by Kate Belli
Cursing softly, Rupert followed her out the door, thrusting his half-poured glass at Daniel as he left. Daniel placed both their glasses on a nearby table and started after their retreating forms.
Rather than returning to the ballroom, Esmie turned right and hurried down the entryway, past the grand main staircase and towards the back of the house, Rupert hot on her heels. Daniel moved to follow but was blocked by a hand grasping his upper arm. He whirled, nearly colliding his nose with that of Genevieve Stewart, who jerked her face back the spare inches in barely enough time to avoid a painful impact.
“Leave them be,” she said, eyes sliding past his face, appearing to assess the situation in one quick glance. “Let them work things out on their own. They’ll have to get used to it, if they’re to be married.”
Daniel quashed the urge to rip his arm from her clasp and hurry after his friend. His loyalty to Rupert ran deep, but he knew Genevieve was right. She removed her hand of her own accord and stepped back, smoothing the front of her gown.
She looked beautiful. He made this observation begrudgingly, but it was the truth. Her moss-green gown perfectly suited her coloring. He liked that her skin had a slight duskiness to it, as if she spent time outdoors without a hat. And what was revealed of her arms above the long, cream-colored gloves she wore suggested strength, the muscles gently delineated.
Genevieve raised a gentle brow at his scrutiny, and Daniel felt a light flush on the back of his neck from being caught staring.
“I didn’t think you’d be here,” he said, overly gruff to cover his embarrassment.
“I came here to find you,” she replied.
A small chuff escaped before he could stop it. He ought to be used to her bluntness by now.
“And why are you seeking me? Shouldn’t you be following the money, as I recommended?”
“I’m not sure why you remain under the delusion that I have any obligation to heed your advice, Mr. McCaffrey. I go where my story leads me, and tonight it has led me, again, back to you.”
He felt a smile begin to tug at the corner of his mouth. “And round and round we go.”
“Indeed.”
“What is today’s lead, Miss Palmer? Has one of your sources revealed where I purchase my socks, and you believe this is front-page news?” Her shock showed on her face, and Daniel felt a quick pang for deliberately mocking the types of stories she was typically assigned.
Now who is being unkind? She was a good reporter and he knew it. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and he was—apparently—ungentlemanly enough to hit below the belt if needed.
Her chin raised a notch, and she set her gorgeous mouth into a firm line.
God, he admired her backbone.
“Theresa Dolan is my lead, in fact. You never told me Reginald Cotswold was a friend.”
“You never asked.”
“Nor that Jacob Van Joost paid for your education.”
He remained silent. Seconds ticked into a full minute in the Bradleys’ entryway, noise of the ongoing ball drifting through the walls.
It was she who broke the silence. “Mr. Cotswold wasn’t happy with the committee,” she admitted softly. Interesting. “That seems significant,” she continued.
“It does.”
“There’s more.” She was watching him carefully. “A valuable item was stolen the night of his death. A Russian box inlaid with rubies and diamonds, forming an Orthodox cross. And he didn’t pass in his sleep, but in his study, where the box was kept.”
Daniel was careful to keep his face an impassive mask. It did him no good to reveal how painful it was to hear about Reginald’s death.
“Keep following the money, Genevieve,” he said quietly, well aware only a doorway separated them from the majority of New York society.
Her brown eyes flared. “How is it all connected? Help me,” she urged.
An unseen clock chimed the stroke of midnight, and the doors to the ballroom were abruptly flung open. Waves of chatter and music washed over them as partygoers began to spill into the entryway, packing around Genevieve and Daniel, jostling them until they were quite separated. He kept his eyes on hers across the crowded space, though. He could see her lovely bare collarbones rise and fall with her deepening breath, noted the tension that squared her jaw.
She stared back at him with an intensity that might have brought a lesser man to his knees.
