Pure Sin

by Susan Johnson

  “Why don’t you come with me?” Flora said, not realizing she’d made up her mind.

  “I have to keep Douglas and Alan busy here,” her father replied. “But we’ll meet you again at the end of August. I’ll send Henry with you.”

  “I don’t know …,” Flora murmured, her gaze unfocused on the races below, her brows drawn together in a faint frown as she debated the possibilities.

  “Of course you do,” her father insisted, already composing his letter to Sarah in his mind. Sarah had married off two daughters; she’d know precisely how to deal with Flora’s predicament. Not that he was thinking of marriage so much as having Flora happy again. And Adam Serre seemed to hold the key to that emotion. “Think of the shock on Adam’s face when he sees you,” he teased.

  Flora grinned. “That would be worth eight days’ travel. Do you think he’ll remember me?”

  The earl laughed. “Darling, I expect you’re very hard to forget.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Flora arrived on her aunt’s doorstep in high season with the full influx of summer visitors in place, slightly apprehensive of her motives for coming, tired after eight days of travel, and grateful for her father’s insistence on sending his valet along.

  Henry, a diminutive Cornishman with a flare for languages and an indefatigable energy, had escorted her across America with ease and astonishing organizational skills. Her luggage had actually arrived before them as had her father’s second and third telegram, so Sarah was waiting with open arms and a welcoming smile.

  “Darling, how wonderful you’ve come,” her aunt cried, hugging Flora. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you. Come right in and tell me everything,” she cheerfully added, taking Flora by the hand and leading her into the cool interior of the shaded house on Franklin Square. “You must be hungry.”

  “Henry saw that I was never hungry,” Flora said with a smile. “As he saw to everything else.”

  “Which is why your papa pays him so well. He’s a jewel. Even your mama liked him, and she begrudged sharing your papa with anyone. Let’s sit out in the garden where it’s cool,” she went on, pulling Flora through the small formal drawing room toward French doors opening onto a green, flowering bower.

  When they were seated and the servant had left after bringing tea, Sarah said, “Your papa sent a telegram, but you know how cryptic those messages. What brings you to Saratoga on such brief notice?” She was being diplomatic, for George Bonham’s three telegrams from Cheyenne had been lengthy, although for the sake of discretion, proper names had been omitted.

  “Papa talked me into coming,” Flora said on a small sigh. “And I’ve had eight days to have myriad misgivings about this trip. He seems to think Adam Serre can offer me some measure of solace.”

  “Are you in need of solace?” Sarah Gibbon spoke with a discretionary calm, for Adam Serre seemed the least likely man to bring solace to a woman.

  “I’m not exactly sure what I want, and had you asked me that same question a few months ago, a man wouldn’t have been the answer to my unsettled feelings. My work has always come first; it’s been my greatest pleasure.”

  “And now Adam Serre’s brand of pleasure has infringed on that private reserve.”

  Flora shrugged her shoulders and reached for a small cake. “Do you eat when you’re frustrated?” she queried, taking a bite of the pastel-frosted confection. “Thank God Henry was along to see that I had sweets to sustain me.” Her smile was self-indulgently cheerful.

  “I do find a bonbon or two helps my disposition at times,” her aunt agreed. “But what do you think you want to do now that you’re here?” Sarah persisted, wanting her niece’s interpretation of the events detailed in her brother-in-law’s telegrams.

  “Make Adam Serre pay for my damned discomfort,” Flora said with a grin, “and for the extra pounds I probably put on thanks to my utter frustration.”

  “You look splendid, darling. No need to make him pay for that, but then it never hurts to gain some revenge for that male nonchalance they’re trained to cultivate from the cradle,” she sweetly added, her smile accompanied by a wicked tilt of one brow.

  “I’m afraid my plans have rather been in that direction,” Flora amiably declared, “despite occasional manifestations of conscience cautioning me to more proper recourse. After eight days of deductive logic, vigilant reason, and the full array of philosophical scruple, I’m fairly convinced I’m here to disrupt his life and seduce him.”

