by Joanna Shupe
An obsession with Kit would place all those goals in jeopardy.
Keep pushing forward. Put yourself first.
The carriage pulled up to the hotel, across the street from Madison Square. There was the usual late-afternoon hustle and bustle out front as guests arrived and departed. The hotel was one of the best known in the city, popular with dignitaries from around the world and local politicians.
After she disembarked, she snuck into the kitchen, which was busy in anticipation of dinner service. No one paid her a bit of attention, and she soon was climbing the staff stairs to the fifth floor. Her maid would return any minute, so Alice needed to get into her room and make it appear as if she’d been there all day.
The corridor was quiet, so she lifted her skirts and hurried to her room. When she turned the corner, she skidded to a halt.
The Duke of Lockwood was outside her door.
At the sound, he turned and blinked at the sight of her. “Miss Lusk. I knocked on your door.” He gestured to the wood as if to illustrate his point. “They told me downstairs that you were here.”
“I was. I mean, I am.” She took several steps forward and tried to calm her racing heart. “I went to the kitchen to fetch tea.”
Frowning, he glanced at her empty hands and then looked behind her. “I would have assumed your maid would take care of tasks such as that.”
“I gave her the day off. She wanted to visit the Central Park Menagerie, and there was no need for both of us to sit in a boring hotel room all day.” Lord, what was he doing here? She twisted her fingers in her skirts, hoping to hide her nerves.
“Then my visit is well-timed, I hope. Would you care to take a drive in the park with me?”
“Now?”
“Yes—or any other day. I realize this is a bit forward of me, springing it on you like this but—”
“Yes,” she blurted. This was her chance. To forget Kit, to pursue a husband. To know her own worth. “I mean, I’d be honored, Your Grace.”
Lockwood smiled, his handsome face easing. “Excellent. Do you need to fetch anything before we set off?”
She must look a rumpled mess. “I’ll just need a moment to fetch a hat.”
Five minutes later, she emerged, more put together and ready to depart. “There, now I am ready.”
The duke pushed off the wall where he’d been waiting and strode toward her, all athletic grace and male confidence. Lockwood was stalwart and steadfast, with hundreds of years of breeding and expectation heaped on those perfectly square shoulders. He was a lion . . . whereas Kit was more like a panther. A very enticing panther that would lead you—
She forced those thoughts aside. This was about an outing with a duke, a man who actually wanted a wife, not a confirmed bachelor. She would not think of Kit any more today.
Lockwood called the elevator and folded his hands behind his back as they waited. “Did you enjoy the rest of the opera the other night?”
“I did. You?”
“A bit more than the first half, I admit. It was very kind of you to visit me. The whispers and stares had grown quite tedious.”
Because of the broken engagement. “Society will recover. Another scandal will undoubtedly soon take its place.”
The passenger elevator arrived and the iron door slid open to reveal an empty car, except for the operator. “Good evening,” the older man said as she and Lockwood boarded. “Oh, Miss Lusk. Nice to see you.”
“Hello, Charlie.”
“Where are you off to today?”
“Ground floor,” Lockwood said. With a nod, Charlie closed the door and turned the switch. The elevator began its descent.
“How is your wife?” she asked the operator. “Not still fighting a cold, I hope.”
“No, she’s all better, miss. Thank you for inquiring.”
They arrived at the lobby and Charlie opened the doors. Lockwood gestured for her to exit, and as she passed, Charlie whispered, “You be careful now, miss.”
She smiled. “I will. Thank you, Charlie.”
Lockwood presented his arm. As they crossed the white-and-red marble floor, many heads swiveled their way. She waved to the manager, Mr. McMahon, who was behind the counter. “They look out for you, don’t they?” the duke asked.
“I suppose so. I’ve stayed here many times. They’re used to me.”
“I have been staying here since February and I haven’t learned their names.”
He had? Why hadn’t she seen him here? “What floor?”
“My suites are on the first floor. The Twenty-Third Street side.”