Something kept drawing them together, some unseen strand of fate that intertwined her path with his. He wasn’t sure to what purpose yet, or whether these entangled threads boded well or ill, but there was no longer any denying their presence. Secrets he had kept in the dark for decades were being teased out of him and into the light, and something about Genevieve Stewart was the reason. He’d given up on religion long ago but was Irish enough to believe he had a destiny to fulfill. And whatever it was, this woman was now part of it.
A hush drew over the crowd as Mr. and Mrs. Bradley, accompanied by Esmie and Rupert, descended partway down the vast staircase. The musicians in the adjacent ballroom ceased playing, and the crowd gazed at the party assembled on the stairs expectantly. Genevieve cut her eyes from his, turning her attention briefly to a young, dark-haired woman who emerged from the crowd at her elbow, then to the group assembled on the stairs. Daniel followed suit, noting that Esmie, while still pale, appeared composed. Daniel was probably the only person at the ball who could interpret the tightness around Rupert’s eyes.
Amos launched into a speech welcoming the crowd, gearing up toward his formal announcement of the engagement. As Rupert had said, it was just what had to be done. His friend had, in essence, lived on the good graces of hostesses for years now, transforming himself from the gangly, awkward youth Daniel had first met at age thirteen into the suave, urbane party guest he was now. As Mrs. Bradley had hinted, there was a constant shortage of men at events, particularly during the winter season, and Rupert had gladly filled the role, exchanging his flirtations and wit for free food and drink. But his father had finally died, he’d inherited the earldom, and the weight of familial responsibility had come crashing down on his shoulders.
Daniel listened to Amos with half an ear, shifting his attention from the spectacle on the staircase to the young woman in the green dress, then back again. Genevieve’s shoulders were set, her head was held high, and she appeared to be listening politely, but her eyes, too, discreetly drew across the crowd at the base of the stairs toward him again and again. During one of these glances, their gazes caught and held, broken only when the assembled crowd burst into applause.
Rupert managed a smile as the engagement was made official and reached down to clasp Esmie’s gloved hand in his own. She looked at the hand wrapped around hers, then at Rupert’s face. The tiniest, startled flash of a smile darted across her face in response, there and gone like the quicksilver of a tadpole glinting beneath a pond’s surface. In that wink of a moment, her entire face changed. It seemed to light from within, illuminating a delicacy of features he hadn’t previously noticed. She had a slender, slightly aquiline nose, and a sweetly rosy mouth set over a graceful jaw. In fact, for a split second the Bradley heiress appeared rather … beautiful. Daniel’s breath caught unexpectedly, he was so surprised by the sudden shift.
But then her face collapsed into misery again, her cheeks flaring patches of red as she blushed furiously at the attention. She pulled her hand from Rupert’s and clasped both hands in front of her, smiling uncertainly at the crowd. Rupert gently regained the lost hand and led her down the stairs, into throngs of waiting well-wishers.
Daniel wondered what had transpired between them after the incident in the library. Whatever was said, it appeared a fragile truce had been reached.
“Ladies and gentlemen, while we have you …” Amos’s booming voice cut through the clamor, and the crowd quieted again. “You all know I’m not from these parts.” A light laugh rose from the group, though to Daniel’s ears it held an undercurrent of anxiety. Dra
wing attention to one’s status as an outsider was usually the last thing people wanted. He saw a frown furrow Elmira’s forehead.
“But I’ve been in New York long enough to know that this city’s politics could use some fresh blood. Yes, Tweed was sent down some time ago, but there’s still work to be done. And seeing as how it’s the night of my daughter’s engagement and you’re all enjoying that champagne on me, I’ll ask you to indulge me a moment and give a quick listen to mayoral candidate Thomas Meade.”
Every hair on Daniel’s arms seemed to stand at once, and he could feel the muscles in his face clench with anger.
Tommy was here? How on earth had he wrangled an invitation to a society ball?
The crowd appeared a bit confused, and Daniel saw some other angry faces—including that of William Vanderbilt, whose narrowed eyes betrayed how ambushed he felt—but most of the assembled guests offered polite applause as Tommy, in a surprisingly well-cut set of evening clothes, materialized from the throng and mounted a few steps, waving toward the guests in a practiced political way.