  “Surely not a difficult task with Adam Serre. Seduction is his forte.”

  “Actually it may be a very difficult mission. He said only, ‘I’m sorry,’ when last we parted.”

  “A familiar posture for him, no doubt. And for you as well,” Sarah reminded her niece. “As I recall, you’ve disposed of a great number of lovesick swains in a similar fashion.”

  “And now I’m paying penance for my misdeeds,” Flora replied with a small smile. “I find myself besotted as never before, and I’m here to discover whether I miss him so intensely only because he’s suddenly gone, or in truth.”

  “And when you find out, then what?” her aunt softly inquired.

  “I’m at an impasse then,” Flora plainly said, a permanent relationship beyond the current framework of her life—that possibility having always been relegated to some nameless future with some nameless man for reasons that would be clear to her at the time. “My immediate pleasure is simply in saying hello to him and watching his reaction. A small test of my seductive powers. Do I sound totally malicious and without scruple?”

  “Darling, every young woman here is out to seduce. Some for love, some for profit, others for pleasure alone. You’re not in exclusive ranks, believe me. And frankly, my dear, Adam Serre is long overdue for amorous reprisal. He’s walked away from more than his share of romantic entanglements. Do I sound unscrupulous?”

  Flora laughed. “We must have conscience enough that we’re questioning our ethics.”

  “How reassuring,” Sarah said with a smile, “for this is a town of illicit love and sanctimonious poseurs. We must keep up appearances at least. Now, enough about needless piety,” she declared, a practical woman at heart, which accounted for the success of her shipping firm, her dead husband’s shipping firm, and her well-run stock portfolio. “What we need first is a wardrobe for this seduction. You must come with me to the Bellington ball tonight.”

  “Adam’s not likely to be at a ball. I’d be more apt to find him at the racetrack or the gaming rooms.”

  “I have it on good authority that Caldwell King is bringing his party to the Bellingtons tonight, and Adam gambles with Caldwell every night. Have you brought anything suitably dazzling with you? We’ll have the dressmaker over directly tomorrow morning, but in the meantime we must make do tonight with what we have.”

  “I have a beaded chiffon over silk that Worth spend a month completing.”

  “What color?”

  “Parma violet.”

  “Perfect,” Sarah declared in a breathy whisper. “With diamonds of course,” she added in a husky contralto. “Of course,” Flora replied with a delicious wink.

  After a profitable day at the races and an early supper with Lucie, Adam was in his dressing room changing into evening attire of white tie and tails. Lucie was in attendance, seated on a chair beside the cheval glass, swinging her buttoned green leather shoes, keeping up a running inquisition.

  “Where are you going first?”

  “To Morrissey’s Club on Matilda Street.”

  “The little redbrick house?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Are you going to lose money?”

  “I hope not.”

  “Can you take me there someday?”

  “Only to the dining parlor, darling. There are rules against ladies inside the card rooms.”

  “That’s stupid.”

  “You’re right.” He smiled down at his daughter, still dressed in green-trimmed muslin to match his racing co
lors.

  “What’s the difference if I see the cards? I see your cards all the time when you play poker with me.”

  “Exactly, it’s very odd, I agree.”

  “If there are no ladies there, why are you dressing up?”

  He shrugged. “More rules.”

  “I hate rules.”

  Adam grinned into the mirror as he adjusted his white tie, his daughter’s perceptions of constraint much like his. “There are entirely too many,” he said. “It’s better back home on the Musselshell.”

  “But our horses are running really good, aren’t they, Papa? So the long trip was worth it. And Magnus has won every race he’s run.”

  “Every one. I can’t get profitable odds anymore,” he added with a grin. “But he’s a joy to watch,” he went on, reaching for his coat. “Next season we’ll run him in the Grand Prix.”

  “And I’m going with you this time.”

  “Absolutely.” He settled the finely tailored garment onto his broad shoulders.

  “I’m old enough not to need Cloudy all the time now.”

