ah ha! There’s no avoiding it, Amelia,” J.D. said, chucking her playfully under the chin. “You also told several fibs by commission
and
omission. Which means that you’re not perfect either.”

Amelia took a few moments to mull over J.D.’s assertions.

“Yes,” she replied finally, “I did exactly what you did. I shaded the truth for my own purposes and to protect my pride. And no. I’m not perfect either. Not by a long shot.”

“Luckily I forgive you,” he said, kissing her soundly on the nose. “And you, me?”

“Yes… but our agreement henceforth is to always put our cards on the table, yes?”

“Yes,” he said solemnly.

“However, I do, truly, need to go to France to see my mother. I think she’s lonely and sad and probably perilously close to penniless.”

“Then I’ll go with you,” he proposed. “I’d love for you to show me Paris.”

“And just who’s going to run the Bay View?” she demanded, her glance sweeping the beautiful suite that had several duplicates throughout the hotel. “We’ve barely opened the doors. We have responsibilities, J.D.! And besides, what about Ezra Kemp? No one can afford to turn his back on
that
man for very long.” She wagged a finger at him. “And by the way, I want my revolver returned to me, if you please. Who knows how long Kemp and those ruffians of his will pose a danger?”

“I’ll give you back your gun only on the condition that you’ll finally let me teach you how to aim it.” Amelia gave him an annoyed look. “My bet is, Kemp’ll have to lay low for a long while after tonight’s display,” J.D. predicted. “And besides, Spreckels’s good government group is very interested in his involvement with prostitution, extortion, and God knows what else. The odds are very good he’ll end up in jail.”

“I don’t know, J.D.…” she murmured doubtfully. “I certainly think it’s wise if I avoid provoking Kemp by leaving immediately for France, but aren’t you taking a big risk not to stay here, see to the hotel, and keep an eye on our nemesis?”

“Grady, Loy, and Shou Shou can run the back office. I’ll put your friend Damler on the payroll to keep an eye on the legal side of matters, and we’ll find someone to serve as a genial host for a few months.”

Amelia looked around the room, feeling agitated by a keen sense of indecision.

“Ah… perhaps Miss Bradshaw isn’t such a brazen hussy, after all,” J.D. ventured slyly. “Perhaps she can’t quite bring herself to travel openly with a man to whom she is not married or betrothed? Especially on a visit to her mother.”

“That’s not it!” snapped Amelia. “I’m thinking.” And she began pacing in front of the fireplace.

“Has your reluctance to have me accompany you to Paris have anything to do with the dashing Monsieur Lamballe?” J.D. asked, surprising Amelia both by his question and the stern directness of his tone.

She felt a sudden, sweet compassion for this man who was so prepared to be slighted by the very people he cared for.

“Oh, J.D., no…
no
! If only you could have heard the speeches I have invented—in French—to let him know what I think of the man should I ever run into him again! I would dearly
love
to show you Paris… it’s just that I’m worried that—”

She halted, mid-sentence, as J.D. reached into his inside jacket pocket and extracted an envelope.

“Well, then, if you’re definitely going to France, there is no reason to delay. Here,” he said, handing her the packet.

“What’s this?” she asked, turning over the envelope in her hands. “I’ve seen those pictures of you in China Alley, if that’s what’s in here. Kemp was kind enough to send them to me a few days ago.”

“Ah… so you
have
seen them.”

“I saw the real thing, remember?

“You didn’t see me photographed with the little boy…”

“It was obvious to me Kemp staged them.”

“Go on then. Have a look at what’s inside.”

Puzzled, she unsealed the flap and withdrew a single sheet of paper. “What
is
it?” she asked, and then as she saw the envelope’s contents, her hand began to tremble.

J.D. pointed to the paper she held in her hand. “Yes, it’s the deed to the Bay View Hotel. Believe it or not, it survived the fire in a small iron box stashed inside your grandfather’s big metal safe. Whether or not you’ll do me the honor of taking me to Paris with you now, or marrying me, or living with me—or whatever the hell it is you prefer—I propose that
I
be the one to take a yearly percentage of the owner’s net profits for the work I did building this place—and that
you
be the sole proprietor.”

Amelia stared at J.D. and then at the document she held between her shaking fingers. He must have retrieved the deed when he went into the safe to get the bottle of champagne.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked quietly. “The place means as much to you now as it does to me.”

J.D. gazed directly into her eyes and replied, “Because I want you to trust, for once in your life, that at least one man in your experience is capable of having your welfare at heart. I want you to trust
me
,
and I need to prove to myself that I can trust
you.
It appears obvious that the only way we’ll get beyond our past is if I give you this deed and we go into business together, so here it is.”

Amelia’s thumb rubbed against the raised, official seal on the yellowed document that contained her grandfather’s familiar signature as the first owner of record.

“J.D., I’m… well, I’m stunned.”

“And don’t you dare ever say that I put shackles on women.” He took a step closer, his arms at his sides.

“Never?”

“Never. Or that I like my women docile.” He rested both his hands on her shoulders.

“I never said that.”

“Well, then, prove it,” he challenged. “Take the deed, agree to pay me a yearly percentage, and then ask me to make love to you tonight, Miss Bradshaw.”

Amelia’s eyes searched the fine, white scars above J.D.’s dark brows, wondering if she was risking the independence she’d worked so hard to achieve—or finally returning to the safe harbor that the Bay View Hotel had always represented in her life.

“
Well?
” he repeated.

Holding the deed in one hand and seizing one of his in her other, she led him past the wide doors and entered his bedroom, plush in its rich furnishings and bathed in soft lighting shed by amber-colored sconces on the wall.

“Why, Miss Bradshaw,” J.D. said gesturing toward the bed, “you truly shock me.”