Icy gusts of wind whipped around her ankles. Chane gave her his arm and led her down the many steps, angling toward where his carriage inched forward in the long line of carriages filing past to pick up their occupants.
Nathan and Edmée were waiting at the curb. Edmée reached out and squeezed Jennifer’s hand. Jennifer knew she wanted to ask how it had gone, but there was no opportunity to tell her, and she could probably guess from their expressions.
At last the carriage reached them. It was cold inside, but at least they didn’t have to contend with the icy wind. Jennifer pulled the lap robe up around her and sank back in the plush seat.
Edmée seemed dreamy and distracted. Nathan put his arm around her and snuggled her close to him. She pulled his head close and whispered, “You have to talk to Chane.”
“About what?”
“Shhh! About Jennifer.”
“Why?”
“Later,” she said, beginning to hum a strain from the opera.
The carriage finally pulled out of the slow-moving cavalcade and headed back toward the Bricewood. Snow swirled against the windowpanes.
The carriage hit a pothole in the pavement and sent Jennifer slamming into Chane. He caught her arm to steady her. His shadowy face, so close above hers, made her dizzy. She reached up and touched his lips, stroked the deep smile lines beside his mouth, and slipped around to caress the short, crisp hairs on his sturdy neck.
“Hold me,” she whispered.
“This isn’t going to get you anywhere,” he warned her softly, but she kissed the side of his mouth, and he dragged in a ragged breath and put his arm around her. She snuggled close to him. They rode in silence until the carriage rolled to a stop under the shelter of the Bricewood’s carriage entry.
She was in a transport of bliss that he had actually continued to hold her. He helped her out of the carriage, up the step to the tiled entry, and between the pine trees that sheltered the private elevator.
At the penthouse Edmée smiled dreamily at Jennifer and Chane and led Nathan toward the bedroom they shared.
Jennifer longed to take Chane’s hand and lead him to the bedroom they had shared so briefly, but after Nate and Edmée disappeared into their room, Chane led her back out into the hall and to her own suite.
“Would you like to come in…for a moment?”
Chane’s jaws clamped in consternation. “What I want is for this night never to have happened.”
“We need to talk,” she said, searching his face.
“It would be better if we didn’t,” he said grimly, “but maybe we need to say certain things one time, just to get them out in the open.”
That had an ominous sound to it. He stepped inside and closed the door after him. A fire burned in her room, making it comfortable enough to take off her coat.
Chane kept his on. A signal he wouldn’t be staying.
“I’m through, Jennie. What happened can’t be fixed. But maybe I owe you something even if I can’t forget or forgive what happened with Van Buren.”
“You owe me nothing, but we have something special together. Tonight was no accident.”
“Tonight was…proof of my stupidity.” He expelled a frustrated breath. “Jennie,” he began again, “I would like to excuse what you did with Van Buren, but I can’t.”
She gazed into the fire. Her profile was as beautiful as ever, but he could not stop now. “I won’t say this to you again, but for your own good, remember it, because I mean it. Even if I believed that you didn’t set out to betray me, which I don’t, I wouldn’t commit myself to a woman who could let that happen to her, even by accident.”
Jennifer blinked back tears.
Chane cleared his throat. “For any number of reasons. It goes too deep in me, it’s too basic to my nature. A betrayal of that magnitude can’t be excused or ignored. Maybe by some men, but not by me.” His voice had become harsh. “But I still care what happens to you.”
No longer able to contain her tears, Jennifer put her head in her hands to hide her face from Chane.
Seeing her this way, chastened, humble, and yet still the beautiful, talented, and charming creature she was and would always be, even if she lived to be a hundred, he finally faced the full extent of his problem. From the moment he’d seen her, he had craved her presence, her happiness, and finally her love. Even when he’d tried to ignore her existence, he had found himself hanging on Steve’s every word about her, rereading Tom Wilcox’s dull reports just to see her name, daydreaming about her until he had almost lost his mind.
