Rags to Rubies (6 page)

“What do you know of your parents?”

“Nothing, really. All the information I had came from the back of a photograph of a woman I presumed to be my mother. Hand printed on the back was my name—Jared Dunstan de Warre III, so my father would have been Jared Dunstan de Warre II. I couldn’t find his grave or death certificate. No living relatives. I checked. Here and in England. I don’t know my mother’s name or people. The photograph is of her, but I can’t determine any information from it.”

“What about records? Didn’t the orphanage give you anything when you turned eighteen?”

“I ran away at fourteen and went back as an adult. All the records had been lost in a fire by then. No one could tell me anything.”

He recognized Grace’s expression as one of pity, for he’d seen it before on the faces of people who came to help at the orphanage.

“There’s no need to feel sorry for me, Miss Hathaway,” he said brusquely. He looked toward the dance floor and gazed sightlessly at the dancers. “I like my life. It has all the advantages without the disadvantages of obligation, allegiance, and accountability a family would require.”

“That’s a very cynical outlook. Not one that would gain you many friends.”

“I have all the friends I need.”

Grace picked up her fork without comment. Jared instantly wished he hadn’t been so short with her. He’d ruined the mood, so he kept the ensuing conversation general and, to her credit, she was pleasant and accommodating. He hoped it wasn’t just the effect of the homemade vintage.

When the meal ended Jared said, “Before we go, I’d like to speak privately with Sallie, if you don’t mind.”

Grace wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin and set it alongside her plate. “Of course. I’d like to use the ladies’ room.”

Jared pulled the heavy door to the speakeasy closed, shutting out the lively music and the indulgent crowd. Only the candle on the table now provided illumination in the tiny room. The glow from the flame made Grace’s eyes glisten with subtle lights. She trembled slightly and glanced from his eyes to his lips in what he took as a silent invitation.

He was afraid to kiss her, for the wine had lessened his control. He prided himself on his self-control, but the stirring in his groin took over. He reached across the narrow table, taking her face in his palm, running a thumb across her cheek. So soft, he thought, as silky as he imagined.

Then, he made the decision to kiss her. Moving the dishes and wine aside, he gently, slowly, pulled her lips to his. To his great relief, Grace emitted a tiny moan and parted her lips slightly. She tasted of sweet wine and promise.

He hadn’t expected the heat that flared between them. Since he’d always been able to control his emotions, the passion in the kiss left him shocked at his own need. He wanted her. Not here in Sallie’s back booth but in a comfortable bed where he could explore every part of her, slowly.

Grace drew back a little. Then she put her fingers in his hair and pulled his lips to hers again, briefly, then sat back in her seat.

Jared felt her take control of the moment and resigned himself to the fact that there would be no bed, no exploring tonight. He smiled and let out a low plaintive sigh as he searched the wall for the buzzer, wondering how he could rise comfortably from the table in his semi-aroused state.

Thankfully, it took Sallie several minutes to address the buzzer and pull the heavy panel on the restaurant side open, the soft murmur of voices a change from the strong beat of the speak’s music, candlelight flickering in contrast to the glaring electric lamps. Jared held out a hand and helped Grace to her feet.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, excusing herself.

Jared pulled Sallie aside. “I trust you have provided the security I need?”

“Sure. Was Miss Hathaway the mark?”

“Yes, but I don’t know why yet. How many men?”

“Two of my best. Anyone comes around tonight, we’ll get him.”

“Good. And they will bring him to me?”

“They have their orders.”

“Thanks, Sallie. I knew I could count on you.”

“Who is she, anyway?”

“A neighbor. I’m just being friendly.”

“Then you should ask your
friend
for a comb so you don’t look like you just climbed out of bed,” Sallie said.

Jared scowled and ran his fingers through his hair as he glanced in a mirror next to the door. Grace appeared, and Jared quickly escorted her out, Sallie still chuckling at his own joke.

Chapter Seven

Jared lay awake on his bed, still fully clothed. He listened to the scratching of bare branches against the window and watched their dancing shadows flit across the wall in the midnight moonlight. The bottle of brandy on his nightstand was down by half and his belly warm from the mellow liquor.

