Nan Ryan (22 page)

When they sat down to the meal Miss Annabelle gently reminded, “Nibble, don’t wolf. Sip, don’t slurp.” The waiter had placed a bowl of lentil soup and a hard roll before Nevada. “Get the arms up over the soup,” Miss Annabelle went on. “Break the roll into bite-size pieces. Leave no crumbs on the tablecloth.”

“Uh-oh, my thumb’s stuck,” said Nevada, attempting to
break
the roll. “This thing’s like a rock!”

Ignoring her complaint, Miss Annabelle said, “Dip the spoon into the soup. Bring it to the lips and gently tip the contents into the mouth. Do not slurp.”

The meal and the lesson lasted for more than an hour. And when it was finished and the patient steward wheeled the dishes from the suite, Miss Annabelle drew a loud groan from Nevada when she said, “Let’s work on your posture now. You’re still not walking …”

And so it went, and so it had gone for the past eight weeks. Ever since their arrival in London. It seemed to Nevada that almost every waking hour was spent on tiresome exercises that bored her to tears. She had never realized that she didn’t know how to walk, speak, eat, sit, stand, dress, or laugh properly until the monotonous, never-ending instructions had begun.

A thousand silly rules of etiquette swimming around in her aching head, Nevada went to bed each night more frustrated and discouraged and downright listless than she’d ever been in her life.

But Miss Annabelle’s relentless tutoring was not the only reason for her gloom. Since their arrival in London she had hardly seen Johnny. Save for a few evenings when he had requested that she accompany him to a gaming hall, they were never together. And even then, when they were together, they were not alone.

The fine British ladies were as much if not more enamored of the sleekly handsome Johnny Roulette as were their American counterparts. From the moment he had stepped into Claridge’s elevator and caught the discerning eye of Lady Ashley, he had hardly had time for his other love. Gambling.

The lavish Claridge’s apartments he shared with Nevada and Miss Annabelk were used by Johnny for little more than sleeping and changing his clothes. And often as not, he didn’t even sleep there, a fact that greatly disturbed Nevada’s sleep.

An unending parade of voluptuous redheads and stunning brunettes and elegant blondes were breathlessly squired about town by Johnny. Cultivated ladies all, but Nevada noted with jealous fury that for all their fine manners and high-toned ways and aristocratic names, they were not too well-bred to stay out all night with Johnny!

Especially the regal, sophisticated, snobbish Lady Ashley.

The only thing that made the London stay bearable was King Cassidy and his frequent visits. Nevada was fond of the likable silver-haired man who told interesting stories of his youth in the wild, exciting West.

When King dropped by Claridge’s, he always carried a bouquet of fresh-cut flowers and as often as not, thoughtful little gifts for her and Miss Annabelle.

And when King was in the suite, seated on the long English Chippendale sofa, stroking his silver goatee as he spoke, Miss Annabelle seemed to change before Nevada’s very eyes into a shy, slightly nervous, more youthful woman.

After his first few visits Nevada cunningly turned Miss Annabelle’s quiet fascination with the silver king to her own advantage. Eager to forgo her boring studies, if only for an hour or two, she was quick to suggest that King take them out for a stroll or a ride, complaining that they had been “cooped up” forever.

The dapper silver king had gallantly agreed. And then made short work of persuading the hesitant Miss Annabelle that a respite from the four walls at Claridge’s would be good for her, would make the roses bloom in her fair cheeks.

In a gleaming navy-blue landau pulled by a pair of high-stepping, perfectly matched bays, the trio made excursions around the old city. It was King who drove them through Mayfair, casually pointing out the great residences behind whose heavy doors dwelled, or had dwelled, the likes of Lord Dover and Lady Berkeley of Stratton and the Earl of Scarborough and Lord Burlington and Sir Nathaniel Curzon.

Nevada was impressed that a western silver king would know who lived in London’s fine houses. And Miss Annabelle was surprised and delighted when they visited Agnew’s on Albemarle and the silver king—escorting them through the vast art gallery, where the walls were hung with crimson damask and the staircases were of polished oak—readily identified the works of the great English and French and German masters.

And King was the one responsible for showing them the Tower of London and the adjacent Tower Bridge. He took them for a stroll one fine sunny morning through St James Park. He pointed out the exclusive shops around Oxford and Bond streets. He showed them the Royal Opera House. St James Church. St Paul’s.