The porter held open the door, and she and Lockwood descended the steps to the walk. “The carriage is there.” He pointed to a sleek black open-air carriage at the curb. Nerves bubbled in her belly as he guided her over. There was no hiding while traveling in this conveyance. This outing was almost as if . . .
As if Lockwood wished to court her.
She drew in a deep breath. Could this really be happening? The duke was a constant topic of discussion in drawing rooms all across the city, which meant news of this drive would travel quickly. Even if he wasn’t intending to court her, Alice’s social stock would climb several points just from being seen with him.
Which sounded callous, yet that was the way of these things. Society judged a woman by the company she kept, hence the bevy of callers at Mrs. Astor’s house each afternoon. They were all clamoring for the right attention from the right people as a way to guarantee acceptance. Alice had never breached this upper echelon of High Society. Her mother wasn’t well liked and Alice hadn’t fallen in with the right crowd of debutantes. Instead, she’d remained on the outskirts, biding her time and waiting for someone to notice her.
Perhaps someone finally had.
She cast a surreptitious glance at Lockwood as he handed her up into the carriage. Classically handsome, people said about him. One of the houseguests in Newport suggested he had a face that belonged on coins. Alice didn’t care about looks as much as finding a man who was kind. Thoughtful and caring. Someone who made her laugh. A cruel husband would be worse than none at all. So, what kind of man was the Duke of Lockwood?
They settled on the seat, with Lockwood pressed tight to her right side. The June air was warm but not stifling and there was a soft breeze. The wheels began turning, taking them uptown toward the park.
“How is your mother?” he asked. “I trust she is well.”
“She’s in Boston. My father asked her to come home for a few days.”
“And she left you alone?” His voice sharpened with disapproval. “That hardly seems appropriate. Or safe.”
“As you saw, everyone in the hotel watches out for me. I’m in no danger.”
“That is ridiculous. An elevator operator or domestic won’t protect you in the corridors or, God forbid, if someone breaks into your room.”
He genuinely seemed concerned about her safety, which touched her. “I keep my door locked at all times and never open it to a stranger. And my maid is there, of course.”
“She wasn’t around today, and I found you wandering the halls.”
Was he worried she was engaged in scandalous behavior? Of course, she had been an hour ago . . . but that was a rarity. Alice wasn’t like Maddie—or worse, Nellie Young. She wasn’t a rule-breaker. Propriety was of the utmost importance to a duke, so she must impress on him her understanding of the conventions. “Your Grace, I am not one to spit in the eye of etiquette. I would never risk my safety—or my reputation.”
“I should hope not,” he said, his gaze fixed on the street. “Will your mother be angry you went on a drive with me without her supervision?”
Alice couldn’t help it. She laughed. “No. I daresay she’ll jump for joy when she learns of it.”
“Fair enough. I am surprised she left, though. By all accounts, she is quite protective of you.”
“My father needed her and she never refuses him. He rarely asks her for anything.”
“M
y mother was much the same way.” His expression turned wistful. “When my father was alive, they were practically inseparable.”
“Is she still with us?”
“Indeed, she is. Living in London and haranguing me about grandchildren.”
She smiled, imagining this poor man enduring a mother anxious for grandbabies. “I suppose every mother of an unmarried duke feels the same.”
“Perhaps, but mine is especially concerned, seeing as how I am an only child.”
“Ah. The heir and all that.”
His mouth tightened ever so slightly. “Exactly.”
“Does it bother you? The pressure, I mean. The weight of the title and carrying on the legacy?”
He blew out a long breath. “I’d be lying if I said no. I certainly wouldn’t be in America otherwise. There are a hundred tasks awaiting me back in England, not the least of which is a leaky roof on the estate in Yorkshire.”
Which was why he needed to quickly marry an heiress.
And unless Alice managed to screw things up on this outing, there was a chance that heiress might be her.