“Part of me,” he said slowly, “the part I can’t seem to control, even by an effort of will, still wants you. I can’t reconcile that with how I feel about betrayal, but I also can’t seem to change it. I’ve tried, but tonight…well, you can see for yourself how well I handled myself.”
“What does that mean, exactly?”
“I guess it means that I need to come to some agreement that will allow us to normalize our relationship. We can’t go on like this.”
She bowed her head, seemed to struggle with herself for a moment, and then sighed. “I wish I hadn’t betrayed you, but I did. I’m sorry. I’m so horribly sorry that I feel sick from my toes to my eyebrows, but that won’t change what happened. So tell me how it has to be. Toss me out of your house. I’ll stay out this time,” she said quietly.
“Don’t you understand anything I’ve said to you?” he asked fiercely. “If I could toss you out, you’d be out.”
Jennifer turned away in confusion.
“Jennie…Jennie,” he whispered, his voice ragged.
“What?”
“I don’t trust you!”
“I didn’t do anything so horrible. I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t—”
“Stop it!”
“I love you,” she cried. “I want to be your wife.”
Chane shook his head. “Trust is more important than love. It’s the basis of love, Jennie. Without trust there can be no love.”
“You don’t trust me, so it’s over,” she said softly.
The words tore his heart. “We have something,” he said. “Maybe we don’t have trust, and maybe I’m too damaged to ever love you again, but I still care.”
“It’s over,” she said, shaking her head. Despair filled her eyes.
Chane knew the exact second she accepted the end of their marriage, and when she gave up, something in him changed sides. “Maybe,” he said, “we could try again, but there would have to be conditions.”
“Like what?”
“Like I won’t sleep with you.”
“Don’t you want to?” she asked incredulously.
“I’m not an animal. I can’t carry on a relationship with a woman I don’t trust.”
“You didn’t know me well enough to trust me the night of the fire, and you almost made love to me then.”
“It may have been premature, but I did trust you.”
“Do your parents act like this?”
“My mother and father have been true to one another since the day they fell in love,” he said firmly.
“How do you know that?”
“Don’t use my parents to justify your sordid actions.” He turned away as if he were going to leave.
Jennifer reached out and touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry. My own parents had a number of casual affairs. I never realized how unusual their behavior was.”
Chane turned, frowning. “You knew they had affairs?”
“My mother told me. My father…once he even invited his paramour on holiday with us. She went with us to France for the season. She even became a friend of mine…”
Chane grunted in disgust.
Jennifer shrugged. “At times I have wished for a more perfect family, but not since my parents died. Either death has made them seem more perfect than they were, or it has made me more accepting.”
Chane felt dazed with the glimpse he’d had of her life prior to meeting him. He had only himself to blame for falling in lo
ve with a woman as incomprehensible as Jennie. Latitia had warned him about her family. He should have listened.
“I made a mistake,” she pleaded. “I didn’t realize what was happening. But I give you my solemn promise I will never, ever allow myself to be tricked again…So, where do we go from here?” she asked.
“I’m going to Colorado. And you’re going back to work. Maybe in a few months, when we meet again…who knows…”
“Does this include anything on your part?” she asked.
“Like what?”
“Like…fidelity.”
“Infidelity has never been one of my problems, Jennie.”
“What do you call your relationship with Latitia?”
“She is an old friend.”
“What if I want to go with you?”
“I don’t recommend it. It’s going to be a long, miserable trek down the rails.”
“Fortunately for you,” she said grudgingly, “I’m still a ballerina.”
Chane tried, but he couldn’t hide his relief. He nodded his thanks and left.
Jennifer watched the door close behind him and felt the tiredness and despair wash through her. Until tonight she’d still had hope. Now she fully understood the depth of his stubbornness. He would not relent. He would put up with her, but she would never see the love she needed in his eyes again.