Even Buckingham Palace.

“Lord, wouldn’t I like to go in there!” said Nevada, staring, transfixed at the huge palace. “Wouldn’t that just be a hoot?” She turned to look at the middle-aged couple across from her in the carriage. Miss Annabelle was wearing that expression of reproof that made Nevada aware of her slip-up. King was smiling warmly, his blue eyes twinkling with merriment, as though he found nothing wrong with what she’d said.

Addressing Miss Annabelle, she said, “If I sounded common, forgive me, but I would love to go inside Buckingham Palace.”

Softening, Miss Annabelle said, “I know, dear. But I’m afraid it’s out of the question.”

Nevada looked from Miss Annabelle to King. He said, “I’m sorry, child. I’m afraid it would take better credentials than mine to secure for you an invitation from the Queen.”

He looked truly remorseful. It touched Nevada. She flashed him a lovely smile and said, “Who cares? Let’s go to Piccadilly Circus!”

On a chilly, foggy evening in late September, King Cassidy, a gilt-covered box of fine Belgian chocolates in one hand, his varnished malacca cane in the other, impulsively stopped by Claridge’s for an unannounced visit with his two favorite ladies. Miss Annabelle was alone in the suite. She was quick to explain that Nevada had accompanied Johnny and Lady Ashley out for an evening of gambling.

King, realizing they were alone for the first time, suddenly felt almost as timid as the quiet genteel lady facing him. He was becoming very fond of Miss Annabelle, felt almost like a bashful young suitor as he stood smiling down at her.

Miss Annabelle, her splendid manners forgotten in the face of her nervousness at being alone with the dapper dynamic man to whom she was absurdly attracted, did not invite King Cassidy to sit down.

“I—I’ll tell … ah … Nevada you came by,” she heard herself stammering. “She’ll be sorry she missed you.”

It sounded like a dismissal to the dashing but sensitive silver king. He had been about to suggest that the two of them go out to dinner or to the theater, but obviously the patrician southern lady was not interested in spending an evening alone with an old western ruffian who talked too much and laughed too loudly and drank whiskey straight.

“You do that, Miss Annabelle.” He backed away bowing, and Miss Annabelle was puzzled by the expression that had come into his vivid blue eyes. For a second the vibrant King Cassidy looked almost hurt.

When she closed the door after him Miss Annabelle sighed and wandered aimlessly across the room. She laid the heavy box of chocolates on a marble-topped-table and went to stand before the tall front windows, feeling decidedly melancholy. Drawing a weary breath, she gently pulled the peach silk drapery aside and looked down at the street.

King Cassidy was on the sidewalk below, preparing to step out of the cold night up into the waiting blue landau. His hand on the carriage door, he turned suddenly and looked up. Straight at her. Hidden in shadow, Miss Annabelle glimpsed a side of King Cassidy she had never seen before. The man who was always smiling appeared cheerless on this bleak, foggy night. A gust of wind picked up tendrils of his gleaming silver hair, blew them into his strangely unhappy face. He shivered, hunched his shoulders, and hurriedly ducked into the landau.

Miss Annabelle stood at the window long after King’s carriage had driven away. She wondered where he would spend his evening, and with whom. And then silently chided herself for being a foolish old maid. Rich, attractive, spirited gentlemen like King Cassidy never lacked for company.

Feeling a sudden chill in both body and soul, the lonely spinster turned from the window. Hugging her arms to her sides, she crossed to the brightly-blazing bronze marble fireplace, dropped down onto the padded footstool where Nevada often sat, and stared forlornly into the warmth-giving flames.

Spectacular in a daring gown of eggshell satin, Lady Ashley was more than a little irritated. Her noble jaw was set, her teeth clamped firmly together, her large emerald eyes snapping with displeasure.

Johnny Roulette, his dark evening jacket carelessly open, the scarlet silk lining showing, was in a fine mood. Leaning lazily back against the plush velvet of the leased landau’s wide backseat, he wore a pleased smile and his dark eyes flashed with excitement.

Nevada, the billowing skirts of her midnight-blue taffeta gown spilling over onto Johnny’s bent left knee, was smiling, her blue eyes gleaming with mischief. Her mood was buoyant, despite the obvious indignation of Lady Ashley.

