by Lyn Cote
A woman of character. Turning swiftly, she kissed him, pressing against him, wanting to reward him for this tribute to her chaste ways, to let him sweep her off her feet, convince her that, in accepting him, she’d made the right choice.
“I won’t pressure you to spend the night with me. Your reluctance just proves that you are the woman I think you are. But name the date.”
Deep in sensation, her mind hadn’t been prepared for this question. She blurted out the first date that came to mind, “December first.”
He chuckled. “Do I have to wait that long? What made you think of that date?”
His laughter rippled against her. “I don’t know. Maybe because it’s a month before my birthday and I’ll just have enough time to plan a small wedding. You don’t mind a small wedding, do you?”
“Are you kidding?” He chuckled again deep in his chest. “I hate big crushes in huge churches and everyone drunk at the reception. Let’s just have family and a few close friends. Do you want to be married at your home in Maryland?”
“No,” her reply popped out. “Let’s marry in New York. And leave immediately for someplace faraway.” Let’s run away together, Drake. Leave it all behind.
“You make it sound like an adventure, princess. Very well. But I’m going to move the date forward a month to November first, then. Okay?”
“Fine.” She kissed him again, stopping his words, not wanting to talk about it any more. She wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe.
He pulled away an inch. “I love it when you do that, but you’ve got to stop now. Or we may have to move the date up again. I can’t spend the next few months taking one cold shower after another.” He grinned.
She felt lost again and rested her head on his shoulder, hiding her face from him.
He hugged her, kissed the top of her head, and tenderly stroked her hair. “Let’s walk on the beach. If I take you inside, I won’t be responsible for what might happen.” He spoke lightly, but Chloe understood the honesty under his words. She felt the same way. The temptation to go inside with him and cast the die once and for all held her fascinated. But she allowed him to draw her along the edge of the flowing and ebbing waves. Better to wait and start off as she had with Theran. Then it would have the best chance to go right.
I can be happy with Drake. I will be.
A few days later, far into the evening, Chloe arrived at the apartment in D.C. That morning, Drake had been called to New York City for some board of directors meeting of his father’s corporation. Leaving the beach had been wrenching to Chloe. The days after she’d accepted Drake’s proposal had passed with kisses, red roses, and tender moments, always on the beach. More and more, Chloe felt she’d made the right decision. They’d even discussed Bette and how to bring her into their home. Maybe now the doubts would cease. When she married Drake, she’d reclaim her daughter and be able to go forward instead of just marking time.
She’d just changed from her traveling outfit into a new black satin lounging gown when she heard the front door opening and voices below—her father and Jackson. She walked out onto the landing to call down a greeting, but stopped when she heard her father’s voice rumble up from below. “Well, tonight we break out the champagne. Drake’s finally done it. Chloe’s set the date.”
Chloe stood frozen with her mouth open. Drake had called her father?
“This is what you’ve been waiting for, isn’t it?” Jackson said, sounding unimpressed.
“Well, if I’m going to lose my hostess, it might as well be to a millionaire.” Daddy laughed heartily and with a repulsive smugness. “Anyway, she’ll be even more use to me as Mrs. Drake Lovelady.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Chloe realized that she’d stopped breathing. She gasped for air and leaned back beside her door, suddenly weak. She pressed her palms against the wall to steady herself. Why had Drake called her father? Was it possible he had done so? But who else knew of their engagement? She’d told no one. Had Drake?
She hazarded a glance down the staircase. Her father and Jackson had moved into the parlor on the first floor. She heard their voices, but faintly. She tiptoed down the steps and paused at the bottom of the staircase. She’d never eavesdropped on her father and Jackson before. But maybe I should have. She tiptoed closer, relieved that the soft-soled slippers she wore made no noise. The men hadn’t closed the door. She could hear Jackson speaking clearly from where she stood.
“I don’t know why you want to marry Chloe off.” Jackson sounded vaguely disgruntled. Why?