Chapter Eighteen
The shabby boardinghouse was hardly a high-end residence. Men loitered on the stoop as night approached, their clothes tattered, bottles in hand, while they argued with one another and cussed at the pedestrians on the walk. Kit frowned. Forrest Ripley had more money than most men in the city. Why on earth was he staying here?
Kit hadn’t seen his friend since their dinner in April, little more than two months ago. Forrest arrived drunk and finished three whiskeys before the first course was even served. The night had gone downhill from there. At the end of the meal, a waiter helped Kit carry Forrest to the carriage, and Kit drove his friend home. Not long after, Preston took Forrest to the Adirondacks to dry him out, but Forrest escaped and ran off to Chicago.
They all had demons—Kit, Harrison, Preston and Forrest. None of them had families to brag about, and some scars never healed. It was what drew the four of them together in college, made them such close friends. However, Forrest had taken a turn in the last six months, going from a man who liked to drink to a man who insisted on staying drunk. Kit was worried.
He bounded up the steps, ignoring the jeers and comments from the ne’er-do-wells as he crossed into the dim vestibule. The attendant behind the counter looked asleep, his head resting on the wood. Something crawled on the floor near Kit’s foot. Yelping, he jumped out of the way, which startled the man awake. The attendant dragged bleary eyes over Kit’s frame. “We’re all booked up.”
“I don’t need a room. I am trying to find Mr. Forrest Ripley.” He slid a few bills across the desk.
“Don’t get a lotta names around here. He the fancy gent?”
Kit wasn’t certain, but odds were against another man on the premises possessing anything close to Forrest’s wealth. “Yes.”
“Number 208.”
With a nod, Kit went up the thin stairs, taking care to avoid the steps with fresh stains. Loud moans wafted out from behind door 202, and a bed frame slapped the wall rhythmically inside 206. A heated argument was taking place on the floor above. Kit put his ear to the door of 208 but couldn’t hear any noise from within. He knocked loudly.
Nothing.
Pounding with his fist, he called, “Forrest, open up. It’s Kit.” When another minute went by, Kit tried again. “Open this damn door, Ripley, or I’m going to break it down.”
Metal springs squeaked and a few seconds later the lock disengaged. The door cracked open and Forrest’s gaunt face appeared. “What do you want, Kit?”
His friend looked . . . terrible. Utterly wrecked. Like he’d aged ten years in two months. His skin was wrinkled and dry, with a yellow tint to it—unless that was the gaslight playing tricks on Kit’s eyes. The smell of body odor and whiskey hit Kit’s nose like a punch and sent him reeling back a step.
He breathed through his mouth and pointed to the small room. “May I come in?”
With a shrug, Forrest retreated and left the door open. Kit entered, immediately went to the window and threw up the sash to let in air. The small room was dirty, with empty bottles everywhere, even on the floor. A few slices of moldy bread rested on the wooden table.
Forrest dropped onto the bed and stretched out. “I was napping. So just say whatever you need to say and get out.”
Where was this hostility coming from? There hadn’t been any animosity during their last dinner. Kit dragged the rickety wooden chair in the corner closer to the bed. “I see you are back in town.”
His friend’s eyes were closed. “Yep.”
“Were you going to let us know?”
A horrible rattling sound echoed in Forrest’s chest, and he coughed for a long minute. “There’s no need, not when Preston is having me followed.”
Ah, so Forrest knew about the Pinkertons. “What else were we supposed to do? You snuck out of Preston’s lodge in the middle of the night last month. We had no idea where you were.”
“All I recall is waking up there and he’d taken the liquor out of the house.”
“Why did you go to Chicago?”
He yawned. “Can’t remember.”
Jesus. “Well, then why did you come back to New York?”
“What difference does it make? I’m here now, so you can stop badgering me and leave me alone.”
“I can’t do that. Not until you tell me what is going on. Why are you staying in this shithole?”
Forrest struggled to a sitting position, his eyes suddenly more alert. “What’s with all the questions? Fuck, let’s open a bottle, Kit. You were always good for a party.”
