Eden … Eden wouldn’t be the least bit reluctant to tell her. He would likely offer to take her inside, partly for the perverse satisfaction of shocking her and partly for his simple belief that society’s restraints governing what a lady could and could not do withheld her from experiencing the joy of being a woman.
Shaking her head, unwilling to stray down that endless path where he stood beckoning, Dara wished for the freedom of being a man for a few short hours. Just long enough to satisfy her curiosity.
Had she had her wish granted, Dara would have realized that young men, like Matt, his swagger cocky as he entered the white and gilded doors of Satin Mallory’s pleasure palace, paid little heed to the study in ostentation of the establishment.
Once he was inside, one of Satin’s silent Chinese houseboys removed his boots and replaced them with thin-soled slippers. Men balked at first, but Satin had few rules that she demanded they adhere to: no boots to mar her gold and white lush Brussels carpets; no weapons of any kind, to prevent murder done upon her premises; no limits on what a man gambled; and the word no was not to be uttered to one customer by the young women she employed.
Matt faced the three archways before him. He searched for Satin among the few patrons this early in the evening in the billiard room. The Gilded Lily boasted one of the new J. M. Brunswick & Balke Co. billiard tables, whose green-felted surface was supported by a small pride of ebonized and gilded lions. Gilded-lily light fixtures burned with scented oils over the cue holder and tally rack. Against the white and gold flocked wallpaper, deep cushioned baroque chairs invited spectators to lounge.
He watched for a moment as two men he didn’t know placed a bet of fifty dollars on the impossibility of an upcoming shot. But Satin wasn’t in the room, and Matt turned away.
Being a virgin, much to his regret, Matt made no attempt to enter the parlor on his right. Someone beyond the white velvet drapery swagged over the archway was picking out a lively tune on the piano, and he listened, with temptation thickening his blood, to the soft, intimate laughter of Miss Satin’s young ladies. He called them that, with a twinge of conscience as he thought of his sister, simply because Satin referred to them as such. With a straightened spine and a lift of his chin that he no longer blushed at the sight of them, Matt stepped aside as a vision in white satin swept out of the parlor.
Her smile urged him to return it, while his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his effort to swallow. There was a great deal to her lavishly beaded gown, but unfortunately for Matt, most of the material seemed to be concentrated below her hour-glass waist.
“You’re Matt Owens, aren’t you?” she asked in a breathy voice that was less affected than necessary due to her corset’s tight lacing. “Satin told me who you were.”
“She did?” He gulped, trying so hard not to stare at the expanse of creamy skin that swelled in provocative invitation from the low-pointed drape of satin that narrowed into stringlike proportions over her shoulders.
A cluster of pink and green ostrich feathers bobbed from her high coiffure as she nodded, lifting her hand to take his arm.
“She’s inside. I’ll have the pleasure of escorting you to her.” Her eyelashes batted like hummingbird’s wings, and Matt, with all the pent-up frustration of his virginal state, felt his blood pooled into the one body part he had no control over. With a sly glance, the shameless delight who was clutching his arm reached out and delicately stroked him. “We,” she breathed, “could dispatch this cargo and play goose and duck.”
His Adam’s apple lodged in his throat. She was … She actually touched him! Matt swore to himself for every time he thought he had cleverly questioned Eden without, he believed, revealing his lack of sexual expertise. But Eden hadn’t covered what to do in a situation that had him feeling as useless as stuffing a .22 cartridge in a ten-gauge shotgun! The money burned a hole in his pocket. It wasn’t nearly as hot as what else was burning, but it sure enough came damn close.
“I’m Nellie.” She smiled, her eyes knowing, and gently disengaged her arm from his. “I know a man like you must have a powerful thirst that needs satisfying first. But come find me later, and we’ll tend to all that excess baggage.”
She left behind a cloud of floral perfume, and Matt finally cleared his throat, managed to breathe, and decided right then and there he was going to have himself a high-helled time losing his virginity tonight.
He glanced up at the sound of his name and lost his breath all over again. Not five feet from him stood Satin.
