The Lady and the Robber Baron

by Joyce Brandon

  “Perhaps she is your enemy.”

  “I told you, I don’t have enemies.”

  “What if it was Latitia who sent you those old photographs? And what if it was Latitia who set up the whole thing?” Jennie demanded. But when Chane’s face turned ashen, she knew she’d gone too far. Her voice quivering, she said, “Chane, I need to talk to you about something.”

  “About what?” he asked, his color slowly returning.

  “I…had a miscarriage. I lost…the baby.” Her voice broke, and unshed tears sheened her eyes. Defiant and embarrassed, she looked away as if trying to keep him from seeing her reaction, but he had already seen it.

  “I’m sorry, Jennie,” he said gently, meaning it.

  Mrs. Lillian rang a tiny crystal dinner bell. “Dinner is served,” she announced to the assemblage.

  “Do you want me to leave?” Jennifer asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  “I assume you’re going to do what you came here for, whatever that may be,” he said bitterly.

  Jennifer took heart. He had wanted to say yes, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Another man might have denounced her in front of a roomful of friends, but he hadn’t done that, either. She felt weak from all the things that could have gone wrong, and still might.

  Andrew Thaxter walked over and held out his arm to her hopefully. “Your guests await you, Mrs. Kincaid.”

  He walked her to the queen’s end of the table, deposited her with a flourish, and took the seat on her right, place cards be damned. Christopher took the seat on her left. Chane guided Mrs. Thaxter to his end of the table. Edmée and Nathan Brantley, Chane’s friends whom Jennifer had met at the German Winter Garden, were seated near her.

  Conversation and wine flowed freely. At the center of the table Randolph Harrington turned to Latitia. “What a nice surprise this must have been for you. Your friend arriving out of the blue like this.”

  Latitia was unable to reply. Harrington finally turned to the lady on his left. The serving maids seemed to hover around Latitia, refilling her glass at every sip, offering her service in a dozen irritating ways while gay conversations were going on all around her. Meanwhile, Jennifer was reigning like a queen, and Chane didn’t look at Latitia once. She felt worse than she’d ever felt in her life. Jennifer was wearing her gown, but Chane fairly vibrated with awareness of Jennifer. Everyone had forgotten that Latitia Laurey existed. Except Christopher Chambard, who knew too much about her. She did not expect him to share any of his information, but the careful way he kept track of her rattled Latitia, made her feel sick and trapped.

  Tears crowded her eyes and had to be blinked back a dozen times. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, Latitia stood to leave before she humiliated herself completely by crying in public.

  Halfway to the door a hand on her arm stopped her. Latitia tried to shake it off, but it was Jennifer. Her eyes narrowed with rage, she rasped, “What are you doing in our home?”

  “You betrayed your husband. It’s not your home anymore,” Latitia said coolly, as if she were astonished that Jennifer had had the nerve to come back. “And, you stole my gown.”

  “How dare you to slither in here and try to take my husband while our wedding vows are still echoing through the halls.”

  Latitia felt such a surge of hatred that it was all she could do to keep from springing on Jennifer. But Chane had done nothing to throw out this bitch who had made a fool of him and of herself. And until he did, she would be shamelessly out of line in the eyes of society. If she wanted to hold her head up in this town again, the first move had to come from him.

  Frustration was so strong in Latitia that she almost could not bear it. Abruptly, to keep herself from doing the wrong thing, she turned away from Jennifer.

  A maid balancing an enormous silver platter of honey-roasted Muscovy ducks in a sea of Madeira and currant sauce tried to sidestep Latitia. But she was not quick enough. The platter tipped, and the ducks and sauce slid forward, hovered in midair for one horrible moment, like an oncoming tidal wave, then poured into Latitia’s décolletage and crawled slowly and messily down the length of her stylish red satin gown.

  Latitia screamed with rage and slapped at the ducks in sticky sauce as if they were still alive and attacking her. When the silver tray hit the carpet, just missing her toes, she let out one final, piercing scream and flung herself out of the room.