  “You certainly are, sweetheart,” he said, brushing her dark curls, her presence in his life like breath to him. “You’ll like Paris.”

  “Will Maman be there?”

  “I’m not certain, darling. She doesn’t like racing as much as you and I,” he blandly replied, avoiding the more pertinent reasons they weren’t likely to see her.

  “Are you going to see Uncle Caldy tonight?”

  “He’s coming to fetch me.”

  “Can I stay up until he comes? He always brings me candy and he laughs really loud. It makes me giggle.”

  “He makes everyone laugh, and yes, you may stay up.”

  “You’re so easy, Papa.”

  He looked down at her from under his dark lashes, his faint smile genial. “Am I really?”

  “You always let me have my way.”

  He grinned. “Should I say no more often?”

  She looked up at him with identical dark eyes, her gaze open and artless. “I like having my own way.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Adam gently said. “Give me a kiss now, because Caldwell will be here soon, and I won’t see you again until morning.”

  Kneeling beside her chair, he hugged her, and she gave him a wet kiss and a glowing smile.

  “Are you going to kiss any ladies tonight?” she asked as he stood upright again.

  He hesitated for a moment. “I don’t think so.”

  “Rosie says you kiss lots of ladies, and Flossie says she wishes you’d kiss her.”

  His eyes widened briefly, and he carefully said, “You probably misunderstood.”

  “Uh-uh. They say it ever so much. They talk about you all the time and sigh and giggle. I think they like you, Papa.”

  “Why don’t we go downstairs and wait for Uncle Caldy in the lobby,” he abruptly declared, taking a parent’s conventional escape route of distraction. “You can slide down the banister.”

  “Yippee,” Lucie cried, jumping from the chair with her usual boundless energy. “You’re the bestest papa in the whole word,” she exclaimed, already halfway across the room.

  Perhaps he’d better send Rosie and Flossie back home to Montana, he reflected. The last thing he needed, he thought, lacing the gold chain of his watch through his waistcoat buttonhole, was problems with Lucie’s young nursemaids.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The old colonel’s ball at the Union Hotel was a crush. The sweltering August weather wilted fashionably frizzed hair and starched white collars, producing an unladylike sheen of sweat on many a petticoated, crinolined, and corseted female. The terrace doors were thrown open in hopes of catching any slight coolness or breeze, and the run on iced champagne gave rise to a bright and lively gaiety.

  Sarah and Flora came late, avoiding the worst of the evening’s heat, interested less in the dancing than in the Caldwell King party, which wouldn’t arrive until after some play at the casinos.

  Sarah introduced her niece to their host and hostess, the colonel and his niece, Mrs. Morton. Mr. Bellington’s wife was on prolonged holiday in Europe—a pattern with many of the wealthy wives whose husband’s interest had waned. One of America’s richest men, Colonel Bellington had an eye for beautiful women, and he immediately turned his attention on Flora. It was several dances and champagnes later before she could politely extricate herself from his lecherous grasp.

  “He’s almost completely without manners,” Flora breathlessly remarked to her aunt, leaning against the brick of the Union Hotel’s piazza wall. “I thought I might have to literally pry his hands from around my waist.”

  “He’s from a rough background,” Sarah noted. “And he’s very aware of what his wealth commands.”

  “Not my body, however,” Flora heatedly retorted. “Has anyone ever publicly brought him to his knees? I was sorely tempted.”

  “Not to my knowledge, although many a young beauty has made a profitable sum from his heated interest.”

  “Thank God I’ve no need of his money. He hasn’t a modicum of finesse. I’m going to sit here in the garden and cool off, although you needn’t entertain me.” Sarah had a bevy of friends at the party. They’d met a dozen of them in the ladies’ powder room—all women who’d been coming to Saratoga for as long as Sarah, and who knew every family and visitor of note. “I’ll come back in later.”

  “You’re sure, now?”

  “I’m positive. It’s peaceful here and a few degrees cooler. Now, go and find out what gossip Elizabeth Stanton is dying to tell you. She was practically bursting at the seams.”