“Lord, but you’re the most gorgeous creature,” he choked out.
Indeed, even to a jaded man’s eyes, Satin Mallory was considered beautiful. Her hair was an ebony sheen coiled into a sleek chignon that allowed the perfect symmetry of her features to be viewed without distraction. Skin as white and smooth as the egret feathers curling flirtatiously over one ear to draw a man’s eye to the silk of bare shoulders was draped this evening, as it had been each night, in blood-red satin that molded to the Venus-back sateen French corset. A blaze of diamonds encircled her throat. Each of her wrists were encircled by diamond cuffs over long red silk gloves. Her lips were lushly moist, a decadent sultriness lit her blue eyes, and as she raised her egret fan in a languid fashion, smiling at Matt, he was beset by the fantasy his wild imagination conjured with every inhaled breath of her spiced scent.
Beautiful, yes. But Matt was not a jaded man. He was an innocent boy enamored of an angel who treated him like the man he longed to be.
And it was now that he once again wished he could wield the skill of Eden McQuade’s tongue so that Satin would offer to dislodge the cargo that had him ready to burst like a piddling puppy.
In tongue-tied awe he whispered, “I’ve got the money.”
“Matt,” she chided in a voice of melted honey, “there was no need for you to rush over to pay such a trifling debt. I know you’re a man of honor, but every man has a bad run with the cards.” With a graceful sweep of her train, Satin turned and with practiced ease whispered over her shoulder, “Come inside. I’ve saved a seat at my table just for you.”
“I … well, I should…” Damn! He never did promise Dara that he wouldn’t gamble. There stood Satin, a tiny frown on that smooth brow, waiting for him to accept the honor she offered him to sit at her table. He’d be a fool not to take it. Squaring his broad shoulders, he stepped to her side. “I’d be honored.”
He knew he had every man’s attention as they slowly progressed between the heavy gilded baroque tables and chairs. Satin smiling and nodding, her skilled fingers resting light as swan’s down on his arm, made his chest expand with pride. It was a good thing he wore his Sunday-go-to-meeting suit acting as escort for Miss Satin herself. He didn’t even stare at the feminine nude statuettes that lined the walls in tiny alcoves as he did the first time he came here. He’d stammered and blushed like a fool farm boy when Mr. Dinn from over at the bank asked if his pa knew he were there. Now he nodded to that very same gentleman, who waited behind an ornately carved and scrolled white satin chair, just for the honor of seating the lady.
With all the skill of a courtesan. Satin made a production of setting aside her fan, removing her diamond cuffs and sliding off, finger by finger, the red silk gloves before she broke the seal on a new deck of cards.
“Five card stud, gentlemen.”
Matt, to his credit, hesitated before removing the two hundred dollars from his pocket. But Satin smiled, glanced down at the pot, and murmured, “I just know that one of you is leaving here a winner tonight.” Her gaze found Matt’s. “A big winner.”
Two hours later Satin excused herself, and to Matt’s surprise, Nellie slid into her seat. He remembered his promise to himself, looked down at the dwindling pile of money in front of him, and back at Nellie’s charms. He should quit. He had won a few hands, just enough to keep him from going broke, but he still owed Satin two hundred dollars.
“Matt,” Nellie said, waiting until she had his
full attention, “you weren’t thinking of quitting, were you? I thought we had an appointment later.”
Conscience be damned! “Deal me in and yes, we do.”
Satin waited by the heavy gold-tasseled portieres that led to her private quarters upstairs. Nellie’s nod brought a predatory smile to Satin’s lips, and she slipped past the drapery. In her rooms upstairs Lucio would be waiting, the pure white of her furnishings a perfect foil for his dark good looks and her own dramatic coloring.
Over chilled Bollinger champagne she related who was in debt, the amount, and what steps she had taken to collect.
Refilling his glass, Lucio raised it in toast to her. “Six days and you have almost paid back the cost of the land and your traveling expenses. You earn my admiration anew, Satin.”
With a cool smile she acknowledged his praise. “I can’t stay long.”
