Tears of Gold (31 page)

“Well, I still don’t like it. ’Tisn’t decent workin’ in a place like that, all of them men ogling ye and pawin’ ye,” she said even as she shook out Mara’s gown for the evening and set aside the accessories to be worn with it.

“And do you think I like it any better?” Mara asked as she looked out on the rain that was falling more heavily now. Soon the whole street would be under a river of muddy water. “It won’t be for too much longer. Brendan’ll be coming soon. He’ll come, Jamie, just you wait and see.”

***

“Come along, monsieur, place your bet, perhaps
ce soir
is your lucky night, and this your lucky numbaire,” Mara said, feigning a light French accent. The gentlemen seemed to find the Frenchwoman the most attractive and alluring, showing their preference in the size of their tips. Mara spun the roulette wheel around, her golden eyes watching in cynical amusement as the miners’ eyes watched hopefully for their lucky number to come up. The small ball sped past each number until finally rolling to a stop in one of the numbered compartments. “Sorry, monsieur. I guess tonight wasn’t your lucky night, after all.”

It seldom was, Mara thought as she collected each miner’s money and gold and gave the wheel another spin. She glanced around the large room crowded with green baize tables and every sort of individual imaginable, his race or dress unimportant as long as he had gold in his pockets. At one end of the room was a long bar lined with cut-glass decanters. A small band of musicians played on the edge of a stage nearby, and a troupe of dancers was performing a lively number, much to the pleasure of the front row of spectators. Mirrors and suggestive paintings hung on the wall-papered walls, while rich, crimson curtains draped the long window. Above the gamblers’ heads hung ornate glass chandeliers, their light filtering down through the smoke that floated up from the countless cigars and cigarettes. The thick, heavy air was filled with whiskey fumes, sweat from unwashed bodies, stale perfume, and the Chinese punk that smoldered for the convenience of smokers.

This saloon was no different from all of the others that lined Portsmouth Square. Whether it was the Eldorado, Bella Union, Parker House, or Verandah, they all offered the same attractions—all for the price of gold mined in the Sierra Nevada.

Mara was rudely startled from her thoughts as she felt someone kiss her bare shoulder. She turned around sharply, ready to deliver a scathing set-down, and found herself staring into the dark eyes of Jacques D’Arcy.

He smiled slightly as he noted the antagonism in Mara’s eyes. “Mara,” he softly scolded her, “you never smile for poor Jacques. Yet you smile so enticingly for these fools.”

“That is what I’m getting paid for, remember?” Mara said coldly, pulling her arm free of his possessively caressing hand.

“I could pay you, ma petite, for certain favors,” Jacques said very softly, his dark eyes glowing. They seemed to burn into Mara’s skin as they slowly traveled across the smooth swell of breast revealed by the décolletage of the red velvet dress she had worn for the first time tonight.

Mara silently cursed herself for being so stupid. She knew it had been a mistake to wear the dress. In fact, it had caused her nothing but trouble since she had first set eyes on it back in London. She had been speechless with surprised dismay when Jamie had unfolded it from her trunk. It must have still been in her room when Don Andres’s servants packed her things. Naturally they had assumed it was hers. Jamie’s gasp had been slightly louder, for she hadn’t seen the dress since returning it to its owner on that fateful day long ago. When she’d learned who Nicholas really was, she’d just sat down on the edge of the bed, shaking her head, saying nothing.

Mara supposed she had worn the dress because she had wanted something different to wear, something besides the same few dresses she had worn over and over again. And partly out of defiance. She had wanted to prove to herself that she could forget Nicholas, that the memories associated with the dress meant nothing to her any longer. But she had been wrong. Even the feel of the soft velvet against her skin made her think of Nicholas’s hands as they had caressed her in love—and of their hurting strength when he’d grabbed her while in a black rage upon discovering her true identity.

“No thank you, Jacques,” Mara replied sweetly, “I’m not that desperate yet, and I’m not your petite.”

Jacques’s smile curved into a cruel sneer, “Someday you will want me, Mara, and then you will have to beg for my favors. But until then, ma petite,” he said purposefully, “you either do your job, or I fire you.”

“I do my job well, Jacques,” Mara replied tartly. “And besides, you wouldn’t want me working for another gambler, would you? Taking away your business? Because you know I would.”