  Jennifer turned away in amazement. Mouths hung open the length of the table.

  “Whatever happened?” Mrs. Harris asked.

  “I saw it, but I have no idea!” Mrs. Teasdale gasped.

  “Good grief!”

  Jennifer’s gaze flew to Chane’s face. For one heartstopping moment he reminded her of a marauding barbarian. Andrew Thaxter, who seemed determined to protect her, stood up and walked around the table. He took her elbow and guided her back to her chair. “The Wellfleet oysters are excellent, my dear. May I call you Jennifer?”

  “Please do.”

  Table conversations resumed. Silver tinkled against china. The look in Thaxter’s twinkling eyes told her he understood more than had been explained to him, and he took great pains to keep Jennifer involved in answering his questions.

  Maids rushed in and cleaned the duck from the plush mahogany-colored carpet.

  At last dinner ended. Jennifer realized anew the difficulty of what she was attempting. At any moment Chane could denounce her and send her out of the room in humiliation. Her nerves felt raw.

  Andrew Thaxter turned her over to his wife, who seemed as kind as he. Thaxter pulled Chane aside. The women strolled into the parlor.

  “Beautiful young woman. As fine a young woman as I’ve ever seen,” Thaxter said, watching Chane closely.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I would hate to see her unhappy.”

  Chane felt sure his shirt collar was about to suffocate him. He pulled at his cravat. “Glad you could come tonight, sir.”

  “I’ve been a friend of your father’s for many years. Fortunately, I know that a Kincaid’s word is his bond. Kincaid men take their wedding vows seriously. I’m sure you will do everything within your power to keep her happy.”

  “All women are not wives, sir.”

  Thaxter ignored that cryptic remark. “I noticed you leaving that bank yesterday as I was coming back from an appointment. Did everything go the way you wanted it to?”

  Chane sighed. New York was worse than a small town. The bank Thaxter referred to as “that bank” was the First National. “No, but I can’t fault Smithson. I think I shocked him.”

  “How much did you ask for?”

  “Four million.”

  “Well, maybe the First National isn’t good for it.” His eyes twinkled with mischief. “Maybe I should start a rumor to that effect.”

  Chane laughed. New York was a town where a man could start a rumor in the morning, hear it and not recognize it at lunch, and act on it in the afternoon as if he had just received vital information.

  Thaxter grew more serious. “Can you pay it back?”

  “I believe so. As you may have heard, I’m going to oversee the building of my grandfather’s railroad. We need operating capital before we can hope to sell bonds.”

  “To extend the Texas and Pacific to California?”

  “From La Junta into New Mexico along the Santa Fe Trail first, then on to California.”

  “Ahhh. Yes, I had heard you were going to take that over for Number One. How is his health?”

  “His doctor says he’s hanging by a thread. But he doesn’t seem to be deteriorating.”

  “He’s a tough old bird. And how are your folks?”

  Apparently, his mother had told no one about her health problem. Chane would not be the one to reveal it. “Supposedly on vacation, but I suspect my father is starting a new business enterprise in the Mediterranean. I doubt he knows how to take a vacation.”

  “You’re not going to spend all the four million at one time, are yo
u?” Thaxter asked, eyeing him shrewdly.

  “No, sir.”

  “We can cover your needs as they arise?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Come by tomorrow so we can take care of the paperwork.”

  Chane’s eyebrows rose. He’d sweated blood with Smithson and gotten nowhere. “Just like that?”

  Thaxter shrugged. “You have excellent taste in wives. Jennifer is delightful. If you don’t repay the loan, she’s mine.”

  Chane took the amused glint in Thaxter’s eyes to mean he was teasing about taking Jennifer. “You’re serious about the loan?”

  “About both.” He sighed heavily. “Unfortunately, you probably won’t have an opportunity to find out. I fully expect you to repay the loan and keep your wife happy.”

  Thaxter held out his hand. Chane took it. Andrew Thaxter was one of the most honorable men he knew, and a keen judge of character. Somehow Jennifer had fooled him.

  An hour later he caught Jennifer by the arm and guided her into an alcove. “What do you want here?”

