Tomorrow's Dreams (18 page)

“In what way?”

With a conspiratorial wink he confided, “I happen to know for a fact that Mr. Prescott is across the street at Goldie's Palace visitin' his favorite whore. Now seein' as how Madame du Charme is busy with her fancy man at the poker table, it would appear that Miss Leroux is all by her lonesome about now.”

“She is at that,” Seth acknowledged thoughtfully. “Question is, for how long? If she's as particular as you say, this courting business might take some time.”

“As I said, it's your lucky day. It so happens that Madame du Charme and her fancy man have a private supper arranged for six o'clock. As for Mr. Prescott, well, I'd guess that for a nominal fee of say, twenty dollars, Goldie could be persuaded to see that he's kept busy. Now, seein' as it's”—he yanked a heavy gold watch out of his vest pocket and squinted down at it—“five-twenty, and how the show doesn't start until nine, I figure you have about two hours to plant some sugar in Miss Leroux's ear.”

Seth tipped his hat in salute. “In that case I'd better get busy.”

As he turned to go, Monty reminded him, “Don't forget to tell Miss Leroux how pretty she looks. And make sure you mention how much you admire her singin'. It wouldn't hurt to say that she's just about the sweetest gal in the world and that you worship the ground she walks on.”

“Don't you think that might be laying it on a little thick?”

“As my blessed granny always says: ‘Nothin' like a heap of bull manure to fertilize a lady's regard and get her fondness growin'.' If anyone knows about courtin', it's Granny. She's had five husbands. Says every last one of them charmed her out of her calico by talkin' sweet and tellin' lies as tall as Pike's Peak.”

Seth laughed. “I'll keep that in mind.” Still chuckling, he strode toward the door.

“Well, Othello,” Monty murmured, stroking the cat, which had jumped back up on the counter and was now sniffing at the whiskey-soaked towel in his hand. “Should be mighty interestin' to see how Miss Leroux takes to Mr. Tyler.”

Monty wasn't the only one interested in Seth's effect on Penelope's heart. Adele du Charme had just spent the last half hour studying the new saloon owner from afar, and what she discovered shook her to her very core.

Seth Tyler had
it. It
was that indefinable aura of sensuality that few men possessed and all men coveted.
It
was a mysterious seductive allure that empowered its possessor to attract any woman he desired and mesmerize her with his charm.

Adele gritted her teeth in annoyance. Why the hell hadn't she noticed his special quality earlier? If she had, she certainly wouldn't have made a bargain that would make Penelope the constant target of all that raw sensuality. With his virile strength and inviting warmth, he was the kind of man a woman would naturally turn to in time of need. And the last person in the world she wanted Penelope turning to was Seth Tyler.

The sound of a boot tapping three times against the wooden floor intruded sharply into her thoughts. That was her signal it was time to make her move. Stretching and emitting a bored sigh, she strolled aimlessly around the table, surreptitiously glimpsing the cards in the other players' hands.

After determining that none of the men held a hand that rivaled Harley's four of a kind, she yawned and slapped her fan against her wrist, signaling her lover to call.

When he shifted his body to the right in acknowledgment of her clandestine communication, she sauntered back to her position at his shoulder and returned to the problem of Seth Tyler.

According to her calculations, at the rate Penelope was bringing in gold, it wouldn't take more than another nine months on the gold circuit to make the remainder of the money she needed to execute her plan. With what she made from the company, combined with what she had managed to save from her stint as an abortionist in New York, she would have adequate funds to go back to Boston and set herself up as a wealthy widow.

Adele smiled with greedy anticipation. Her plan was flawless. With the aid of a little blackmail, Miles's wife's family, the high and might Ellisons, should prove amenable to introducing her to a likely widower. And when she'd neatly trapped the man into marriage, she, Dorcas Grace Butler, who had once slaved in the kitchens of Boston's crème-de-la-crème and had endured the repulsive, fumbling advances from the heads of those same households, would be the queen of Beacon Hill. As its ruler, she would see to it that every man who had ever fondled her and every woman who had ever turned her out as a result of that fondling would get their well-deserved comeuppance.