He thought about Grace, remembering the sound of her voice and the animated features that lit her face when she spoke. His thoughts drifted over her body, assessing each feminine attribute as if he were undressing her slowly. She would be round and soft and ripe, perfectly suited to his touch and to his mouth. He could still remember the electricity when she touched him, how her eyes melted into blue pools, how her breasts were deliciously curved and inviting.

He ran his hand over the stubble on his chin. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had produced such a lingering effect on him. Lazily, he folded his arms behind his head. He thought about how outraged she had been when she caught him admiring her beautifully rounded derrière in the jewelry shop.

He’d seen that look before. Several headstrong suffragettes of his acquaintance had the same stubborn tilt to their chins, the same fire in their eyes.

She’d been relaxed with Sallie and Theresa; there’d been no condescension in her manner—more tolerant and non-judgmental than most of his affluent friends, who would turn up their nose at a young immigrant family.

She had faced her fear, finding herself locked in the alcove with him. She’d been frightened but not intimidated. He felt a strange and totally unexpected tenderness for her, as though she were a child put in his safekeeping, but she seemed to be fiercely independent and damned near as stubborn as he was. She didn’t wait around for a man to help solve her problems. He couldn’t help admiring her pluck, her confidence and resilience.

He found himself wondering if she was a virgin. If she wasn’t, he knew she’d been selective. He never sought out virgins, but now he wondered what it would be like to introduce a woman to her first taste of lovemaking. To be the one to be inside her the first time she surrendered to that amazing release.

In the past, it was of no consequence to him who his paramours had bedded before or after he partook of their pleasures. Strangely, he found he didn’t like the thought that any other man had touched Grace. He would wager she’d never known a man, had never even shared an intimate kiss with a man, for her response had seemed untutored, almost naïve.

But their one brief kiss revealed she had a passionate nature, and not many women denied their sexuality anymore. After Margaret Sanger opened her first American Birth Control Clinic in 1921, women in New York City knew more about contraceptive devices than most men, and many of them went from bed to bed with as much frequency as their lovers or husbands. Especially in the indulgent New York crowd he ran with.

He had also felt her reluctance. Someone had hurt her. Yet, when she thanked him for the evening and he bent to kiss her cheek, she shifted a bit to allow his lips to lightly brush hers. Or was this all a dream, and she was just a gossamer sprite tempting, teasing him until... The brandy took effect, and Jared pursued his beautiful sprite into dreamland.

****

Grace leaned against the kitchen counter and twirled the glass of warm milk absently, watching the small whirlpool until it steadied and stopped. She knew checking all the locks and closing the drapes and Venetian blinds only gave her the illusion of safety.

She took a swallow of the soothing drink. If this didn’t put her to sleep, she’d work on her sketches. No sense staring at the ceiling for a second night. She’d spent most of last night thinking about a certain tall, dark, brooding stranger who took the very breath from her body when he was close enough for her to inhale his spicy scent.
Lordy, lordy
. His kiss warmed her to her toes.

And then he’d offered to protect her.

An exquisite feeling washed over her when he’d made plans to secure her home. She felt enormously comforted in a way she couldn’t quite understand, but she welcomed it. Oh, she valued her independence, but this emotion felt almost like being cherished.

On the other hand, she recognized the heat always present in his eyes. Other men had looked at her like that, but he looked like he could deliver every wicked thing his eyes promised. And more.

At the shop he should have been embarrassed to look at her like he had, his gaze lingering and lazily ascending, caressing every part of her body. Every place his gaze touched, her body had grown warm and tingly.

When his eyes finally met hers, that annoyingly smug half-smile of his widened to a grin. She’d been mortified. The miserable wretch! He should have been the one blushing.

What was she getting herself into?

But why did she feel there was more to him than met the eye? Something below the surface. A face no one saw. Her intuition was usually right on target. Or, more accurately, had been correct until Adam. Could she blame her biological clock on the miscalculation of her ex-fiancé? She had truly wanted to marry and start a family. She’d thought Adam felt the same.