“That’s because you aren’t greedy like I am,” her father said with brazen satisfaction. “I made my pile and bought me a classy wife with it, but my money don’t even come close to a million.”
“But your stocks have been doing well. And how will Chloe being a millionaire’s wife help you?”
Her father barked one harsh laugh. “It sticks in your craw ’cause she never looked at you twice.”
A silence. “I may admire Miss Chloe, but I know she sees me as merely an extension of you. Not a completely erroneous inference.” Jackson’s tone was sadly ironic. “I’ve never had any hopes that she would see me as more than your shill.”
Jackson admired her, wanted her for himself? Chloe clutched the post at the bottom of the railing.
“Bein’ my shill has kept you in freshly ironed shirts and sleepin’ on a soft mattress with a pretty little mistress. I don’t think you have anythin’ to complain about.”
“I’m not complaining,” Jackson muttered. “I just think that your own daughter ought to count for more than a mere convenience to you.”
“My daughter has been plenty inconvenient to me. Runnin’ off to marry a poor New York soldier for starters. Having a cranky, sickly baby. Well, that turned out all right. Lily was happy at gettin’ to take over the granddaughter. And that kept her off my back and let me have Chloe to myself. But I’ve had to take real pains to keep her here in Washington. Had to handle her with kid gloves. Make her think I needed her.”
Chloe tasted bitter bile rise in her throat.
“Well, didn’t you?” Jackson demanded. “She’s been a wonderful hostess for you.”
“You have me there.” Her father’s tone mellowed. “She’s done me proud—more than that useless Carlyle I married, that drab scoldin’ shrew. All I ever got from her was Chloe and the right to call Ivy Manor my home.” His tone reverted to cocky. “But that was all I wanted, so that’s okay, too.”
“Miss Chloe deserves better from you.” Jackson must have stood up. The sound of a chair scraping the floor pushed Chloe to back up onto the bottom step.
“I don’t get what you mean. I’ve given Chloe anythin’ she ever wanted—pretty clothes, ponies, a fine education at one of the best finishin’ schools, a fancy debut. She’s had everythin’ a girl could want or need.”
“I meant that she loves you.” Jackson’s voice firmed.
Chloe swallowed a moan, which might betray her presence. The walls around her appeared to warp in and out as though an earthquake moved beneath her.
“What about it? A girl should love her daddy.”
His callous words pierced her. Long silver needles slid under her skin.
“I see trying to explain to you what I mean is futile.” The sound of the glass decanter being set down hard on a metal tray gave voice to Jackson’s irritation.
“Now you got that right. Chloe as Mrs. Drake Lovelady will smooth a path for me to the other side of the aisle. I can make a lot more milkin’ Republicans than reapin’ the little that the minority party, the Democrats, have to offer.”
Her knees turned to jelly and she lowered herself onto the bottom step.
“Didn’t you learn anything from the Teapot Dome Scandal?” Jackson snapped.
Her father laughed unpleasantly. “I learned that mostly the ones who got the dough kept it. Even if they had to appear before some silly senators just tryin’ to get reelected. And how many crooked deals never see
the light of day? I’m just the man to be the go-between in transactions like that. I’ll take my chances. And I’ll thank my Chloe for puttin’ me in the way of new business.”
“I don’t know if you’ll have much luck with Drake Lovelady. He’s no babe in the woods.”
Waves of heat and cold rolled through Chloe. She clutched the edge of the step to keep from slipping farther down.
“It’s a little hard to say no to your wife’s daddy. And I’ll keep my eye on him and take note of any little indiscretion he might not like Chloe to know about. Fortunately Lovelady does love the ladies.” He laughed at his own joke.
“So you’ll blackmail him,” Jackson sounded grim.
Bending double, Chloe pressed her hand over her mouth.
“You are almighty self-righteous tonight. Have another shot of that good Canadian whiskey and drop this. Chloe ain’t for you and if I told her that you was takin’ up for her, she wouldn’t even believe it.” The floor creaked as he moved.