“Ah, another of your private games this evening. And might they number among them one Silver McQuade?”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Lucio. He’ll come around eventually.”
“Then who has put that glitter of challenge into your eyes?”
“Why, Jake Vario has. Didn’t you know our much-respected peace officer has attended me nightly?”
“Be careful, Satin,” he warned, toying with the three silver nuggets on his watch chain. “Jake wants something from you.”
“Yes, he does. But then, so does every man, Lucio.”
“And our young friend, has he obtained what he wants?”
“Nellie will take care of Matt tonight.”
“He has not been forthcoming with more information about McQuade’s financial situation?”
“I’ve told you everything, Lucio. You know McQuade’s production schedule, the yield of every claim he owns, and what he is being offered per ton. If there was anything more, you would know it. McQuade trusts Matt, and Matt, well,” she drawled, “we both know how Matt feels about me. I believe McQuade cares a great deal for the boy. Unless it’s all a sham to entice Matt’s prim sister into his bed.”
“Perhaps,” Lucio conceded.
Satin tossed down the last of her champagne, finding the last dreg slightly bitter. “If Eden McQuade doesn’t come on his own, I’m sure Matt’s indebtedness will bring him to call.”
“You have done well, Satin,” Lucio said with a pleased smile.
“That’s what you pay me for, doing things well.”
Rainly’s box lunch social was an annual affair that did more than raise money for the church. It was another family affair that encouraged the getting together of those neighbors who lived miles from town. Dara rose before dawn to fill her decorated basket. It was a change from the box she usually used, but then, Clay would be there, and she didn’t want him bidding on it. She wouldn’t even be going but for Miss Loretta. She had insisted to Cyrus that Annamae was perfectly capable of looking after him for the day so Dara could have a bit of socializing, and that had gained her freedom. She would be driving out with Miss Loretta and Luther, but wished that Eden had stopped by and offered to take her.
It was with Eden in mind to share her bountiful basket that Dara made smoked ham from Suelle’s own Virginia recipe, hoping to please him with a food from his home state. Along with it went candied sweet potatoes, tiny quail pies, sweet com pudding, coleslaw, bread and butter pickles, fried apple pastries whose crusts were so light and flaky that she broke two of them, and biscuits. Eden loved her biscuits. She hummed, fixing a small cloth-covered pan filled with honey butter fudge on top, knowing Eden’s sweet tooth. There was barely room for plates, napkins, cutlery, and a linen cloth in the basket. Dara managed to wedge in two tin cups, but knew she couldn’t fit in the jug of apple cider. With a pleased flourish, she tied the last ribbon bow on its handle and tried not to wish too hard that Eden would be there to bid on her box lunch.
The clock struck the hour, and she rushed from the kitchen up to her room, tapping on Matt’s door to make sure he was awake.
“Matt. Matt, you’ll be late for service if you don’t hurry.”
“I’m up,” he groaned.
Dara stared at the closed door, hesitating. “Are you all right?”
“Go on,” he called out. “I’m fine.”
Breathless and flushed with excitement, Dara hid from the twinge of conscience reminding her of what she kept from her father. But the sun was shining, and the mockingbirds were singing outside her windows, and she had to hurry before Miss Loretta called.
Standing before the oak dresser’s beveled mirror, she unpinned her loose braid, placing each hairpin into the flowered china receiver, then quickly unraveled her waist-length hair. Her cheeks wanted cooling, and she moved off to splash water on them from the china bowl secure in its own oak stand between the two windows. She had taken the time to sponge bathe earlier, so now she hurried to undress, eyes dancing with anticipation. A dab or two of rose water on each wrist, a more daring application between her breasts, as she had read one supposed lady of the stage was prone to do, and Dara was ready to begin the onerous labor of getting dressed.
Back and forth she moved from dresser to bed, bed to wardrobe, laying out her clothes on the Nottingham lace spread. She blushed when she held up her cambric chemise, since it was an exact duplicate of the one Eden McQuade so boldly claimed as his. Valenciennes lace-trimmed lawn drawers, four white starched petticoats, a fresh corset cover, and cream lisle hose completed the array of undergarments in which she had to dress. Taking a deep breath, Dara began the task of putting on the lightweight sateen boned corset, thankful that her small waist made tight lacing unnecessary.