“I’d rather talk to you and find out what is wrong. This isn’t like you.”
“Of course it is. You and me, we both like to drink. We screwed women and drank bourbon almost every night during college, remember? Those were good times.”
Yes, but they weren’t in college any longer. And Forrest’s drinking had accelerated far beyond the point of a casual night out with friends. “Forrest, help me understand. Because I’m struggling not to load you into a carriage and take you home.”
“Home,” he sneered. “That isn’t my home anymore. They don’t want me there, they never have. I’ll never go back to that house.”
Forrest hadn’t shared much in recent years about his family, but he and his father never got along. As the only boy, Forrest had shouldered quite a bit of responsibility from an early age. When one of his sisters died in her early teens, everything at home had worsened. Mr. Ripley had pressured Forrest to go into law and take over the family business, but Forrest hated the idea. He’d gone for a philosophy degree instead and his father never forgave him.
“A hospital, then.”
“Jesus Christ, not you, too? You sound like Preston. I don’t need a goddamn hospital.”
“Then let me take you to the Fifth Avenue Hotel. The staff is first rate.”
“I’m perfectly fine here. I like it. There’s always someone to keep me company.”
In other words, there was always someone with whom to drink. Kit shook his head. “It’s not safe. And you need a bath.”
Forrest fell back on the bed and threw an arm over his eyes. “When did you become such a nag? Where has fun Kit gone, the one who likes a party and entertaining a willing woman?”
He still liked those things. Just not all the time. “I’m still fun, but some of us have responsibilities. We cannot drink ourselves stupid in seedy boardinghouses.”
Instead of being offended, Forrest laughed. “You, responsibilities? Like what?”
“I’m opening a supper club with Preston, for one.”
“What is that, like a restaurant?”
“Sort of.”
A dismissive grunt emerged from Forrest’s throat. “You don’t have a head for business. You would have failed economics in school if you hadn’t fucked the professor’s wife.”
Kit hadn’t fucked Mrs. Boswell. He might have flirted with her
, but he generally didn’t sleep with married women. However, that wasn’t the part of Forrest’s reaction that bothered Kit the most. “I might not have a head for business, but Preston does. I’m handling everything else.”
“And how long’s that going to last before you get bored and move on? You’ve never stayed with anything for longer than a month or two.”
The barb struck home, especially when Kit recalled how he’d panicked on Preston earlier today, insisting they sell the supper club or give it away. The shame of that, combined with frustration toward the man lying on the bed, transformed into white-hot anger. “Fuck you, Forrest. Thanks for having confidence in me.”
“Like you’ve always had in me? You’re the one here telling me I cannot look after myself. So fuck you, Kit.”
“If you could see yourself at the moment, you’d be worried, too. When was the last time you ate something?”
“Today? Yesterday? And don’t act like you care. I’ve hardly seen you this year. You and Preston both think you’re too good for me.”
Where was this coming from? They had seen each other at least once a month until Forrest disappeared. “Forrest, that isn’t true. I apologize if I haven’t been a good friend to you lately, but I’ll do better. Why don’t we get you cleaned up and I’ll take you out to dinner?”
“Sounds like a fine idea. I’m too tired today. How about tomorrow?”
“All right. I’ll come by around seven o’clock. We’ll go to Sherry’s. You always liked their steak.”
Forrest smiled as he rolled onto his side, his eyes still closed. “Thanks, Kit. You’re a gem.”
Kit sighed and took another glance around. He’d have some food delivered in the meantime, and perhaps some clothing. This situation was beyond grim. In fact, Kit was reluctant to leave.
He looked down at his friend, who appeared to be sleeping. Kit stroked his jaw and decided he and Preston would have a very serious conversation with Forrest tomorrow. Something had to be done.
The club’s kitchen was already bursting with activity by the time Alice arrived. As promised, Kit had found assistants for the preparatory work they’d discussed last night before she left. Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be found, so she wrapped an apron around herself and went to check on everyone’s work.