But now Seth Tyler had entered into the equation.

A chill cut through her like a draft from an open window. If anyone had the power to free Penelope and her brat from her imprisoning blackmail, it was the mighty Mr. Tyler.

Suddenly Harley let out a barking cough, dropping a card in the process. On cue, Adele ducked down and retrieved the fallen card, covertly substituting the two of spades with the ace of hearts. As she handed the ace to Harley, inspiration struck.

Like a bad card spoiling a winning hand, Seth Tyler, too, could be eliminated. As Adele resumed her vigil at Harley's back, she found herself smiling.
Eliminate Seth Tyler
. Yes, that's exactly what she'd do if he proved to be troublesome. She'd come too far and worked too hard to have her dreams snatched away by a man who was too damn attractive for his own good.

After bribing the madame of Goldie's Palace to keep Miles occupied, Seth returned to his room for a quick bath and a change of clothes. As he stripped off his whiskey-stained suit and stepped into the tub of steaming water, he struggled to determine the best way to handle his coming encounter with Penelope.

She wasn't going to be pleased when she heard the news of Miles's delay, and that was a fact. Especially when he reminded her of their most recent bargain and insisted that she honor it.

Drawing in a hissing breath, Seth eased his stiff body down into the tub, only to shoot back up again as his raw backside made stinging contact with the hot water. Gritting his teeth with pain, he twisted and turned until he got a clear view of his derriere. What he saw made him groan aloud.

From the curve of his buttocks down to his upper thighs, his flesh was chafed a livid, angry red. Adding to his discomfort, his morning ride out to examine Denver's irrigation system, a ditch running from the South Platte Canyon down to Smith Lake, had yielded not only an understanding of water distribution, but several ugly blisters on his inner thighs as well.

Suddenly the idea of a hot bath seemed less tempting than it had only moments earlier. He toyed with the idea of skipping it altogether; then he sighed and cast the water at his feet a resigned look. It wouldn't do to show up at Penelope's door smelling like a saloon floor, not when he wanted to make a favorable impression. He'd just have to buck up and endure the discomfort like the man he prided himself on being.

Besides, he added sardonically, if this was the worst pain he suffered in his rear this evening, he'd count himself lucky. After all, he was about to cross Penelope and no one was a bigger pain in the ass than Miss Parrish when she was provoked.

As Seth stood calf-deep in water, waiting for it to cool a few degrees, he moodily envisioned the scene in store for him.

He could just see Penelope's face when she opened the door. Her expression would perfectly reflect her shock at finding him there, an expression that would promptly be replaced by one of displeasure when he conveyed the news of Miles's delay. When he reminded her of their latest bargain and insisted that she honor it, she would hem and haw and do her damnedest to renege.

But as Penelope Parrish would soon learn, her damnedest wasn't good enough. Not when it came to a battle of wills with him. And especially not after all the trouble he'd gone to to assure himself this opportunity to wage his assault on her seemingly impenetrable wall of secrets.

Which brought him around to another problem: considering her less than charitable opinion of him, how was he going to get her to honor their latest deal without alienating her in the process? In order for him to solve the mystery of her presence at the Shakespeare, he would first have to lull her into lowering her defenses enough for her to let slip a clue or two as to what had led her to her current situation. And he knew damn well that if he angered her by highhandedly demanding that she hold to their bargain, she would probably shut him out completely.

Gritting his teeth, as much out of frustration as in anticipation of pain, he sat back down. The burning in his abused flesh resumed with a fiery vengeance. Stoically ignoring his impulse to yelp and jump out of the water, he sat still, waiting for the unpleasant sensation to subside. When it had faded to a tolerable tingle, he picked up his bar of sandalwood soap.

As he rubbed it between his palms, working up a fragrant lather, he returned to the problem of Penelope and their bargain. So how was he going to get her to honor their deal without appearing arrogant or using coercive tactics?