Jacques stared into her defiantly upraised face and the contempt she didn’t bother to hide. She smiled that enticing half-smile of hers. “No one would want a woman with a scarred face to sit at their table and deal faro or drink with the customers…eh, ma petite?” Jacques spoke softly, running the tip of his finger across Mara’s smooth alabaster cheek. “And the lover who once, I think, must have called you his petite would no longer care to look upon you. Just remember that you work for me, and no one else,” Jacques warned. Then, shaking his head, he added, “I don’t know why you waste your time here at the tables when you could be asking five hundred dollars a customer upstairs. You are a foolish woman, ma petite, to be so selective about who shares your bed.”

“I’m not a courtesan, Jacques,” Mara told him coldly as she glared up into his sallow face. For the first time, she felt a deep fear of this Frenchman. She had managed so far to repulse his attentions, for he knew her value as an employee. But as time had passed and his pockets filled, he became bolder. Mara knew that soon she would not be able to laugh away his advances.

“Come, I want you at the faro table. There are some big players anxious to have you deal for them,” Jacques told her as he signaled for another woman to take over the roulette wheel.

Mara followed Jacques across the room, conscious of the eyes following her figure in the revealing red velvet dress. But even she wasn’t aware of the full impact of her startling beauty on the love-starved miners, many homesick for wives and sweethearts, others longing for the companionship of a beautiful woman. Yet there was something about Mara that stopped them from reaching out and grabbing greedily at the soft velvet skirts that rustled past their legs, or touching the pale, scented skin of her bare shoulders as she threaded her way through them. There was a ladylike quality about her, an air of breeding that made a man keep his distance.

Mara sat down at the green baize table, accepting the long-stemmed glass of champagne placed at her elbow as she smiled at the gentlemen sitting across from her. She placed a complete suit of spades in a thirteen card layout on the table and waited for the players to place their bets on the card of their choice. Then, the faro box in front of her, she played the banker and prepared to withdraw from the box in pairs the cards that decided whether a man won or lost. If he placed his gold by the eight of spades in the layout and the eight of hearts were turned over first, then he lost. If the eight didn’t show up in either card turned, his bet remained. But if it were the second card turned, he won his bet and the dealer had to pay.

Mara had acted as faro banker for more than two hours and was beginning to grow tired. The smoke and noise pressed in on her. Several of her customers had grown as tired of losing and were withdrawing their bets and moving on to other games of chance. Mara paused for a moment to take a sip of champagne while their places were quickly filled, and didn’t even bother to glance up into their expectant faces. After a while they all looked the same.

“If monsieur would care to place his bet,” Mara spoke in her mock French accent as she filled the faro box with cards, “this could be his lucky night, perhaps monsieur will even win a fortune, one nevaire knows in a game of chance.”

Mara glanced up, a smile softly curving her lips as she stared into the gaze of the player who’d just filled the vacant seat in front of her. The smile stiffened painfully as her eyes locked with the mocking green eyes she knew so well.

“Well, well, I didn’t realize you were French as well as Irish, English, and Spanish,” Nicholas Chantale said. “You do have a colorful past, Mara. Or are you going by another name? Perhaps Angelique, or Desiree?” Nicholas laughed in pleased amusement at the shock she could not hide. “You seem startled to see me. You didn’t suppose that vicious blow to the back of my head had killed me, did you?” Nicholas asked in a voice that only she could hear as the music and laughing voices swirled loudly around them.

“Come on, now. I’ve placed me bet. Let’s deal,” a man on Nicholas’s right called out impatiently.

“Yes, mademoiselle, please do not waste my time,” Nicholas agreed with a hateful curl of his sensuous lips, “for you must please me if you want a generous tip for your gracious hostessing.”

Mara ground her teeth as she dealt the cards and watched in increasing annoyance as Nicholas won turn after turn.

“The mademoiselle is a fortune-teller as well,” Nicholas laughed as he collected his winnings after an hour’s successful play. “She predicted that tonight would be my lucky night.”

Nicholas reached out and grasped Mara’s wrist with hard fingers as he added in a soft voice that only Mara could hear, “And I insist that the mademoiselle share a glass of champagne and a light supper with me.”

“I think not,” Mara said in a tight voice as she tried to pull her wrist free. As she glanced around helplessly, she became aware of Jacques standing nearby and watching her table with curious eyes.