Daniel took a quick scan of the crowd, making sure to check the corners. Sure enough, the same henchman from the street was sulking against a far wall, staring straight at him. Daniel locked his eyes with the bodyguard’s muddy brown ones until the man shifted his gaze back to Tommy. Daniel noticed the henchman catch Tommy’s attention before nodding back in Daniel’s direction. A slight smile played on the corners of Tommy’s mouth when he saw him, and he gave Daniel a subtle nod of acknowledgment.
“I like Tommy,” Amos said, allowing his gaze to sweep the crowd. “Like me, this isn’t quite his world. I ask you give him a few minutes, and then we’ll all keep dancing the night away.”
The majority of the guests settled in, resigned to their fate. Daniel was trapped in the middle of the press of bodies; there was no way to fight his way out of the entryway without drawing attention to himself. As Tommy began spouting his drivel, Daniel shot a quick look toward Genevieve, unsurprised to find her watching him rather than Tommy. She made a face of concern toward him.
Is everything all right? the look clearly asked.
Damn, he must look angrier than he’d realized. Daniel softened his features and gave a quick headshake.
It’s nothing, his gesture said in return.
Turning his attention toward the stairs, Daniel had the barest of moments to comprehend he had just partaken in an unspoken exchange with someone with whom he ought to be on the utmost guard, when a loud voice cut across Tommy’s practiced political cadences.
Elmira Bradley’s furrow of concern had changed to outright fury. “I think we’ve had enough lies, Mr. Meade. My husband is at least honest about being from Montana. Now why don’t you share with everyone who you really are?”
CHAPTER 10
Tommy paused midsentence as the onlookers froze. He offered a thin smile at his hostess’s query, but Daniel knew him well and could see fury matching Elmira’s lurking behind his eyes.
He was not happy at being interrupted, and if Daniel guessed correctly, even less so about being challenged.
“I wasn’t aware I was being duplicitous, madam. I’m very open about how I immigrated to this great nation from Ireland as a boy. This country has a long tradition of men making themselves from nothing. And while I wasn’t born in a log cabin”—Tommy paused, offering a significant look to the crowd—“I do come from the more impoverished parts of this fair city.”
“No shame in that,” Elmira said, her mouth set in a thin line. “But I thought you should enlighten these good folks about your gang ties.”
A collective gasp arose. Daniel stared at Elmira, thunderstruck, as she placed her hands on her hips and stared down the man known to New York’s underworld as the Terror of the East Side.
God Almighty, what is this woman doing? How on earth would someone like her know about gang life in New York? And why was she publicly exposing Tommy? There were plenty of wealthy people who skimmed the surface of gang activity in the city—those with an addiction to opium, or unscrupulous businessmen hoping to make a quick dollar—but the bulk of the city’s elite hadn’t the faintest idea of the elaborate Byzantine hierarchy and affiliations that ruled the town’s extensive gang network, nor of how so much of that network had a hand in the gears and cogs of industry that made the city run.
If not at the top of that network, Tommy was close. The men in his position almost always had unofficial ties with City Hall, but Tommy was the first to have actually tried to occupy City Hall. Publicly calling out his allegiance to the Oyster Knife gang was a dangerous business. Daniel would bet Elmira Bradley had no idea how dangerous, for if she had known she’d have run screaming from her own staircase.
Daniel felt a nudge at his elbow and found that Rupert had silently joined him, handing him a fresh brandy, which he gulped gratefully. The atmosphere in the entryway was thick with tension as Elmira and the majority of the city’s upper crust waited breathlessly for Tommy to respond.
Tommy assumed a thoughtful expression. “The misdeeds of my youth, madam. Unfortunately, so many young boys from the less fortunate parts of town find themselves embroiled in similar circumstances. It’s all long in my past now. After all, I am not the only one among us who is not from your ranks originally. Why, I remember when Danny McCaffrey there and I used to run barefoot like young heathens through the streets of the Lower East Side.”