Unbidden, Granny Dowd's crude colloquialism intruded into his thoughts:
Nothin' like a heap of bull manure to fertilize a lady's regard and get her fondness growin
'.

His hand stilled in the act of scrubbing his chest. Granny's advice just might be the key to unlock Penelope's Pandora's box of secrets. Absently he lifted his arm and scrubbed the area beneath it. He knew from experience that flattery and pretty phrases did go a long way toward winning a woman's trust.

But would it work? He transferred the slippery bar of soap from his right hand to his left. Would honeyed words be enough to soften Penelope's heart and melt her resistance?

Making a disgusted noise deep in his throat, he raised his right arm and washed his armpit. Perhaps under any other circumstances it might work. But considering the unqualified success of his ploy to make her hate and distrust him, he figured that he now had approximately as much chance as a snowman had in hell of winning her over that easily.

So what was he going to do? Growling a string of foul oaths, he flung the soap into the water. His dangerous infatuation aside, by virtue of his friendship with Jake he truly did have a responsibility to see to her welfare. And right now she bore all the earmarks of being in trouble. Big trouble. How else could you explain the way she dodged his questions and looked on the verge of tears every time she was pressed for an answer?

And what about her terror of Adele du Charme? He hadn't missed the way she had trembled when the woman discovered them on the stairs, nor had he been blind to the panic in her eyes when he'd threatened to include her in his questioning.

And then there was the fact that she, Penelope Parrish, one of opera's greatest singers, was performing at the Shakespeare and under an assumed name, no less. Add it all up, and it equaled trouble, trouble from which he felt bound to rescue her. Yet to do so, he had to make her trust him enough to turn to him for help. Which brought him back to where he had started.

Scowling at his dilemma, Seth fished the soap from the water and began scouring his legs. After several moments of drawing a blank, he reconsidered Granny's advice.

Granted, it wouldn't be easy. But perhaps with a little ingenuity and a lot of patience, he just might be able to pull it off. After all, didn't he know Penelope better than anyone else? Didn't he know what touched her heart and made her smile? Most important of all, hadn't he been the one to introduce her to the pleasures of womanhood? That alone gave them a special bond.

His hands stilled on his foamy leg as he considered the consequences of his actions. What if it actually worked? What if, by some misguided miracle, he was able to recapture her affection and trust to the extent that she took him into her confidence? What then? After rescuing her from whatever predicament had brought her here, would he simply tip his hat and walk out of her life, breaking her heart—and his—all over again?

Mulling over his new and troubling dilemma, he leaned back against the tub's backrest and bent his knee to his chest to wash his foot. Well, there was only one way to keep from hurting her again, and that was to make sure their new relationship didn't transcend beyond the bounds of platonic friendship.

His conscience guffawed at that notion.
Do you honestly think that you've got the strength to resist Penelope's charms? Why not just leave well enough alone? After all, she did promise to accompany you to San Francisco in six weeks' time
.

True. But if the nature of her trouble had an element of danger attached to it, then it was entirely possible that she might come to harm before the six weeks were up.

With that very real and frightening possibility in mind, Seth picked up the pitcher beside the tub and rose to his feet. His teeth chattering from chill, he poured the now-cool water over his shoulders and chest, rinsing away the last traces of soap.

By the time he stood on the too small floor cloth, drying himself with an even smaller towel, he'd made the only decision he could comfortably make: in a manner that would hopefully spare both their hearts, he'd charm Penelope into revealing her secrets and rescue her from her trouble.

Webs of Deception

And first atonement

Must be made

For unforgiven wrong—

—
Tristan und Isolde

Chapter 12

Miles was late.

Penelope ceased her agitated pacing and plopped down on the faded sofa, sighing her exasperation as she dumped her bonnet onto her lap. She'd been waiting in the shabby boardinghouse parlor for almost a half hour, and her patience was at an end.

Muttering several unflattering adjectives as to the actor's parentage, she fretfully toyed with her bonnet. Blasted man! Where was he anyway? He knew she needed to arrive at the theater early on the evenings they performed
The Matchmaking Fairy
.