Afraid of being seen, Chloe fled soundlessly up to her room, where she closed the door behind her and then leaned against it. Her heart throbbed, pounded. In the low light, she stared at the violet-sprigged wallpaper, the pale blue satin bedspread, and matching draperies she’d chosen. She’d spent the earlier part of this year redecorating the whole apartment. She hadn’t realized at the time that she was part of the setting she was creating for her father. In his script, she wasn’t even a bit player with a line or two.
Her years in Washington had been a charade. She’d never thought her father had changed completely, but she’d thought . . . She’d believed a lie—that he needed her, finally loved her a little. But to him, she wasn’t a person. She was no more than his trophy in the endless tug of war with her mother. They’d split the spoils, Bette for her mother and herself for her father. And I let them, thinking it was a kindness to my daughter.
She knew she should be weeping, or maybe filled with anger. But all she felt was shame and disgust. I’ve been a fool, a stupid little fool.
The next morning, Chloe splashed cold water on her face once more and applied powder, rouge, and lipstick to cover the traces of a sleepless night. Aching and empty, she walked down to the dining room for breakfast. Should she confront her father or hide her knowledge?
He sat at the head of the table, hidden behind the New York Times. As she read the title of the paper, she suddenly knew what she would do and where she wanted to be. But not why. “Good morning, Daddy.” Her calm voice sounded artificial to her ears.
“Mornin’, Chloe. Glad you’re home.”
Chloe waited to see if he would say anything about her engagement. He didn’t. Of course not; he was too clever for that. “Thank you, Daddy.”
“I got a call from that orphanage woman.”
This caught her by surprise. Her pulse jerked in her veins. “Oh?”
“Yeah, she wanted to know if you knew Kitty McCaslin is havin’ her parents adopt that kid Jamie.”
Another hit below the belt. She passed a hand over her brow, smoothing away the tension. This was no more than she deserved. She should have adopted Jamie long ago and taken him and her daughter far from her parents. “I knew Kitty had taken him home to live with her parents.”
“No doubt to make up for neither of the McCaslin kids getting married and givin’ their parents any grandkids?” he said with a superior twist to his voice.
Chloe couldn’t make herself reply to this. The pain of losing Roarke was a wound that had never completely healed. “I’m going,” she dropped the bomb, “to make a trip to New York today.”
The paper lowered. “Oh?”
At last, she’d gained his attention. “I have some shopping to do, a dress to buy,” she improvised, “and I think I might as well go up there and get it all done efficiently.” What would going to New York gain her?
“Well, sugar, here you’re barely home and now you’re leavin’ again. You know I missed you.”
Is that right, Daddy? Should she say anything about her engagement? She’d waffled back and forth, but she realized she must or arouse suspicion. “You should be wishing me happy, Daddy. I’ve accepted Drake’s proposal of marriage.”
“Sugar!” Daddy beamed as if this were the first time he’d heard the news. “I do wish you happiness. You couldn’t do better’n Drake Lovelady.”
Or richer, right, Daddy? “Thank you. “I’m very happy.” I was very happy. Her father got up and hugged and kissed her. Chloe wanted to bat away his hands. The touch of his lips on her cheek made her skin crawl. Daddy, you should be on the stage like Minnie. She took grim satisfaction in knowing that if she’d done nothing else of worth in her life, she’d gotten Minnie out of her father’s sweaty palms.
Maybe it was Minnie she wanted to see in New York?
“I’m going to take the train,” Chloe continued, “I can hire a car in the city or just use taxis.”
The maid brought in fresh coffee and her father went back behind the paper. “Well, all right. How long will you be gone?”
The rest of my natural life if I can help it. “Not long, Daddy,” she lied with a serene smile.
After breakfast and her father’s departure, she called the New York number Drake had given her as the one sure to reach him. Within moments, he came on the line. “Darling, I’m so glad you called. I didn’t think I’d get to hear your sweet voice today.”