  “I want my husband back.”

  “Why?”

  “You promised to love, honor, and protect me.”

  “And you promised to be faithful.”

  “I made a mistake.”

  “As I did.” He glared into her challenging eyes for a moment and saw she wasn’t going to back down. “All right. You’ve won a questionable place for yourself—if you want it. I wouldn’t.”

  His eyes burned into her. Her heart pounded hard. She searched his face. He was telling her that she could stay, but it would never be the same again.

  “I still want to stay,” she whispered.

  “What about what I want?” His tone was harsh.

  “I’m hoping you will relent.”

  “I can’t love a woman who could do to me what you did.”

  “It was an accident…”

  “I’ve never accidentally made love to anyone myself. You want to explain to me how that happens?” he demanded bitterly. The deep hollows in his cheeks above the jawline made her heart ache with the need to touch him.

  “Give me a chance,” she pleaded.

  “I thought you were staying, no matter what I want.”

  “Is there any way you could let me stay?”

  “You mean give you my blessing?”

  “Yes…Please?” she whispered.

  Chane felt dizzy with pain. His heart felt as though it would stop under the weight of what she was asking. “I promise you nothing.”

  “I accept your promise.”

  At midnight Mrs. Lillian closed the door on the last departing couple and walked to the telephone to call for a cleanup crew.

  Jennifer looked at Chane. “Good night.”

  “Why are you doing this?” he asked.

  “I’m your wife.”

  “Right,” he said dryly, his voice husky and grim. “What happened to your need to be a full-time ballerina?”

  Jennie’s face crumpled with misery. “I can’t dance anymore. I still want to dance, but my body won’t cooperate.”

  “So you have to make peace with me in order to dance?”

  “It seems so.”

  She leaned against the wall to steady herself. Suddenly, she looked pale and shaky. Chane realized she couldn’t have lost the baby all that long ago. He scowled and shook his head. “You’re exhausted. Get some rest.”

  “I don’t know where…”

  Seeing the look of confusion on Jennie’s face, Chane turned to Mrs. Lillian. “Put her in the extra bedroom.”

  Jennifer was surprised that he was going to allow her to stay in the same apartment as he. She had expected him to suggest the adjoining suite. She’d been all set to resist it, but it hadn’t been necessary. Perhaps he was just trying to keep up appearances, since it seemed to be necessary for his investors. But whatever the reason, she was glad.

  “Excuse me, sir.”

  Peter looked up from the book he was reading. Malcomb stood in his doorway. “A…Miss Bettina here to see you.”

  Peter scowled and laid the book on the bed beside him. “Tell her I’ll be down in a moment.”

  Before Malcomb could turn to deliver his message, Bettina slipped around him and stepped into Peter’s room.

  “Thank you, Malcomb,” she said firmly. She returned Malcomb’s scowl and closed the door in his surprised face.

  Peter put his book down, coiled forward and stood up.

  “He’s a bit stiff, don’t you think?” she demanded.

  “He’s good at his job.”

  Bettina threw off her coat and let it drop on his carpet. Her slim young body was encased in a white blouse and black skirt. Her blond hair, slightly darker than Jenn’s, was pulled back from her pretty face and tied in a bun. She reached back, undid the bun, shook her hair out, walked right up to him, and put her arms around his neck. “I’ve always wanted to see what a young swell’s bedroom looks like.”

  “Would you like some tea? I think Malcomb could be persuaded to serve…”

  Bettina giggled. “I want a kiss for starters, then I have something to tell you.”

  Peter laughed. “You’re too shy for me.”

  Bettina patted his cheek and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. Her tongue slipped into his mouth and sucked his tongue between her teeth. She bit him just hard enough to cause a heated stirring in his loins, then leaned back, laughing. “Not bad,” she said, “for a man caught by surprise.” She squirmed her hips against him and led him over to the bed. “Now let’s see what you can do with a little warning.”

  “Why are you doing this?” he asked.

  “You’ve seen me making eyes at you at least a dozen times over the last two years.”