Tommy’s sharp teeth glinted in the gaslight as he pretended to be oblivious to the shocked gasps that rose from the well-heeled guests. Elegantly coiffed and distinguished gray heads swung in seeming unison to stare at Daniel.
“There was a whole group of us that ran together right around the Draft Riots, weren’t there, Danny?” Tommy chuckled and swept his arms open wide. “Did you ever think we’d wind up in a place like this? Only in America, right?”
So this was the game, was it? Expose his past, attempt to divert any questions about himself onto Daniel?
Daniel didn’t really care if anyone knew where he originated; hell, his parents had had twice the integrity of most of the people in this room. But he’d promised the memory of his beloved sister Maggie never to tell how he had become heir to the Van Joost fortune, and his past and the inheritance were so intertwined it had been better to keep it quiet. All that had changed when he decided to reveal his origins to Genevieve at Delmonico’s. Since then, he’d been prepared for whatever fallout might occur.
He hadn’t, however, counted on his past being broadcast in this venue rather than in print. Daniel calculated his options.
The real question was, how much did Tommy know?
Two could play at this game.
He forced himself to keep his manner easy and maintain a calm smile, aware that the entire party was now watching him in fascination. Aware of Genevieve’s anxious face turned his way. “Of course I remember running wild as a young boy; didn’t we all?” He allowed a small frown to furrow his brow.
“But I don’t particularly remember you and me associating that much as children. As I recall, your games and pursuits were not to my taste.” He held Tommy’s eyes, sending his own warning.
The heads whipped back to Tommy, standing on the stairs.
Tommy’s smile tightened almost imperceptibly, but he rocked back on his heels and peered at the ceiling. “Maybe not,” he allowed. “But here we are regardless. Of course, money helps. And you do have all that money. Jacob Van Joost took you in as a young boy, didn’t he? You and your sister … Margaret, wasn’t it?”
The heads turned back his way. Daniel nodded in studied nonchalance. “Yes, he did. Margaret and I had no family left. Jacob was very kind.” The lies slid from his mouth as he continued to regard Tommy mildly, as if the secrets of his youth were not being spilled in front of half of New York society. If Tommy knew the truth, he would reveal it now.
But Tommy didn’t. He simply widened his sharklike smile and turned back to the crowd of openmouthed spectators. “So you
see, my friends, a man’s origins have no bearing on his ability to make something of himself in this country. I ask you, what could be more American than that? And as mayor, I promise …”
Daniel discreetly glanced in both directions, and it was clear Tommy’s gambit had worked. Wide, greedy eyes behind raised fans and astonished expressions kept sliding his way, then instantly retracting, then sliding back again. The general titter of whispers was so strong it nearly drowned out Tommy’s speech.
This ball was done for him. Rather than face a thousand questions he wasn’t ready to answer, Daniel began to politely move through the crowd toward the door. He could hear Rupert’s voice over his left shoulder as his friend followed, casually answering some of the queries guests murmured in his ear as he passed.
“Of course I knew, didn’t everyone? No, not that big a shock, not really. Yes, we’ll speak later …”
Somehow Rupert conjured his belongings, and a footman held open his coat. As he turned slightly to facilitate its donning, he caught sight of Genevieve, who, like most of the party, wasn’t even pretending to listen to Tommy now but was watching Daniel depart. The apology in her eyes was accompanied by a slight rolling of the shoulders and a slight head tilt toward the stairs.
I’m sorry it happened this way.
He gave the barest of shrugs back and felt the corner of his mouth tilt into a half smile.
It’s not your fault. It will be fine.
Another silent exchange. Once again, he felt the intractable pull between them, its tug soft but insistent. The heavy door closed at his back, and he left the cloying, overly warm space of the mansion behind him, taking in a lungful of crisp, clean air.
All his ghosts, it seemed, were coming home to roost, leaving him partially flayed and aching. He just hoped he could corral them before a certain reporter exposed him to the bone.