Stretching, she stifled a yawn and then took the last swallow of milk. Thoughts of Adam always left her in a temper, and that was not conducive to sleep. She rinsed out the glass in the sink and put it in the dish rack.

There was always the possibility Jared would turn out to be the same. She would set the pace. She would be the one to decide, this time.

Tightening the tie of her chenille robe, she was headed back to bed when a slight noise drew her attention to the kitchen door. The noise sounded like a groan—the human kind. She grasped the neck of an empty milk bottle and crept to the door.

Yanking the curtain aside, Grace quickly surveyed the small backyard. Silver moonlight washed over the lawn and outbuildings, clearly illuminating the area. Slowly letting out her breath, she checked the lock once again.

Now she was hearing things.

Next she’d be checking under the bed for the boogie man. Pushing the bottom button on the switch, she turned off the kitchen light and headed upstairs.

On the way up, she realized she’d never thought much about her own safety. Her childhood had been secure until her mother passed, until she had to assume the matriarchal position in the family, but she realized sharply Jared had never had that security.

Crawling into bed, she snuggled into the soft down pillows. She pictured the small boy he must have been, wondering why he had been abandoned, whether his mother had a reason for leaving him to the mercy of strangers. But she also saw the man he had become, rising above his humble beginnings against all odds to make his way in the world and acquire a considerable fortune.

She suspected his invulnerability was an illusion. As an orphan, he would have received little comfort or human contact. She wanted to reach out to him but feared he would reject the effort.

At least she had Zia Bruna. She loved her aunt dearly, but it wasn’t the same as having a family of your own, a husband and children.

She had counted on Adam to fill the loneliness, and for a while he had. Only after Adam’s betrayal had she secluded herself, preferring to take refuge in the solace of family. But now Papa was gone, and Zia Bruna was sick.

Grace decided she would return Jared’s kindness by keeping an open mind. Surely he had her best interests at heart.

She reached over to turn off the lamp and pulled the covers up to her chin.

****

The hour must have been two a.m. The Westminster clock on Jared’s bureau chimed twice as he heard a scuffling noise, followed by a pounding on the front door.

Bolting from the bed, Jared raced downstairs. Two of Sallie’s boys held a small man by the scruff of his fraying jacket.

“This here is yer perpetrator,” one of the burly men said in a thick Chicago accent. “We found him at the lady’s back door with these.” His grotesquely large hand displayed a small leather case with instruments that appeared to be lock-picking tools and a Kewie camera. The smaller of the muscular, thick-necked duo shoved his prey into the foyer.

Jared’s teeth clenched. “Who are you and what were you doing at Miss Hathaway’s door?”

The small man clutched at the collar of his jacket, drawing it protectively around his neck. “What dame? I don’t know any Hathaway. Alls he told me was ta get the stuff.” The thief glanced around the foyer.

At least the man wasn’t a rapist or a thug, Jared thought, but now he knew someone else was calling the shots. That was a problem. A big one. He needed information.

“What stuff? Who hired you to break into the house?”

“I don’t know, honest.”

Sallie’s man cuffed the frightened weasel on the side of the head. “Answer the gent, bud.”

The thief cowered. “A guy. Just a guy. He mentioned a friend o’ mine’s name, said it was easy pickin’s, and paid me half up front. Said he didn’t care about the broad. If she gave me trouble, it was up to me...”

Before the man could finish his sentence, Jared reached for him, grabbing the collar of his jacket. Just then Albert opened his door, putting a fragile barrier between Jared and the thief.

The wiry man saw his opportunity and took it. He dropped to the floor, pulled one arm out of his jacket and then the other, and scrambled out the open doorway. All three men grabbed for him, but having more agility than his brawny opponents, the wiry little man escaped into the night.

“Dammit!” Jared cursed, following the thief into the night only to realize as his feet hit the cold pavement that he wasn’t wearing shoes. “Follow him! I’ll be right behind you,” he ordered as he raced back up the stairs.