It was over. But he had agreed to let her share his life, as an unwanted piece of baggage. If she wanted that role. Somehow that concession hurt more than his wanting her completely out of his life.
Grief and loss overwhelmed her. She walked to the sofa, put her head down, and cried.
Chapter Twenty
Rehearsal was not going well. She shouldn’t have tried it today. At last Bellini called for a break. Jennifer grabbed a towel and walked toward her dressing room.
Nicole, her new understudy, fell into step beside her. “Would you rub my back right there?” she asked. “I have a charley horse in that muscle.”
Nicole was slim, with a tiny waist that tapered into full hips and sturdy legs. Her mouth was wide beneath a short nose and dark brown eyes. No one would ever mistake Nicole for her, Jennifer thought, but it was nice to have an official understudy, as she still had no desire to dance.
Jennifer massaged the knotted muscle in Nicole’s back until it relaxed. “There.”
“Thanks. I’ll do you now.”
“I’m okay.”
Nicole shrugged and followed Jennifer into her dressing room. Jennifer sat down at her dressing table and started taking pins out of her hair so she could repin it. Clumps of wet hair hung around her face. Her white stockings hung down the side of the dressing table, their tops held in place by a paperweight.
Nicole walked over to the closet. “Can I borrow your pink stockings?”
“They might be dirty, but help yourself.”
Nicole shoved the closet door aside. Jennifer peered into the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her face shining with perspiration. She started to reach for a towel, but caught sight of a mirrored reflection of a pair of eyebrows above her costumes. Just then Nicole let out a full-bodied scream that would have impressed an opera diva. Jennifer whirled around, picking up the paperweight as she did. A large handkerchief covered the intruder’s face to just below his eyes. Nicole hopped backward, screaming as loudly as she could. The man parted the costumes, charged through them and knocked Nicole aside as he ran for the door. Jennifer threw the paperweight, catching him on the left shoulder.
Nicole’s screams brought a dozen dancers running toward Jennifer’s room. “Stop him!” Jennifer yelled.
The man pulled a knife out of his boot and flashed it. Horrified girls gasped and backed away from him. He tore past them, reached the outside door and jerked it open. Pausing for a moment in the doorway, he turned and looked back at Jennifer. The look in his eyes sent a chill of fear down her spine. It seemed to say, “I’m not through with you yet.”
The man got away clean, and everyone decided he’d been a love-starved fan just trying to get a glimpse of the prima ballerina. Everyone except Jennifer. Something about him terrified her. She tried to put it out of her mind, but couldn’t.
Slowly, her nerves settled down. She heard the call to return to practice, and bent down to adjust her toe shoes. As she did, she saw something in the bottom of the closet. Curious, she walked over and picked it up. It was a tiny drawstring purse with BRICEWOOD EAST printed on it in white lettering. She opened the drawstring and saw carpet tacks. Fear jolted through her. The newspaper had said the man who killed Bettina had pushed carpet tacks into her skin.
She told Bellini she had to take some extra time, then went looking for Chane. She couldn’t find him, and she panicked.
Steve explained exactly how it had happened, then ended with, “Jennifer thinks it was the man who’s been following her.” He paused for a second. “And the man who killed Bettina.”
Chane sighed. “It isn’t going to work,” he said grimly. “She’s making things up to get my sympathy. Don’t you see it?”
Steve frowned. “What if she’s not? After the man ran away, she found a small packet of carpet tacks.”
Chane sighed. “Even that could have been staged. It would be easy to obtain one of those small purses from housekeeping…and as many carpet tacks as she wanted right here in the hotel.” Steve frowned and narrowed his eyes at him. Chane sighed again. “All right. I better go see her.”
“She’s with Tom Wilcox and a couple of security men.”
Chane found Jennie in Tom’s office. She looked pale and shaken, her violet eyes solemn. Tom quickly summarized what had happened and then left them alone. Chane glanced at Jennie. “You look okay.”