  “She couldn’t tell me in front of Charlotte Brewster.”

  “I gathered as much,” Flora said with a smile. “It must be succulent. I’ll hear the details tonight.”

  Strolling down the veranda lit at intervals with ornate gaslight fixtures, Flora found a wrought-iron bench in a secluded corner and sat down. The music from the ballroom was muted by the great length of the portico, the night shadows seemed to separate her from the noise and bustle of the crowd, even the couples strolling in the garden were far enough away to offer her solitude.

  It was all very well in principle to take her father’s advice and come east to see Adam, she reflected; Sarah, too, supported her. But now that she was here, now that she was actually a part of this frenzied mass of humanity tonight, she didn’t have the remotest interest in intruding on Adam’s life. Maybe she was tired; maybe it was too hot. Perhaps she didn’t feel seductive in such a sweaty throng. Or possibly the old colonel’s unwelcome designs had put everything in perspective.

  She didn’t pursue men. At least not purposefully. She’d never felt the need.

  Relaxing against the cool metal of the garden bench, she exhaled a small sigh, relieved to have reconciled her motivations. How pleasant to be comfortable again with her emotions. Life was a positive journey, not a negative manipulation of people and events. She’d visit with her aunt for a few days, take in some of the races, and then return to Montana. The lure of the cool mountains was definitely an attractive incentive to leave this sultry heat.

  Her eight days’ travel took their toll as she lounged in the shadows of the wisteria vines, or perhaps the several glasses of champagne made her drowsy, and, lulled by the distant music, she dozed off.

  A short time later when Sarah saw Caldwell at the buffet table, she approached him. As longtime friends, they cheerfully greeted each other.

  “I thought I’d find you here,” she teased. Caldwell always gravitated toward food, his appetite for everything in life gargantuan, like his size.

  “Couldn’t miss the colonel’s spread, Sarah,” he boomed. “Your diamonds outshine mine, tonight, darlin’. You look right purty.” Caldwell was known as White-Hat Caldwell for the large white Stetson he wore, and his diamond rings, tie pin, and studs dazzled the eye.

  “I’m in a festive mood tonight. Two of my horses took first today.”

  “Don’t
I know it, darlin’, with mine relegated to second and third. I’m going to have to buy that dark roan beauty you have and bring him to my stud.”

  “It’s too hot for him in Texas, Caldwell. You need more barb blood down there.”

  “Damned if I don’t, but bejesus, that roan’s a real goer.” After introductions were exchanged with those of Caldwell’s party she didn’t know, the conversation was predictably of horses, with much time spent discussing the day’s race card.

  When Caldwell excused himself briefly to sample a morsel of lobster a few feet down the sumptuously arranged table, Sarah casually turned to Adam and said, “Have you met my niece, Flora Bonham? She’s here from Montana, although I’m not altogether sure in that large a territory whether you would have had the opportunity to know each other.”

  Adam’s heart seemed to stop for a second, and his shock must have been obvious, for she looked at him curiously. “Is our terrible heat bothering you?” she pleasantly inquired.

  He assured her it wasn’t, and when Caldwell reentered the conversation a second later, Adam found himself unable to concentrate on their continuing dissection of that day’s race schedule. It suddenly didn’t matter which horse had won or what the winning times were or whether Leonard Jerome or Travers was entering his three-year-old the following day.

  Flora was here?

  Not just in Saratoga, but at this ball?

  “Where is she?” he heard himself say, his voice too curt for politesse, his voice sounding as though it were echoing in his ears from a great distance.

  “Pardon me?” Sarah Gibbon said with infinite calm, an important question suddenly answered to her satisfaction.

  “Your niece. Where is she?”

  “Do you know the little filly?” Caldwell queried, his Texas drawl as florid as his diamond rings and enormous girth.

  “We’ve met,” Adam said.

  “She never mentioned it,” Sarah cordially said, “but, then, I expect Flora met a great number of people in Montana. Do you know an Ellis Green?” she adroitly added.