“Good morning.” The urge to demand that he tell her the truth about whether he’d let her father know about their engagement chewed at her. Suspicion made her voice come out starchy. “I hope I’m not interrupting any business.”
“The meeting is just about to start and then I’ll be tied up most of the day. The stock market jitters have spooked Dad’s board of directors. We’ve got to reassure them that prosperity is here to stay.”
“I just wanted you to know,” she said, “that I’m coming up to the City today.” Was it Drake, then, drawing her to New York?
“You are? Wonderful. We need to talk over wedding plans with my parents. And let Mother draw up the engagement announcement for all the society pages.”
“You haven’t told anyone yet?” she asked as casually as she could.
“Just my parents. Darn. I’ve got to go. Where will you be staying? You know they’ve razed the Waldorf-Astoria to make room for the new Empire State Building, don’t you? Why don’t you stay with us at our New York apartment?”
“No, I’ll let you know where I end up, Drake. Good-bye.”
“I love you, Chloe. Don’t forget that.”
She hadn’t gotten a clue from Drake’s voice if he’d been in complicity with her father. Then she recalled her father’s intention to use blackmail against Drake. But wasn’t Drake astute enough to avoid such a pitfall? Perhaps one of Drake’s servants had informed her father? That was more likely. She couldn’t bring herself to believe Drake had been dishonest with her. He might be a sinner, but he was an honest sinner. The promise of discretion he’d made her after her acceptance of his proposal had proved that. But her father wanted to use Drake’s propensity to sin against them both. And she couldn’t let that happen.
The next evening, Chloe stood with her hand on the phone in her suite at the Benjamin Hotel. She’d just dialed Roarke’s New York number for the eighth time. Each time she’d hung up before anyone answered. She lifted the receiver again. A knock on the door made her put the receiver back in its cradle.
“Chloe?” Drake’s voice came through the door and she opened it to him. He kissed her hello and then frowned. “What’s the matter, princess?”
She walked farther into the suite, done in maroon and green with a lot of glass and chrome. “Drake, I’m going to Paris.” The plan had come to her when she’d reached New York yesterday.
On a whim, she’d had the cabbie drive her by all the places that had been dear or important to her when she’d eloped here in 1917—Theran’s rooming house, Mrs. Rascombe’s, the shop on Fifth Avenue, that little café
in the Village that Kitty had loved. She’d even had the man drive her to the dock where she’d waved farewell to Theran. And there, a longing to follow Theran had swept through her.
Startled, Drake tried to read Chloe, but her eyes were shuttered. “Paris? Why?” he asked as though it were only of mild interest.
“I want to visit my late husband’s grave.”
Of all the things she might have said this ranked as the worst possible news. He walked over to the room’s bar. From the stainless steel ice bucket, he added ice to one of the glasses waiting on the bar. Then he pulled out his sterling silver hipflask and poured whiskey onto the ice. He took a swallow. “Chloe, that’s so macabre.”
“No, it isn’t.” She turned from him and walked to one of the tall windows.
This on top of the awful day he’d had. Drake felt his lungs tighten. He thumped his glass down on the bar. “Why?”
“I need to go and close that . . . that period of my life.”
His temper flared but he clamped down on it. He wouldn’t let his frayed nerves endanger his engagement. “Are you sure,” he said, his voice lazy, “you want to stir up the past?”
“I have to go to Paris and close the book of my first marriage. I should have done it years ago.” She pushed the pale-green draperies farther open, scraping hooks against the rod. “I’ve never felt that Theran and I had a chance to say good-bye once and for all. There was just a memorial service, you know, not a burial.”
It sounded plausible, but he didn’t like the way she turned her back to him. He wanted Chloe more than he’d ever wanted any woman in his life. I’ve courted you most of a decade. The fear that he might still lose her churned through him. His temper snapped. “Have you called Roarke McCaslin while you’re in town?”
“Why do you ask me that?”
“Tell me, Chloe—” He tried to pull back to safer ground, but his mouth was dry with longing for her. “I need to know if you’ve called him.”