“There seems to be some trouble here?” he asked smoothly as he came up behind Mara’s chair. “I can assure the monsieur that I run honest tables, and my dealers are above suspicion. If you think you have been cheated, then I will certainly deal harshly with this woman.”

Mara glanced up in surprise at Jacques’s suddenly subservient manner. He was practically falling on his hands and knees before Nicholas, Mara thought in dismayed anger.

“That won’t be necessary. As you can see, I have no complaints,” Nicholas said as he gestured to his pile of winnings, “but I should like the lady to join me at my table for a drink. It would be well worth her while, as well as yours, monsieur,” Nicholas said silkily. “I believe you take a percentage of the mademoiselle’s tips?”

Jacques smiled slightly, his eyes showing a momentary flash of anger at Nicholas’s contemptuously spoken words. But he only nodded. “The mademoiselle is free to join you, monsieur.” Mara glared up at Jacques, disbelief showing in her eyes as he snapped his fingers and a blond woman appeared to take Mara’s place at the table.

“Go with him, Mara,” Jacques ordered her. “Michelle will take over for you here.”

Mara had little choice, unless she wished to make a scene. With Nicholas’s fingers still wrapped around her wrist, she got up from the table and followed him to a table in the corner of the room. She adopted her haughtiest demeanor and ungraciously declined a glass of champagne.

“I thought a table against the wall the safest,” Nicholas began, catching Mara’s attention with the fury in his voice, “just in case that
cousin
of yours happens to be lurking under the floorboards.”

“He was only trying to protect me from your attack,” Mara defended Brendan. “And he happens to be my brother.”

“I should have guessed at the closer relationship, considering his lack of character,” Nicholas jeered. “It certainly lends credence to the saying, ‘as thick as thieves.’”

Mara frowned. “And just what is that supposed to mean? Brendan and I are not thieves.”

Nicholas raised his heavy eyebrows questioningly. “Aren’t you, Mara O’Flynn? It doesn’t surprise me to learn that you are a liar as well as a thief. You O’Flynns are incredible, completely without conscience, to hit a man from behind, and then steal him blind while he’s unconscious.”

Mara licked her lips, her mouth uncomfortably dry as she suddenly remembered the money Brendan had given her in Sonoma. Mara’s face showed her confusion and dismay as she looked up into Nicholas’s pitiless eyes. “I—I didn’t know about the money, Nicholas. I swear I didn’t. You must believe me. I did not know Brendan had taken it. I’d never take your money. You know I wouldn’t.”

Nicholas lightly clapped his hands, his even teeth showing as he grinned mockingly. “Your protestation of innocence is brilliant, my dear, with just the right touch of suffering in those beautiful golden eyes. Did I not know you better, I would surely believe you knew nothing of the theft. A nice try, but I remain unconvinced.”

“You bastard,” Mara said softly, trying desperately to hide her love and the hurt she felt at his sneering words. “Who the divil d’ye think you are, that you can harass me this way,” she said to him in a quivering voice. She fumbled inside her purse, her shaking fingers closing over the pile of coins she’d received in tips for the evening. With an eloquent gesture she pushed them across the table to Nicholas. “This should more than repay you for your money.”

“Tch, tch,” Nicholas said with a satisfied smile, contemptuously ignoring her proffered restitution, “your Irish temper is showing, ma petite. But it’s most enlightening, so do continue. I look forward to meeting the true Mara O’Flynn at last.”

Mara sighed in exasperation. “Nicholas, leave me alone. Haven’t you had revenge enough against me?”

Nicholas stared at Mara’s delicate features. Though she was thinner than the last time he’d seen her, she was more beautiful than ever. She glared at him in defiance, her full, lower lip trembling slightly. “Perhaps what I want from you is more than just your virgin’s blood,” he speculated softly, his green eyes as cold and hard as emeralds.

Mara moved her hand, feeling the smooth, crystal stem beneath her fingers as she picked up the goblet of champagne and threw the whole contents of it into Nicholas’s arrogant face. She stared in bemusement as the pale liquid fell in drops onto his white shirtfront, staining the clean linen. Mara got shakily to her feet as he pulled out a handkerchief and began to wipe the champagne from his face, his eyes never leaving her stunned face.