Without a breeze to cool her, she began to perspire, but stopped only long enough to whisk her long hair out of her way. Today, because she was accompanying Miss Loretta, Dara had to put on a bustle. It was a diminished style, but it was labor to tie the many tapes to form the proper rear height. The hall clock struck the half hour, warning her to hurry, although she didn’t know how she could dress faster. Each of the undergarments were fastened, tied, buttoned in record time, and she took a moment to pat her face dry. After quickly slipping into the combing mantle, she brushed her long hair and braided it into a coiled chingnon and secured it firmly.
A fine Henrietta-cloth skirt in the deep shade of old rose was settled, adjusted, and buttoned. Dara had chosen a pale pink and white striped shirtwaist of soft percale with narrow piped edges of white on the front pleats, cuffs, and collar. Kid shoes, fastened with the aid of a buttonhook, tested her patience, but finally she stood before the mirror once more to secure her mother’s garnet pin and matching eardrops. She wanted to deny that most of her excitement was in anticipation of Eden’s pleasure in seeing her dressed in soft pretty colors, for he often teased her that she wore somber, prim clothes to hide behind.
A last wipe of her brow, another dab of rosewater at her temples, and she was ready just as she heard Luther drive up in his four-seater rig.
As they drove out of the lane, waving to Cyrus and Annamae, Dara curbed the impulse to ask Miss Loretta if Eden had mentioned he would be coming. The shades were pulled on the mine office windows, but that didn’t tell her what she wanted to know. Sometimes he left the shades down if he was there and didn’t want to be disturbed.
Stop fretting, goose. There are enough hungry men in Rainly to ensure that your basket will take a few bids. But Dara didn’t want anyone else.
“Well, girl,” Miss Loretta began, “Ah see you’ve turned yoreself out right fine. You looked a little peaked a week ago. Did yore papa share some of Dr. Vance’s restorative with you?”
“Why, no, Miss Loretta, he didn’t.”
“Mighty fine elixir. Why, lookee there, it’s Edward and Elvira. Don’t she lode a fright. I heard tell that Edward has been a frequent visitor to that hussy’s place.”
“Now, Miz Loretta,” Luther put in, “don’t you go an’ spread gossip. We’s heading for the Lord’s house. It wouldn’t be fitting.”
“Hades, Luther. Don’t be lecturin’ me. Who tole me ’bout him an’ a few othahs?”
Dara sat, with bated breath, clutching the bouncing buggy seat, hoping Miss Loretta would add a piece about those other names. But Luther began talking about the new train schedules and Miss Loretta about her plans to add on to her boardinghouse. Dara couldn’t be forward and ask about Eden.
She hadn’t been out to church since the ill-fated night of the last social. When they arrived, Dara found herself welcomed and questioned about Clay, and surprisingly, she found she could answer their questions without guilt. Her eyes scanned the crowd of buggies, wagons, and horses for Eden’s Sinner. Disappointed that he wasn’t here, she followed along with the crowd to where long tables had been set beneath the shade of Spanish-moss-draped oak trees. It was cooler here, encouraging people to mill about.
Squeals of delight gushed forth as each new arrival was greeted. Children darted in and out, playing tag. Dara, talking with Caroline Halput, was smiling—until she found Clay staring at her.
Her first thought was to rid herself of the telltale basket, and she pushed it at Caroline, asking her to give it to Reverend Speck for auction later. She darted through the throng, hoping to escape a confrontation with Clay, and turned to see if he was following her only to bump into a solid chest.
“Easy, Dara. What’s got you in a lather?”
“Jake! I … oh, I’m sorry. I was … How are you? We all miss seeing you at the store.” Dara stepped back and saw Anne. Her smile faltered at the frosty look in Anne’s eyes. Dara murmured her name in greeting, and for minutes thought Anne would snub her, but her friend nodded, stepping up to take her husband’s arm.
Silver Mist Page 16