Nevada was well pleased with herself. She had managed all evening long to place herself firmly between Lady Ashley and Johnny, which was no easy feat. In the posh clubs Nevada had caught the daggered looks the titled blonde kept casting at her. Johnny never noticed. He was too engrossed in gambling. And winning.

Relying on Nevada’s ability to bring him luck, he thought nothing of holding her hand or squeezing her bare shoulder or grinning indulgently when she possessively draped herself against his broad shoulder.

Lady Ashley noticed and was not amused. And that amused Nevada no end.

When, thousands up, they left the first club to try their luck at another, Johnny’s spirits were soaring. He didn’t mind when they climbed into the carriage and Nevada somehow situated herself in the middle, directly between him and Lady Ashley. The other woman minded.

It went that way all evening but Lady Ashley, determined to maintain her cool dignity, said nothing. She didn’t dare let Roulette get the idea she was a clinging, jealous female. She knew Roulette’s kind. Crowd him just once and she’d lose him for sure.

So she quietly seethed and hoped that Roulette wouldn’t often insist that they take the beautiful little brat along. It was apparent the bitchy child was mad for Roulette, though he swore that Nevada was only his charge, his unwanted responsibility, the young daughter of an old and dear friend who had passed away, leaving Nevada in his care.

Lady Ashley was very astute. She would have bet all the thousands Johnny had won at London’s gaming tables that the ill-mannered girl had been in his bed. No woman looked at a man the way Nevada looked at Roulette if he’d never made love to her.

The knowledge both repelled and titillated the jaded Lady Ashley. Roulette had been entrusted with the innocence of the young daughter of a dear dying friend and what had the callous cad done? He had promised to protect the helpless girl and instead had used her to satisfy his base sexual hungers.

Outrageous. Disgusting. Unforgivable.

Just what kind of man was this unprincipled Roulette who seduced children? He was, Lady Ashley admitted to herself, the most exciting man she’d met in years. And she wasn’t about to lose him to some starry-eyed twit who was foolish enough to think she could compete with a wise and worldly woman who knew all sorts of ways to excite and pleasure the sensuous Frenchman.

“This is it.” Johnny’s deep voice broke into the reveries of both women as the carriage came to a stop beneath a streetlamp. “Home. Claridge’s.”

“’Night now, Lady Ashley,” Nevada said sweetly, turning to the simmering blonde, then smiled wickedly when Johnny, stepping down, leaned back inside, put his hands to Nevada’s small waist, and lifted her out. “Johnny and I will see you soon,” Nevada said pointedly, still smiling.

But her smile quickly turned to a frown when Johnny, setting her on her feet, again leaned inside the carriage and said, “I’ll see her upstairs and be right back.”

“I’ll be waiting, darling,” Nevada heard her adversary say in tones dripping with honey.

Not nearly as adept at maintaining her composure as Lady Ashley, Nevada immediately began lecturing as Johnny, taking her arm, guided her into Claridge’s vast lobby.

“Johnny, it is past two in the morning. You should send Lady Ashley home and go to—”

“Thanks for tonight,” Johnny cut her off. “We won several thousand. You were just what I needed tonight.” They stepped into the elevator. The doors closed after them.

“I am exactly what you need every night,” she said, swaying to him.

“Don’t start that, Nevada.” He gently pushed her away.

“Are you going home with her?” she demanded hotly.

“I’m going anywhere I please,” he replied coolly.

“God, you’re so damned blind!” she told him.

“My vision is perfect,” he informed her.

“No. No, it’s not. If it were, you could see that Lady Ashley has got her claws into you, but good.”

He chuckled derisively. “You think that only because you’re a naive child. Lady Ashley is a beautiful worldly woman who enjoys my company, just as I enjoy hers.”

The elevator stopped. The doors opened. Nevada didn’t move. Johnny took her arm and forced her out into the silent corridor. They reached the suite’s carved door.

Nevada turned to face Johnny.

She said, “You think I’m naive, but it’s you who are really naive.”

“Good night,” said Johnny, and he turned and walked away.

She watched until he disappeared inside the elevator. Then tiredly went inside, crossed the drawing room, and went straight to the front windows. Anxiously jerking the peach silk drapery aside, she peered down at the gleaming black landau, waiting in a pool of light from the streetlamp.

In minutes Johnny stepped out of the dense fog and into the light, opened the coach door, and climbed inside. Before the carriage could pull back out into the street, Nevada saw Johnny’s dark head bend to Lady Ashley.