  “Lots of girls make eyes. Not many of them come into my bedroom and try to lay me down on my own bed.”

  Bettina giggled and squirmed against him again. “Well, I might’ve never done anything about this hankering I have after you, but I got some information you need. Thought I’d just do us both a favor and bring it on over.”

  “And just what do you know that’s so important?”

  “Well, I’m glad I finally got your attention.”

  She kissed him again. Then she tugged until he lay down on top of her. “I like to feel a man on top of me.”

  “I’m not going to make love to you here.”

  “You feel real good on top of me. That old man’ll be asleep in a matter of minutes.”

  Peter rolled off her. She giggled and rolled over on top of Peter. He felt foolish with a young woman sitting on his hips, grinding herself into him. The fever she awakened in him was eating away at his good sense. Another few minutes and he wouldn’t remember his own name if he didn’t do something.

  Bettina kissed him. “Too bad you’re so uncooperative. I’ll just have to keep my news to myself.”

  “Tell me!”

  “Oh, no.”

  She reached up and unbuttoned her blouse. She wore no shift or chemise underneath. Her white breasts jiggled with her squirming. She had the pinkest nipples he’d ever seen—the color of strawberries. His mouth filled with saliva. Beads of sweat broke on his forehead. He swallowed with difficulty.

  “Give me a hint,” he said, his voice thick with desire.

  “It’s about your sister and Kincaid.”

  Something else in Peter hardened. He took her by the wrists and forced her over onto her back. “Tell me.”

  Bettina searched his face. Everything about him had changed. Before, he had looked boyish and uncertain. Now he looked like a man—determined and ruthless. She felt herself getting wet between the legs.

  “You’re hurting my hand,” she whimpered. Peter loosened his hold on it, and she slipped it down between their bodies and caressed him through his trousers. She strained upward to kiss him, caught his bottom lip between her teeth, and bit hard into it.

  “Owww,” he growled, pinning her down and taking her.

  Afterward, Peter lay
there cursing himself. If Kincaid’s men were waiting outside for him again the way they had after Simone’s visit, he deserved whatever they did to him.

  Somehow they had both gotten naked. Bettina lifted her bottom up in the air and waggled it at him. He slapped it hard enough to leave a red handprint.

  “Go get us some food,” he said.

  “What do you want?” she asked, smiling lazily, as if the evening wasn’t over yet.

  “Bring everything.” All of his appetites seemed to be working suddenly.

  Bettina scampered cheerfully off the bed, grabbed his robe out of the armoire as if she’d been there a dozen times before, and did as she was told. She came back with a tray piled with cheese, wine, chicken, apples, and pie. He hoped Malcomb was asleep. The sight of her, with the robe gaping to reveal one plump, jiggling, strawberry-tipped breast, would have finished Peter’s reputation and sent Malcolm to bed with a problem of his own.

  They ate in the middle of the bed. Her mouth full of apple, Bettina finally decided to talk.

  “Did you know your sister came back from her honeymoon the other day?”

  “What do you mean, honeymoon? She went to Washington.”

  “What kind of brother are you anyway?” She giggled, took another bite of the apple, and continued. “What a surprise that was! Her marriage to Kincaid.”

  Peter felt as if all the blood in his head had drained away.

  “Peter, you’re not listening to me.”

  He arranged his face into a listening mask and tried to ignore the hard ache in his chest. He couldn’t believe Jenn had married Kincaid without even telling him. He felt as if his vitals had been ripped out.

  “Your sister came back like one of the furies. I’m glad I’m not Latitia Laurey.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Your sister may look like such a lady that butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but she can sure fight for what she wants. Can you imagine? They’re barely married two weeks, and he moves another woman into what was supposed to be their love nest.”

  Bettina wiggled in anticipation, watching him with her enormous, baby-doll eyes as if he would be able to explain his sister’s actions. Pretending his sister was no concern of his, he shrugged and plumped the pillow at his back. To distract Bettina, he reached over and caressed the firm underswell of her breast and saw the nipple blossom and harden.