“Did Steve tell you who it was?”
Chane suppressed a smile. “He told me what you think.”
“No one believes me,” she said, puzzled.
Chane shrugged.
Jennie flashed him a look that damned him to hell, then she turned abruptly and stalked away. Tom Wilcox stepped back inside, closed the door and faced Chane. “I guess you’ll want me to keep an around-the-clock watch over her. Even if the guy is just a lovesick fan, he might be dangerous.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“It won’t?”
“No. She’ll be fine.” He started out the door. The memory of Bettina’s white face stopped him. “All right,” he said, turning back. “Put a guard on her, nothing too obvious. I don’t think it’s necessary, but better safe than sorry.” He didn’t explain that his wife was not trustworthy. No sense in saying anything to diminish her in his staff’s eyes.
The next week passed in a blur. Jennifer avoided Chane. She threw herself into rehearsals, which were long and grinding.
Today’s workout was grueling. Chane had fired Frederick, and Jennie was adjusting to a new dance partner. He was trying hard, and she sympathized with his struggle, but he lacked Frederick’s power, talent, and determination.
She wiped her face, stepped back into position, and waited for Bellini to acknowledge her. Bellini tapped his wand.
The music started and Jennifer swept into the graceful movements of the solo they were rehearsing. One, two, three…one, two, three. Bellini was keeping beat with his wand, and it was growing louder and louder. Startled, Jennifer realized she was in the wrong position. Flushing with embarrassment, she stepped back.
Just as she did, a blur of something dropping very fast beside her caught her attention. It crashed within inches of her and a large hole opened in the floor, wood splintering and flying. Then the floor next to the hole gave way beneath her feet. Jennifer tried desperately to get the leverage to leap clear, but her feet had no stable place, and she slid toward the hole, unable to stop herself.
Her new dance partner tried to grab her, but his hand merely brushed hers. His face registered horror as she slid past him into the gaping hole in the stage floor.
Steve found Chane in the library on the first floor.
&n
bsp; Chane looked up from the tablet on which he’d been making notes and waited for Steve to speak. Something in Steve’s eyes made Chane put his pen down.
“What?”
“Jennie’s been hurt.”
Chane stood up. “How bad?”
“We don’t know. Half a dozen weights went crashing down from the flies through the stage floor and took her down with them. They were getting a ladder to try to get her out. They called out to her, but she didn’t answer. I was waiting there until we saw how bad it was, but I—”
Dread gripped Chane’s heart with an icy hand. He crossed the room in two strides and broke into a run, with Steve following. Chane couldn’t think of anything heavier than a half-dozen stage weights falling from thirty feet up. If they’d hit her, she’d be dead.
As Chane reached the Grand Ballroom, two men were lowering a ladder into the gaping hole in the stage floor. One stood up to test the floor near the hole.
“Stand back. I’ll go down,” Chane said, pushing through the crowd that had gathered on the stage.
“Wait a minute,” Steve said. “They’re coming with boards to reinforce the floor around the hole.” Ordinarily, a stage this size would have had a door leading into the understage, but it had been so hastily constructed on such short notice to accommodate the ballet company that they’d cut corners.
At the sight of Chane, silence descended on the white-faced ballerinas clustered around the splintered wood.
“Is she alone down there?” Chane asked.
A young dancer stepped forward, his face twisted with misery. “I tried to catch her…”
Men arrived with four two-by-sixes and crisscrossed them over the opening to reinforce the floor. Gingerly, Chane stepped onto one of the two-by-sixes and walked across it to the ladder, which extended a good three feet above the shattered wood. He checked to be sure it wasn’t resting on Jennie, swung over, tested the ladder with his weight, then started down.
At the bottom, Chane stepped over Jennie’s body and knelt beside her. Light from above revealed she was lying beside the weights. Her back seemed arched too far and at a strange angle. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
The Lady and the Robber Baron Page 29
